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 write me at paradegi@rogers.com

The Boys Of Aurora: Chapter 15

Todd headed for the short corridor that led to the Chiefs Mess. As he was about to pass by Fred, who lay on top of the bunk closest to the Chiefs Mess, Todd glanced down and stopped dead in his tracks. Now why, he wondered, would Fred be making faces at him? Todd did a double take and looked again, his eyes bugging out of his head. Fred? FRED?

Todd looked again and took a step back. "Why, Fred, you dirty little . . ." thought Todd as a huge grin broke the twin's face. "Well, well, well, another human being checking in!"

Fred, tall, slim, with a perpetually goofy look on his face, was the most enigmatic of all the cadets. He was quiet, never swore, and never, except when in charge of a platoon or a company on the parade square, raised his voice. He went about his duties with quiet dignity and of all the Regulating Petty Officers he was the most liked. He disliked confrontation and was always willing to let the picky-ass little infractions slide by.

Although he lived with them, and shared many of their secrets, the cadets who lived in the Gunroom knew very little about Fred. He kept to himself and never volunteered any personal information, other than that he had an uncle who was an Admiral. When he was in the Gunroom, Fred rarely joined in the games and foolishness that seemed so much a part of Gunroom life. The boys knew that Fred hailed from Kingston, Ontario, that this was his first trip west and that he was, at least on the surface, very religious. He attended the Anglican Cathedral School back home and acted as server for Dirty Dave the Deacon every Sunday.

Playing silly bugger, nudity, and talking about sex were all part of life in the Gunroom, except for Fred. He never talked queer, and never engaged in the homoerotic baiting that seemed to go on constantly. Unlike the other cadets, he never crowed about the size of his erection (which was impressive), the power of his ejaculations, or the number of times each day he sought relief in masturbation. If he beat off, which was conjectural at best, Fred did it so quietly and so discreetly that no one, at least so far as Todd could remember, had ever mentioned it.

For the majority of the cadets in the Gunroom, beating off was a nightly occurrence. Some, such as Thumper, tried to at least maintain a façade of silence, or waited until they thought everyone else was asleep. Others, mainly Harry, thoroughly enjoyed the act and moaned and groaned their way to satisfying, and noisy, eruptions. Beating off was as much a part of mess life as getting up in the morning and having a shower (before the water was turned off). Everybody did it.

Thumper beat off in the heads every night. Nicholas, at least until lately, beat of on a nightly basis, his approach to glory heralded by increasing panting, culminating in a long, low, rush of breath as he ejaculated into an old hand towel he kept under his pillow. When Harry beat off the critters in the woods knew about it. It was universally accepted that everybody beat off. Even Cory, who admittedly had a fairly active sex life with, amongst others, his brother, Chris, The Phantom and Harry, admitted to Onanism, and from time to time consulted Mrs. Fist and her daughters (usually when he was angry with Todd over some imagined slight, slur or insult). Todd, when he wasn't with Cory, found a slow, gentle rub very satisfying at the end of the day. Everybody, except for Two Strokes, freely admitted that beating off was a major factor in his life. Two Strokes insisted that he never beat off, which everybody pretended to believe because they all knew that the skinny Regulating Chief buried his face in his pillow and humped his mattress, much to Thumper's disgust because he had to listen to the muffled groans and grunts coming from the corner bunk until Two Strokes finally popped his nut and shut the fuck up.

Unlike his messmates, Fred never discussed his sex life, or anyone else's for that matter. Todd assumed that Fred was a well-mannered, naturally shy young man and this, combined with the fact that he was a relative stranger to all the other boys, caused him to tread warily. Todd could not blame him. Getting shit chucked at you for jerking off, particularly when you didn't, and knew that everyone else did it, was not a pleasant experience. On the other hand, it was possible that Fred did not beat off. All things considered, Todd suspected that Fred did indeed keep his pecker firmly in his pants and did not masturbate, a suspicion confirmed by the fact that as Todd stared, bug-eyed, Fred was quite obviously, and in full, living colour, enjoying a wet dream!

Fred was lying on his bunk, naked except for a particularly vile pair of tri-coloured boxers: yellow, green and red. From the slit of his boxers, pointed toward his navel, Fred's erection, all eight or so inches of it, bounced slightly.

Todd had to admit that Fred possessed a handsome and impressive weapon. His penis was long and thin, and quite well formed, with a perfectly proportioned, neatly circumcised head. From the little diffused sunlight streaming through the door leading to barrack yard Todd could see that the top third or so of Fred's boner was deep red. As Todd watched Fred squirmed and screwed up his face into a mask of excruciating pleasure. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue quickly across his lips, a small groan rising from his throat. From time to time he raised his hips, thrusting his penis upward.

From Todd's perspective the whole scene in front of him was actually very interesting. He had never had a wet dream but he knew what was supposed to happen, and Todd had never seen anybody having a wet dream, until now, that is, for Fred was demonstrably having a wet dream!

As Todd watched, Fred began to moan softly and raise and lower his hips rhythmically. Todd had been around the horn a time or six and knew when a guy was about to blow his load. From the look on Fred's face he was ready to blow and Todd wondered if he was a moaner, a groaner or a howler. Some guys squealed and howled, others groaned and moaned. Sylvain yipped and yiped. Some guys just came, barely breathing and hardly making a sound.

Todd took a step backward, out of the line of fire and looked, simply unable to take his eyes away from Fred's long, smooth boner, wondering if Fred ever fooled around because if he did he, well then, he and Cory could . . . Fred's cock gave a sudden jerk and a small fountain of semen spurted out, followed by another. For a brief moment Todd thought that Fred would not have much of a chance in a cum contest.

Suddenly Fred's body convulsed. His hips thrust violently upward and his head jerked forward. A huge stream of cum shot out of his dick and slammed into his chin. His tongue, long like his dick, and very pink, flicked out and the blob of cum was gone. Almost immediately Fred's body convulsed again and another, then another stream of thin, milky-white ejaculate spurted from his piss hole, slamming against his neck, then dead centre of his chest.

Todd's jaw dropped as Fred, gasping, totally overcome and lost in orgasmic dementia, continued to spurt decreasing amounts of spunk down his body until finally, after eight or nine spurts, his dick fell back and a small drop oozed slowly from his clean-lined helmet. Fred sank back against his pillow and a long, satisfied groan arose from deep within his chest and a huge, satisfied grin spread slowly across his face.

"After that display," thought Todd, "you should be happy!"

Fred's right hand moved, lingered briefly on the tip of his softening penis and then slowly moved up his body, gathering the pools and puddles of his cum. He raised his hand and much to Todd's surprise he plunged his fingers into his mouth. Fred suckled happily, cleaning his warm ejaculate from his hand. When he was sated he dropped his hand and he began to breathe slowly and rhythmically.

Todd had been so absorbed in Fred's wet dream that he did not realize that the front of his shorts held a huge tent. He reached down and a huge jolt of pleasure screamed through his loins and he creamed himself. Gasping, and feeling a little disgusted with himself, Todd retreated to his locker where he pulled out a clean pair of boxers. He could hardly go calling on Tyler with his drawers full of spunk and needed to change. Todd also needed to clean himself. His soft dick was coated with his rapidly cooling sperm and his pubic hairs were clotted with the stuff.

As he passed Fred's bunk Todd bent down and pulled the coverlet, which Fred had kicked off during the night, over Fred's body, covering the still smiling boy and as he headed into the washplace Todd thought it was the least that a gentleman could do.

Tyler sat at his desk, nursing a small tot of Nelson's blood, thinking. >From time to time he ran his finger along his lips, tasting again the long, sweet kiss he had exchanged with The Phantom. He was very disturbed. He was 18 years old. In three days the world would beat a path to AURORA for a day full of protocol and ceremony. In three weeks he would report to Royal Roads and begin what he hoped would be a long and illustrious career as a naval officer. He should have been thinking about his duties as Master at Arms. He should have been thinking of his future. He was not.

He was thinking about the tightness in his groin and the tingling feeling he always got when he was sexually excited. Unconsciously Tyler reached down and felt his semi-hard penis through the fabric of his white briefs. He felt his penis thicken and he jerked his hand away, embarrassed that he was fondling himself with all the lights on and Val in the other bed.

What disturbed Tyler, aside from the lingering pleasure that he felt after kissing The Phantom, was that more and more he was thinking about Val, who was stretched out on his bunk doing what he always did, scratching and squeezing himself, a dark, handsome Sicilian prince.

Just the thought of Val's hard, tightly muscled body caused Tyler's dick to harden. He quickly raised his leg and propped his foot on the rung of his chair, hiding the bulge that was tenting his underpants from Val's line of sight. More and more Tyler was beginning to realize that Val meant more to him than just friendship, and that he was thinking thoughts that he should not be thinking, and feeling emotions that he should not be feeling.

Kissing The Phantom had set in motion a juggernaut-like train of emotions and thoughts that had set Tyler's mind to reeling, disgust duelling with desire, fear jousting with euphoria, the mere thought of Val making him want to rush into the heads and do a Thumper, if only to relieve momentarily the feelings of lust that had set his crotch on fire.

Tyler glanced over at Val, who was lying with his drink balanced on his stomach, his eyes half closed. Tyler sighed inwardly, wishing that Val would drop off to sleep. He also thought wistfully that now would be a very good time for the night visitor to come calling.

Which was something else that he should not be thinking about, but Jesus, did that guy know how to work a boner! Tyler took a huge gulp of his rum and water. Jesus, if only that guy would come back. It's been such a long time that . . . A light tap on the door interrupted Tyler's reverie.

Val's eyes snapped open and he glared at the door. "That will be Todd," he grumbled. "Come to make sure we cleaned up."

Tyler nodded absently, thinking about what they had found in the locker room. "We have to tell him." He raised his head. "Come," he instructed, his voice louder than he intended.

Todd entered the room and glanced about. Val raised his glass, offering a drink. Todd shook his head, no. He was not a big drinker in any case and rum in the middle of the night did not appeal to him. He sat on Tyler's bunk.

"All quiet?" asked Tyler.

"As quiet as it ever is," replied Todd with a grin. Then he thought of Fred, and what he had seen Fred doing, and his grin grew. "Nothing and nobody stirring."

"Somebody was," said Val ominously.

"What?" Todd, worried now, looked at Tyler.

"When we got to the locker room the place had been cleaned up," explained Tyler. He held out his glass for a refill. Val rolled out of bed, found the bottle of rum, and poured a healthy shot into Tyler's glass. "Val's blanket was folded and the towels were draped over the back of the bench to dry," continued Tyler. He turned his chair and reached for the small jug of water at the edge of the table, giving Todd a magnificent view of the impressive bulge in his underpants. "The shampoo and soap had been put back in the proper lockers. There was no mess at all," said Val. "It was like we had never been there." Tyler held up the rum bottle. "Except for this and my sea blanket, that is." He poured a small measure of water into his glass of rum. "Which leads us to ask the question: 'Who?'" he asked quietly.

"One of the cooks. Has to be," stated Val firmly as he returned to his bed.

Todd thought a moment. "Makes sense. But which one, and why so early?"

"Early?" Val raised himself on one elbow. "The cooks are always up and doing early."

Tyler smiled thinly and shook his head. "Not on Sunday. Except for the Forenoon Watchmen nobody gets up before noon at the earliest. The Duty Cook doesn't come on until 0600."

"Somebody from the Duty Watch copping a shower?" offered Val.

It was Todd's turn to shake his head. "No. That early in the morning, and so close to their watch ending, no, nobody from the Duty watch. It has to be a cook."

"Which one?" asked Val. "Sandro? Ray? Maybe the Brats?"

Tyler quickly consulted his copy of Routine Orders, and then looked up. "Ray. It had to have been Ray. He always takes the early shift on Sunday because Sandro is usually still in Courtenay. He takes the afternoon shift." Then he frowned. "Randy and Joey are also early duty."

Todd grinned knowingly. "Not a problem, Tyler. Randy and Joey never go near the showers unless Ray or Chef chase them into them."

"Would Ray say anything, assuming that it's him?" asked Val.

Todd shook his head. "If Ray says anything, which I doubt he will, just tell him that Phantom is involved." He shrugged. "He's tight with Phantom. As for Randy and Joey, they adore Phantom and call him their Honourary Big Brother. Unless I am totally wrong, none of the cooks will say anything to anybody if they think that Phantom is involved."

"Assuming that one of the cooks did clean up after us," said Val.

"If it wasn't one of the cooks, then we lie," replied Todd smoothly. "We simply tell whoever asks that a bunch of us snuck into the Mess Hall showers and had a wash."

"Which is perfectly believable," agreed Tyler. "I'm surprised the rest of the troops haven't twigged onto the fact that the cooks and the officers have working showers and we don't."

Val waved his glass at Todd. "Todd, be a friend and pour me the other half, please." He looked at Tyler. "I was in the canteen after supper. Some of the guys were mouthing off about the showers."

"I will deal with the Lower Deck Lawyers," said Tyler sharply. "It's about time that some of our cadets realized that this is a commissioned ship and not the Sally Ann Camp for Wayward Boys!" He turned to Todd. "For the time being we assume that nobody but us three, and Cory, know what happened tonight?"

Todd nodded. "When I did my walkabout I saw no one. We left nothing lying around that can connect Phantom or us to what happened in the Petty Officers Mess."

"And Little Big Man?" Tyler stood up and retrieved the bottle from Todd. "Will he scream rape?" He poured another drink. "Alternatively, if he doesn't scream rape, what do you want Val and me to do? Keep quiet? Let him know that we know what happened?"

Todd, who could not resist Tyler's well-packed ass, enjoyed the view and waited until the Master at Arms sat down again before replying. "If he was going to scream rape, he'd have done it by now. Let's face it, if you wake up and find some guy hanging off the end of your dick, you either lie back and enjoy it or raise proper hell. Do you hear him doing that?"

Both Tyler and Val had to agree. Everything was as quiet as a tomb.

"Are you going to fill us in on what you plan on doing?" asked Val presently.

Todd chuckled. "Oh, how about we make him sweat for awhile?" While he had decided to end the affair with Little Big man as soon as he could, Todd saw no harm in allowing his barracks mates to have a little fun at Little Big Man's expense if the opportunity presented itself. Who knew, such "fun" just might add the extra fillip to convince Little Big Man that he was toast.

"And how do we do that?" asked Tyler.

Todd leaned forward, a plan coming together in his mind. "Play it by ear. Maybe, when you see him, you ask him if he slept well, which is a perfectly normal, legitimate question."

"Why would we care if he slept well?" asked Val. "Why would we even ask him how he slept?"

"Precisely!" crowed Todd. "Asking after his sleeping habits, or his health, is totally out of character for any of us."

Tyler started laughing. "Of course! He's going to wonder why all of a sudden we ask him something that we've never asked after he'd just gotten fucked! He has got to think that we're up to something, or know something!"

Val sniggered. "Or how about we ask him if he's hurt himself since he's walking so funny?"

"Now that deserves a drink!" Todd was laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

Val got off his bunk, rummaged around the pile of clothing at the foot of his bed and dug out a glass. He poured Todd a arge rum. Todd cut the rum with some water and hoisted his glass, first to Tyler, then to Val. "See how easy it is? You ask him a perfectly innocuous question but," Todd paused for effect and continued. "While you're doing it you snicker, or smile, just a little."

Val reached into his boxers and gave himself a contemplative scratch. "That is the most devious, underhanded thing that I have ever heard of!" he declared flatly. Then he laughed heartily. "I love it!"

Tyler shook his head slowly. "We are vicious, mean buggers, you know that?"

Todd settled back on Tyler's bunk, making himself comfortable. "We have to be, Tyler. There is too much at stake for us not to be vicious or mean. Little Big Man has a goal. So do I!"

Val returned to his bunk and settled in. "And what goal is that, other than to drive the little prick right 'round the twist."

Todd regarded Val evenly. "I want him out! I want him out of the Sea Cadets!" Todd declared with harsh, pitiless candour. "I want him so scared that he will never, ever, even think of joining the military! I want Paul Greene so scared that next week, next month, next year, if he sees someone in a Sea Cadet uniform he will piss his pants because he will be wondering if the guy knows that last night he committed the one unforgivable sin. Last night he had sex with a guy and the more people he thinks know about it the less likely he is going to want to stay in the Cadets."

Val grinned and shuddered theatrically. "Remind me never to piss you off!"

Tyler leaned back in his chair. "What pisses me off is that we could have solved the problem a month ago. I should have shopped the little bastard for fighting . . ."

"For fuck sake, Tyler, don't go over that again," said Todd warmly. "You tried one approach and it did not work. Okay, fine. Case closed. Consider it a lesson learned and move on."

"You did not have an Honourary Sea Cadet tell you that you fucked up," returned Val.

"Phantom is not an Honourary anything," returned Todd angrily, his face and voice firm. "He IS a Sea Cadet! Remember? We made him one. We made him the Chief Steward of the Sea Cadets, you, me, Tyler, all of us."

"Calm down, Todd," ordered Tyler quietly. "There is no need to get all huffy about what Phantom is, or is not. He is one of us, and he is a Chief." He took a small sip of his almost empty glass. "And Val, as for what he told us tonight, it was the truth. We had our chance, we took a different route and we were wrong. Lesson learned."

Val nodded glumly. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry Todd."

"Do we kiss and make up?" asked Todd, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Things were getting entirely too heavy.

"Personally, I'd sooner kiss a pig," growled Val. Which was a lie.

"I thought Sicilians were partial to sheep," returned Todd.

Tyler tried to be firm but smiled despite himself. "That's enough, you two." He looked at Todd. "So when do we begin our part of this campaign of yours?"

"This afternoon, this evening, whenever you see him. Cory and I will lie low today. Let's lull him into a false sense of security so far as we are concerned. If he thinks that we do not know anything it will be all that more effective when we do lower the boom on him."

Tyler stood up and gestured toward the door. "We'll do our part. Now hit the road. I'm tired, Val is tired, and you must be tired."

"Aw, Tyler, I'm just getting comfortable," Todd pretended to whine.

"Get comfortable in your own bed. You are not sleeping in my bed!"

Todd stuck out his lower lip, pouting. "I've been told that I am very cuddly."

"Val says the same thing, but you do not notice me sleeping with him, do you?"

"Your loss, Tiger," sniped Val. He pulled his top sheet over his head and rolled on his side.

"Don't go to sleep yet, Val, there is something I want to run by you and Tyler," said Todd. He left Tyler's bunk, sat on Val's, and gave Val's bum a pat.

"I'll give you exactly one hour to stop that," came Val's muffled voice.

"Ah, the things that might have been," sighed Todd with heavy emphasis. "Come on, I need to talk to you about your parade."

Val, ever protective of his authority, quickly sat up. "What about my parade?" he asked pointedly.

Todd feigned terror and drew back. "Don't get your knickers in a twist." He waggled his eyebrows at Val. "And very nice knickers they are, too!"

"Todd!" warned Tyler.

"Okay, okay, relax." Todd grinned first at Val, then at Tyler. "I think we should do something for Phantom, to show our appreciation for what he did for us."

"Okay, and that is?" asked Tyler warily.

"Well, what I thought was . . ."

Both Chiefs listened intently as Todd outlined his plan for the Tuesday morning Full Dress Rehearsal. When he was finished Val screwed up his face, nodded two or three times and then spoke. "It's doable. Except for the music there's no deviation from what we would normally do. So, yeah, let's do it."

Tyler agreed. "The only problem might be the uniforms. Normal routine is to wear whites in the morning for Divisions and blues at night for the Ceremony of the Flags. To do things up right I would want to wear my Number 11 uniform. In fact, I would want all the Chiefs and Petty Officers to wear their Number 11s."

Todd saw where Tyler was going. "Which just happens to be the same uniform we have to wear at the Mess Dinner tomorrow night."

"We have two sets," Val pointed out. "That Leung guy and his crew took them for alterations, remember?"

"Which he will have back this afternoon," thought Todd out loud.

"There is also the reception on Wednesday. Number 11, Dress Uniform, White, shall be worn by all hands, except for those cadets detailed to Work Parties." quoted Tyler from Routine Orders.

"The trouble with whites is that if you look at them the wrong way they get dirty," said Val, settling back in his bunk. "It would really help if we could get the water turned on. If only for the washing machines."

Tyler knew what was coming next. "I'll speak to the Executive Officer first thing Monday morning and see if we can get the water for the washing machines, and two showers, one in the morning, one in the evening."

"I knew that your innate officer-like qualities would come to the surface sooner or later," replied Val snidely.

Tyler ignored his roommate. He turned to Todd. "Anything else?" he asked as he pointedly opened the door.

"None at all," returned Todd, taking the hint. "I'll speak to Harry about the music. Other than that, I think I'll go to bed."

"Good." Tyler opened the door wider. "I'll see you later, then."

As he passed Tyler, Todd could not resist. His hand flashed and he gave Tyler's genitals a quick feel. "Ah, the things that might have been, Tiger," he said with a snicker as he left the Mess.

As the sun continued its slow ascent life at AURORA on a quiet Sunday morning continued. In the galley, after much cursing and swearing, Ray managed to get the stoves going, and Andy and the Brats fed. With more swearing, some cajoling and a healthy threat of emasculation with Chef's cleaver, he also managed to get the breakfast set-up going.

In the Guardhouse Stuart, who was Duty Chief, at 0715 sent Anson and Steve out to rouse the Forenoon Watchmen. Anson, who had been standing Watch on Watch, was dead tired and in no mood for any nonsense. He was still smarting from the tongue-lashing he had received from his brother, Phillip, called The Assistant, over his loan-sharking enterprise. He had spent half the night dozing in the one comfortable chair in the Guardhouse, half-listening to Stuart and Steve bicker and snarl their way through a seemingly endless game of cribbage.

Anson first went into the Cooks Barracks where he woke up one half of the Litany of the Saints. Unfortunately he woke the wrong half. Matthew and Mark, rudely awakened by a rough shaking of their legs and shoulders for a Duty Watch they did not have to stand, snarled and snapped at Anson, called him every name they could think of and pointed to the bunks above them where the right half of the Litany, Luke and John, who had been awakened by all the noise, lay snickering. Anson returned curse for curse and when he left he had four pissed off Makee-Learns plotting revenge.

Leaving the Cooks Barracks Anson carried on to the Musicians Mess where he endured more maledictions and curses, the first from "Young Brown", which Anson thought was pretty nervy since the only duties Brown had were to blow the bugle at Divisions and Sunset. Next on Anson's list was Andre, who was curled up in a tight ball and not at all pleased with having to get up. He had been up half the night with Nicholas and they hadn't sinned once! Instead they had worked steadily on the surprise that Nicholas had planned for the coming Wednesday.

Andre muttered and sputtered, but got up after calling Anson only one or two names. In French.

Half convinced that rather than endure all the shit he was getting he should just stand the next Watch, Anson went into the Gunners Barracks where he gave Nick a quick shake.

Surprisingly, Nick woke almost immediately, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, jumped down from his upper bunk and headed for the washplace. Anson reached below and shook Chad, who opened one eye and gave his tormentor a dirty look. "Fuck off, Anson," he said without rancour.

"Don't tell me to fuck off!" whispered Anson fiercely. "You've got the Duty, now get your lazy ass out of bed!"

"No!" Chad rolled over and pulled his covers over his head.

"God damn it!" snapped Anson. He reached down and pulled Chad onto his back. "Get the fuck up Chad. I ain't screwing around here. You either get up or I log you." He straightened and stepped back. "I ain't fucking around, Chad!" he warned again.

Chad raised himself on one elbow and looked up at Anson, who was red-faced and breathing heavily. A slow smile formed on Chad's broad, handsome face. What Anson did not know was that Chad was as gay as a duck, which only Kevin and Nick knew. Kevin knew because he had caught Chad and Nick going at it one night. Nick knew because Chad had been more or less servicing him on a regular basis back home in Gananoque. Which service had not happened at AURORA because Nick insisted on playing his stupid straight-boy-getting-sex-from-the-local-queer routine, which pissed Chad off because he was getting tired of all the bullshit he had to go through just to stick a dildo up Nick's ass while he beat off! As a consequence Chad was horny and frustrated. Being around 80 horny gunners did not help matters at all. All those morning woodies! It was all he could do to keep himself on the straight and narrow. And that was about to change.

"Aw, come on, Anson, get somebody else to do it," pleaded Chad, his grin growing wider. "You can do it, and I'll be very grateful."

Anson sniffed loudly. "You ain't got nothing I want! Now get up, asshole."

Chad said nothing at first. His hand reached out and he gently squeezed the soft bulge in the front of Anson's blue serge bell-bottoms. "Maybe I can give you something you might want," murmured Chad.

Anson was so shocked at Chad's feeling him up that his jaw dropped. He did not know what to do. His brain told him to back away at a rate of knots. His dick told him otherwise, rising smartly and straining the fabric of his pants. "Cha . . . Chad . . . what the . . ." stammered Anson, his voice low.

"Shh, Anson, you don't want to wake Kevin, do you?" asked Chad as he slowly pulled down the zipper of Anson's trousers.

"Chad, stop . . . hey . . ." protested Anson half-heartedly as Chad slipped his hand into his trousers. He groaned as Chad began to massage his rock-hard boner and the memory of that night flooded back.

"Look what I found," said Chad as he slipped his hand under the leg band of Anson's briefs. "Come a little closer."

"I . . ." began Anson. But he moved closer.

Anson wanted what was about to happen to happen. He'd been jacking off almost every night thinking about the visitor who had blown him in the middle of the night, fantasizing about the guy coming back. He groaned softly as Chad ran his thumb across his dickhead. And moved closer still.

Wordlessly Chad pulled Anson's now erect organ from his underwear.

Anson shivered as a rippling wave of pleasure rolled through him. He began breathing heavier and shifted forward as Chad slowly and carefully pulled his throbbing penis from his trousers.

Chad looked up and smiled at Anson, then leaned down and down and kissed the squirming boy's crisp, clean mushroom. "Nice," he murmured. He moved his hand and fisted the bottom half of Anson's hard, seven inches of warm, pulsing flesh. He could feel the heat and the pulsing of the blood that flowed wildly through the thick vein that ran along the top of Anson's throbbing penis.

Anson's knees buckled against the mattress as Chad lowered his head and his mouth engulfed the upper half of his sweet, delicious cock. Chad sucked slowly, savouring the wonderful taste of Anson's cock. With his tongue he gently rubbed the sensitive underside of Anson's helmet.

Anson buried his face in Nick's bedclothes, muffling the groaning noises that rose from his throat. Time and motion all but stopped for Anson. Chad's tongue action was driving him wild and he began slow, instinctive pelvic thrusts. Except for the soft, barely audible sucking noise that Chad made on Anson's boner, and Anson's muffled groans, the barracks room was quiet. "Ah, fuck, man, I'm gonna blow," moaned Anson. He felt his balls tighten and the wave of excruciating pleasure that had been building in his balls roared through him.

Chad felt Anson's cock lengthen and thicken. Anson jerked, his dickhead so sensitive that he all but screamed his delight. With quick, sharp thrusts he began ejaculating, his cock squirting thick streams of hot, thick semen into Chad's avidly swallowing mouth.

Chad continued to suck, his tongue lapping and bathing Anson's spasming helmet. He was slowly drawing his mouth upward, preparing to leave the delicious flesh that had produced so much wonderful nectar when Anson gasped, thrust upward and came again. More of his juices shot out of his dick and as this second orgasm smashed through him his legs collapsed.

As he continued to slowly suck Anson's dick clean, Chad quickly grasped his waist, holding him upright until his shuddering stopped, then let Anson's softening cock slip from his mouth.

Anson could barely articulate. Holy SHIT! Was that good! He looked down at Chad, who smiled and wiped a small, thin line of cum from the corner of his lip. "I'll, I'll . . . Go back to sleep," Anson managed to get out as he stuffed his softening dick back into his trousers. "I'll, I'll . . ." He swallowed hard and backed slowly away. "I'll tell them that you're sick."

"You're a pal, Anson," replied Chad with a grin. He lay back on his pillow. "And Anson?"

"Yeah?"

"You like sailing?"

Anson nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

Chad closed his eyes. "How about we take out one of the boats this afternoon. Maybe go for a sail?"

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Chad opened his eyes and nodded. "About 1300, in the Dockyard?"

Anson rubbed the front of his trousers. "Oh, yeah!" he breathed.

The barracks door had barely slammed behind Anson when Kevin rolled over and smiled at Chad and raised his eyebrows. He shook his head slowly.

Chad shrugged. "Got me out of duty, didn't it?"

As the morning progressed a small storm front moved in and for an hour or so a light rain fell. It moved off and the sun reappeared, filling the barracks buildings with light. Little Big Man, whose bunk was directly under a window, awoke sometime around noon. He opened his eyes, momentarily confused, then flung his left arm over his eyes, blocking out the harsh sunlight that streamed through the window.

Instinctively Little Big Man's right hand slowly traced a path down his naked chest and through his sparse, dark blonde bush of wiry pubic hairs. He scratched his pubic bush and his fingers gently tweaked the tip of his morning woody. He gasped as a sharp, quick dart of pain raced down his dick. He sat up with a start. Jesus! Was his dick sore! And his balls! Fuck his balls felt so tight and shrivelled! He lifted the covers and stared at his dick and balls. The curving knob of his dick was cherry-red, as was the top half of his shaft. His marble-sized balls, which were as red as his dick shaft, were drawn up tight against his crotch, the normally smooth, hairless sack slightly wrinkled. His ass felt sore and, strangely, empty. As he turned to sit up Little Big Man felt his leg brush against something. He looked down and saw a rumpled pile of dark cloth. He reached down and held up the boxer shorts.

Little Big Man sobbed, dropped the boxer shorts and buried his face in his hands. It was true! It was not a dream! He shook his head back and forth, his body wracked with dry sobs of guilt and shame. It HAD happened. The thing that he had feared for so long, the fear that he had buried so deep within his soul, the feelings that he had held in check with an iron will, everything had burst forth and last night he had slept with another male. He had been fucked by, and had fucked, another MALE.

At the thought of the vile, abhorrent, filthy acts he had committed in the night, Paul's stomach heaved and he felt the sour taste of vomit rise in his throat. He leaned over the bed and spewed, the dark amber liquid rejected by his stomach obliterating the large, damp stain that soiled the sheet.

Little Big Man cursed silently, his whole being filled with self-loathing. He remembered waking in the night. He remembered his fervent, violent denials that nothing had happened. He rocked back and forth, moaning softly as vivid snippets of memory flashed through his brain. He remembered the heavy weight of a body on his groin and the warm, wet tightness that had enveloped his raging hardon and sent him hurtling over an abyss of pleasure so deep that it seemed as if no matter how much he clawed and tried to climb he could never find his way to the top again.

He remembered the smooth, slick, crisply formed cockhead that had filled his eager, sucking mouth and he tasted again the salty-sweetness of the liquid that caressed his tongue and filled his throat with delight. He ran his tongue over his lips. They were slightly swollen and he licked away a small drop of dried, coppery-tasting blood that stained the corner of his lip.

Most of all he remembered the thick, satiny rod of flesh that had driven him close to madness as it rolled with excruciating slowness across something deep within him, each slow caress a searing river of such extraordinary delight that he had bitten the inside of his lower lip to keep from screaming his joy. He lifted his right butt cheek and his hand felt his hole, which seemed to twitch at his touch, and felt tender and distended. Without thinking he slipped a finger into his hole, not caring if anyone was watching, caring only that the feeling of emptiness that enveloped him was for a few brief moments alleviated. He heard a loud cough that seemed to come from the other end of the Mess and quickly pulled out his finger. His eyes darted wildly about and he heaved a heavy sigh of relief. Mike's bunk, which was directly across from his own, was empty. Phillip's bunk was also empty. No one had seen him committing what he had always been told was an abominable act on himself.

No one knew.

But of course, that was a lie. Little Big Man knew that he could lie to his father; he could lie to the Reverend Tumbrel. He could lie to the gods of the Aryan Brotherhood, but he could not lie to himself. He could lie and bluster, he could deny, deny, deny to everyone but himself.

Looking down at his naked body Little Big Man saw the crusted remains of his shame. The tip of his dick, the short shaft, and the insides of his thighs were clotted and spotted with pale grey blotches of dried ejaculate. His ass crack and hole felt gritty and sore. Beside him lay a pair of boxer shorts, not his, which were stiff with dried cum.

What was he to do? If he complained that he had been violated, who would believe him? They all hated him and after Matt's outburst in the Mess Hall most of the other cadets would willingly believe that he was queer anyway so what was all the fuss about?

Who would he accuse? Could he accuse a warm, firm, anonymous, hooded body that had come quietly in the night, a spectre, a ghost, a wraith? He'd be laughed out of the Ship's Office!

Think! What to do? Think!

Little Big Man's mind reeled. Whoever had come into the Mess would never reveal what had happened. There was no reason for him to do so. Who would admit that he had committed such acts? No, reasoned Little Big Man, there would be no admission of guilt from that quarter. He was safe. No one except himself and the boy who had come in the night knew what had happened. He remembered the dark forms of Mike and Phillip as they stripped off their uniforms, and he remembered that they had returned to the Mess after washing up, after the pleasure had left his body. They could not have seen anything and they knew nothing.

A quick, brief vignette of Mike and Phillip kissing and fondling each other, of heavy breathing and underpants being pushed down formed in his mind. He smiled ruefully. For two months he had tried to find cadets in just such compromising positions and poses. Now, when it had finally happened, he dared not open his mouth. He could not take the chance, no matter how slim, that the Chief PTI and his Assistant had not seen something. He could not!

His breathing slowed and he felt calmer. He could, and would, get through this. He would have to moderate his ways, but that was the easy part. None of the other cadets, not even his own brother, bothered with him, or spoke to him unless it was absolutely necessary.

Tyler's banishing him to the Dockyard was a godsend. Little Big Man had found a few hidey-holes down there and he would be out of sight and no one would bother him. He could, and would, get through this. He would act as normal as possible, only he would keep his mouth shut. He was leaving in four days and Thursday could not come soon enough. Until he left he would make no wild accusations, mutter no more heinous assertions. He would lie low, draw no attention to himself and give no one, especially that one person who knew his secret, an excuse to point a finger, or make a veiled hint. Only two people knew of his dreadful secret, himself, and the other boy. He would not talk, the other boy would not talk, and he was safe.

Once he had decided what he would, and would not do, Little Big Man looked around his cubicle. There must be no evidence. He stood up and quickly rolled the sheets and coverlet into a tight ball. He could explain the soiled sheets when he exchanged them tomorrow for fresh bed linen. The change in the weather, the heat, the cool nights, hell, was it any wonder a guy's stomach got upset? Was it any wonder a guy would spew his ring? Little Big Man smiled tightly. Yeah, that would work.

He was safe.

He snatched up the soiled boxers. There was a gash bucket just inside the door leading to the outside. He quickly left his cubicle and pushed the offending boxers deep inside the plastic bag that lined the trash bin, hiding them under the discarded shaving cream cans, crumpled up paper towels and empty paper cups that filled the bag. Later, when there was no one about, he would seal the bag and toss it onto the small pile of bags outside the door. Tomorrow the civilian day staff would collect the weekend garbage and the underpants would disappear forever.

He was safe.

He returned to his cubicle and wrapped a towel around his waist, concealing the crusted remnants of what he considered his night of shame. He gathered up his soap and washcloth. He could not shower properly, but a stoker scrub would remove the last physical reminders of last night.

Leaving the imagined safety of his cubicle, Little Big Man headed for the washplace, cocooned in self-delusion, not knowing that in a few short steps an act that everybody who lived in the Mess witnessed every morning would trigger the destruction of his illusionary cocoon and open the floodgates of terror and paranoia.

At the far end of the Mess, in the bunk closest to the door leading to the heads and wash place Mal lay on top of his bunk performing The Ritual. Mal was a tall, slim, firmly muscled cadet with black hair and a ready smile. While not handsome, he had a pleasant face and an easygoing manner. He held the substantive rate of Boatswain Petty Officer and was supposed to be in charge of the small sailboats and whalers in the Dockyard. That he rarely exercised his Boatswain talents was not surprising, seeing that he was never on the jetty or in one of the small boats long enough to do anything meaningful.

Mal had one obsession and two habits that annoyed the hell out of his fellow cadets, primarily Willy and Jack, who slept directly across from him in the Mess, and Steve, who had to do the work that Mal never seemed able to get around to doing, all three of which combined to give rise to the firm conviction that Mal was as crazy as a shit house rat.

Mal was obsessed with diving. He lived, breathed, ate and slept diving. He talked of nothing else and chattered incessantly about wet suits, valves, nitrogen levels, oxygen ratios and inspecting ship's bottoms. Steve grumbled constantly at having to take up the slack because Mal was under the water doing God knew what to the bottom of one of the YAGs. Stuart complained loudly about the volume of diving magazines that inundated his office, each thicker than the last and each full of the latest advances in aqualungs, scuba suits and assorted diving paraphernalia.

Mal's first annoying habit, if it could be called that, and which drove Willy and Jack to distraction and, they claimed, threatened to blind them, was his execrable taste in underpants. He was of the opinion that the more colourful his briefs the better. Willy and Jack were equally firm in their opinion that wearing underpants of any colour other than white was nothing short of sacrilege. They had long since given up vocalizing their opinion of Mal's taste in undies but cringed whenever he appeared, fresh from his evening shower, clad in his latest exercise in bad taste, evidenced last night when he emerged from the showers clad in a pair of violet briefs, piped at the legs and waist in yellow. Willy and Jack had shuddered, and pulled the covers over their heads.

Mal's obsession and taste in underwear paled in comparison, however, to Mal's insistence on performing every morning, except when he had the Forenoon Watch, The Ritual or, as Mal called it, the Airing of the Monster, which depended first of all on the production of a woody, which had never been a problem since before Mal's 12th birthday. The second necessity seemed to be the need for an audience, almost always the long-suffering Willy and Jack.

Phillip, called the Assistant, who slept in the bunk beside Mal's, could not have cared less. He was not at all impressed with Mal's 'Monster', which was not all that monstrous and was, in fact, compared to his own, rather puny. Phillip had no interest in Mal or his hooded 'Monster' and did his best to ignore the whole production.

Mike, who had seen Mal's dick soft, hard, and semi, pretended not to notice anything. There was only one dick in the Mess that he was interested in, and it wasn't Mal's, thank you very much.

The Ritual always began in the same way and this morning was no exception. As soon as his eyes opened Mal stretched, then flung aside the covers. He continued stretching until he was fully awake, at which point he would reach down and feel his morning woody, ensuring himself that his organ had reached the zenith of length and thickness. Satisfied, he could begin.

He began, as he did every morning, by slipping his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs and slowly pushing them down. He would then wedge the elastic waistband of his briefs under his so-so sized balls and gaze for a full five minutes at his erection, flexing his ass muscles and causing it to bob slowly up and down. When he was finished admiring himself Mal would begin the next part of The Ritual. He would lower his hands and begin to twiddle, twitch, pull and fondle his foreskin. He would open the thick sheath with his thumb and forefinger and peer inside, though what he expected to find, other than his cockhead neither Willy nor Jack could figure out.

Next came the "unveiling". He would slowly pull his foreskin down until the purple, shiny, conical head was fully exposed. The Monster could now be aired. Mal would twirl his penis in a circular motion. This he said allowed his knob to "breathe". Willy said all it did was spread the smell of cock cheese. Once the Monster had breathed enough, Mal would slowly push his foreskin up, covering the head of his dick, waggle the dusky-skinned, hooded beast at Willy and Jack and pull his underwear up, returning the Monster to its natural habitat and ending the show.

Willy and Jack were so accustomed to Mal's morning exhibition that they barely bothered to comment any more, except to say that they wished he would just jerk the thing and get it over with.

Mal claimed that his body was temple. He worked out every morning, sometimes with Mike, more often alone. His muscles were taut and toned. He neither smoked nor drank the illicit booze that everybody had. He was also firmly convinced that masturbation was essential to good mental health so he jerked off regularly.

Willy and Jack could not complain about Mal jerking off. They did it, pretended they didn't, and Bob's your uncle. No names, no pack drill. They knew from experience that Mal jerking off was a hell of a lot quicker than Mal playing with his dick.

The Ritual took 15 long, excruciating minutes, and Mal never reached orgasm. At night, however, he popped his nut after 2.04 minutes of heavy breathing and a loud grunt (Willy's watch had a luminous dial and a stop feature so one night he timed Mal). 2.04 minutes were his longest time. Usually he came well under the two-minute mark.

Little Big Man was not unaware of Mal's exhibitionism. He had never bothered to report The Ritual to his father because Mal was openly and loudly a straight guy, never even hinting that he had a queer thought. His exhibitionism, while annoying, was hardly unique, what with guys flashing their dicks all over the place. Little Big Man filed it all away in the "Little Known Facts about Well Known People" part of his brain.

Not being a morning person Little Big Man had never actually seen The Ritual. He always slept as late as he could and by the time he crawled out of his bunk the other cadets were long up and out of the Mess. This morning, however, was different. Little Big Man left his cubicle just in time to see the airing of Mal's monster. His eyes bulged at the sight of Mal, lying on his bunk, wearing what had to be the ugliest underpants Little Big Man had ever seen with his furry balls exposed and his dick in his hand, waving the shiny, wet-looking head at no one in particular. For a moment Little Big Man wondered if Mal had been the one . . . but no, the dick last night had been longer, thicker, and too smooth and finely shaped to be Mal's. The dick last night had been circumcised, which left Mal out of the picture (but not Willy or Jack or the other 90 percent of the cadet population). Having decided to act as normally as possible Little Big Man did exactly what Mal expected him to do. He curled his lips and sneered loudly. "You are a despicable, perverted pig!" he snarled as he passed Mal's bunk. "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Mal detested Paul Greene and as far as he was concerned the little prick was lower than a lump of whale shit at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. "What's the matter? Can't handle looking at a real man's dick?" Mal snapped. "Too much temptation for you?" He lowered his dick until it was pointing directly at Little Big Man. "Here, pretend it's a cream puff. Puff on it and you'll get cream."

"Fuck you," returned Little Big Man with all the venom he could muster. "Fucking faggot!"

Mal grinned evilly and pulled down his foreskin, revealing the deep purple head of his dick. A small, clear bead of precum oozed out as he slowly pushed his foreskin up. "You're the one who's giving my dick the once over and licking his chops," Mal said viciously. "Come on, Paulie, just give it a little suck. I guarantee that you'll love every inch of it"

Little Big Man was so angry that he could not speak. He opened his mouth but nothing came out except low, inarticulate, strangling noises.

Willy pulled the covers from his head and looked up. "What the fuck is all the noise about?"

Jack, who hated Little Big Man with a passion, could not resist baiting him. "Greene turned queer in the night and wants to suck Mal's dick."

"I do not!" screamed Little Big Man, regaining his voice.

"Well, come on over to my bunk," said Willy, motioning Little Big Man closer.

"My dick is nicer and I'm so horny the crack of dawn better look out."

"Hey, what about me?" protested Jack. "I ain't cheap, but I'm easy."

"Yeah, Greene, they don't call Jack the 8th dwarf for nothing," called Mal.

Willy grinned at Jack. "Hey, Sleazy, you think Paulie boy would be a good fuck?"

Little Big Man was all but dancing with rage. His face was so diffused with anger that he looked as if he was about to have apoplexy. "FUCK YOU!" he shrieked. "FUCK YOU!"

"Fuck ME?" roared Willy back. "Why you little prick that's what you want. Come on, Paulie, fuck me!"

But Little Big Man was not listening. He slammed into the heads and fell on his knees in front of one of the toilets, tears of rage coursing down his drawn cheeks.

"Fuck me. Please, fuck me. I want you to fuck me."

Little Big Man vomited explosively into the toilet bowl. Over and over again the words echoed and re-echoed. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard!" Another wave of nausea swept over him and again he vomited explosively into the toilet.

"Harder! Fuck me harder! Stick that big COCK in me!"

He was so overcome with terror that he voided his bladder, his warm piss running down his legs, forming a puddle on the ceramic-tiled deck and filling the small cubicle with the acrid smell of urine. A long, low moan of utter despair rolled from Little Big Man. He remembered. He remembered!

He remembered the second figure, hazy, seen through half-closed eyes, tall, slim, and staring down at him as he begged to be fucked and fucked again. He raised his tear-stained face and looked upward. "Please God, not him, not him!" he babbled. "Please dear God, don't let it be him!"

A door slammed somewhere in the Wardroom and Cory's eyes popped open. He sat up abruptly and looked around. He heard the murmur of voices in the corridor outside and left Phantom's side. He pressed his ear against the cabin door, listening, hearing nothing. As quietly as he could Cory turned the lock and opened the door slightly, listening carefully. Hearing nothing, he pulled the door open and looked up and down the corridor. Whoever it was had gone, probably into one of the cabins. Cory closed the door and walked to the bed. He gave The Phantom a shake.

"Mmmmf? What . . ." The Phantom shrugged off Cory's hand. "Go 'way, Stevie."

Cory grinned. Well, no sense in asking just how far along the relationship between The Gunner and Phantom had progressed!

"Phantom, get up, the officers are coming back," spoke Cory quietly but with a tone of urgency as he gave The Phantom another small shake.

The Phantom rolled on his back, opened his eyes, and then grinned at Cory. He reached out and before Cory could protest pulled him down. He kissed Cory's nose and then reached down and gave Cory's dick and balls a squeeze.

"Stop that, Phantom," giggled Cory as he struggled free from The Phantom's embrace. "We have to get out of here."

"Yeah, I suppose we have to," agreed The Phantom. He pulled himself into a sitting position. "Thanks for everything, Cory."

Cory shrugged and left the bed. Being this close to The Phantom was too tempting. He found his boxers and pulled them on. "How are you feeling, Phantom?" he asked quietly. "How are you really feeling?"

The Phantom lay back and folded his arms under his head. "Okay, I think." He turned his head and smiled at Cory. "I don't regret what I did."

"I don't mean that," returned Cory. He threw The Phantom's underpants at him. "Get dressed. We have to get out of here." He found his shorts and pulled them on. "I want to be sure that you're all right. I won't leave you if you're not."

The Phantom pulled himself from the bed. He opened his arms wide, beckoning Cory to come to him.

Cory gazed at his friend. God, what a magnificent animal Phantom was. Cory responded, as The Phantom knew he would. They held each other close and The Phantom lowered his head. His lips found Cory's and they kissed. After what seemed an eternity The Phantom slowly pushed Cory away. "I'm fine, and I am not going to do anything stupid. It's over and done with, Cory." He kissed Cory again. "It's sweet of you to worry about me, but I am fine."

Cory nodded. "No dreams?" he asked.

The Phantom shook his head no. He pulled on his underwear, then searched for something else to wear. Cory handed him the T-shirt and cooks whites that he had taken from The Phantom's locker. After dressing The Phantom sat on the bed and patted it. Cory sat down and The Phantom put his arms around his waist. "I didn't dream," he murmured, nuzzling Cory's neck. "No nightmares, nothing. All I did was sleep with one of my friends."

Cory could not help himself. He giggled as he pushed The Phantom away. "Stop that," he admonished half-heartedly. "And trust me, you did more than just sleep with me."

The Phantom chuckled. "Yeah, I know. I do remember what happened, Cory. I will always remember what happened." He grimaced. "Even coming out of the Petty Officers Mess with a belly full of Little Big Man's cum."

Cory, appalled and shocked, pulled away. "Phantom!"

The Phantom stared evenly at Cory. "Don't look at me like that! I know what I did! I know why I did it! I know how I reacted after I fucked him!" His voice was very low and he was very calm. "All that is in the past, Cory. I don't need to be handled with kid gloves." They stood up and The Phantom walked to the door. "I will never forget what I did last night. I will also never forget what you and Todd, and yes, Tyler and Val, did for me."

After making sure that the coast was clear they left the Wardroom and walked slowly across the parade square toward the Mess Hall. When they entered the cavernous dining hall they saw less than a dozen cadets eating the brunch buffet. This did not surprise them at all. A quick glance at the clock told them that it was just gone 1300. Brunch was served until 1400 and never all that well attended. Sleep was a more valuable commodity than food for most of the cadets on a Sunday. They would sleep and stuff themselves at the barbecue that Chef provided every Sunday for supper.

The galley was almost as empty as the dining room. Sandro, as Duty Cook, was busily directing Luke and John in preparing the massive amounts of salads needed for the barbecue. Randy and Joey were laying steaks, T- bones from the look of them, in large trays and spreading a marinade over the fresh, red meat. Neither Chef nor Ray seemed to be about.

"You hungry?" asked The Phantom as he and Cory entered the galley. Not waiting for an answer he walked to the prep table and looked over the food about to be taken out to the steam line. "We have pancakes, sausages and bacon." He gestured toward the pans of food.

Cory joined The Phantom and they filled their plates. They sat at the mess table and started to eat. Sandro, carrying cups and a carafe of coffee, joined them.

Sandro briefly wondered why The Phantom was here. Phantom was off duty, but then, he was never really off duty for he popped in and out of the galley at all hours, even on his too few days off. That he was with Cory was not surprising. Sandro knew that Phantom and Cory were close, just how close he did not care to speculate, and their being together was nothing new. Sandro also knew that The Phantom's parents were away. As being alone in an empty house was not all that pleasurable, he assumed that The Phantom wanted some company on this fine Sunday so had come to AURORA. He was also glad to see a friendly face. Ray had been, well, not Ray, all morning, snapping and complaining about everything and anything. He smiled and poured cups of coffee for all of them.

"Thanks, Sandro," said The Phantom, returning Sandro's smile. He looked around. "You doing okay?"

Sandro nodded. "Is . . . It's been fine. Not too many eating. Randy and Joey, they have been behaving, so I did not need a bucket of cold water."

Cory and The Phantom snickered. "They're very much in love, Sandro," said Cory between bites of sausages.

Sandro sniffed disdainfully. "They are very much on heat!"

Cory laughed loudly. He looked at The Phantom and gave a quick jerk of his head towards Sandro. "There sits a man who has never been in love."

"Maybe I have, maybe I have not," replied Sandro enigmatically.

The Phantom reached over and gave Sandro a small punch on his shoulder. "Come on, Sandro, have you ever been in love?"

Sandro blushed. "Well, no. There was a girl, in school, but she was not Jewish and in Russia, well, they think Zhids are only slightly better than Golden Boys."

"Zhids? Golden Boys?" asked Cory.

"In Russia, Jews are Zhids. It is like calling us kikes." He sighed heavily. "It is very bad for Jews. But, you know that." Both The Phantom and Cory nodded. "In Russia, it is worse for Golden Boys, boys like Randy and Joey, and you and Todd. They have no place to go, they cannot meet each other, like here. When two boys are found together, when people find out, the boys are sent to prison. The People's Militia, they have spies everywhere. Also the KGB. There are plenty like him to spy on people.

Neither Cory nor The Phantom had to ask whom Sandro was talking about. "Has he been around?" asked The Phantom.

"No, not since I came on duty."

"Must have decided to sleep late," said Cory, chuckling.

The Phantom nodded and stood up. "Well, I didn't sleep late so I am going home. What are you doing this afternoon, Cory?"

Cory stretched, yawned and patted his belly. "I've been fed and watered so I think I shall have me a zizz-ex." He stood up and began clearing away their dirty dishes. "I think I shall sleep until, oh, five or six, then have a nap!" He looked at the Phantom. "You coming back for the barbecue?"

"Can't," replied the Phantom as he too began cleaning up. "My folks are due in today and I have to pick The Gunner up from the airport later tonight." He turned to Sandro. "Unless you need me?"

Sandro shook his head. "Ray is due back later on. Also Chef."

"Chef isn't in?" asked The Phantom. This bit of information was surprising for Chef was always around. "He isn't sick, is he?"

Sandro shrugged. "I do not think so. He called and spoke to Ray. Ray said something about Chef staying home and working on something for the big dinner tomorrow night. Then he went off somewhere." Sandro leaned forward and looked at The Phantom. "Ray was in a very bad mood this morning. I think maybe he have a fight with you."

"I haven't seen him since yesterday" said The Phantom carefully. Ray was normally the most placid of individuals. If he was in a bad mood there had to be a reason. He assumed that Ray and Kevin had had words. What other reason could there be?

Sandro shrugged and stood up. "Then maybe he is mad because he had to get up early. The stoves would not work so he had to get up and fix them."

The Phantom thought it best to let the matter of Ray's bad mood drop. If Ray had had words with Kevin, which was possible, given Ray's doubts about their relationship, there was no good reason to pique Sandro's curiosity by asking questions. The Phantom did not know how much Sandro knew about Ray's relationship with Kevin and he did not want Sandro so much as thinking along those lines. The fewer people who knew about that relationship the better for both Ray and Kevin.

"I guess getting up when you don't have to will piss you off. I know it would me," interjected Cory.

"Yeah, that must be it," agreed The Phantom quickly, mentally thanking Cory. He turned to Sandro again. "I'll be at home all day. If you need me, call."

Sandro waved away The Phantom's offer. "We are okay. Everything is just about ready for tonight. Chef is coming in soon." He shook his head emphatically. "No, we will not need you. You have a good rest."

Both The Phantom and Cory left the galley, Cory through the main door, The Phantom through the loading dock, where he had parked The Gunner's Land Rover the night before. As he passed through the loading area he did not see Ray sitting in the shadows, nor did he hear Ray follow him from the building.

The Phantom got in the car and started it. He was just about to put the gear in drive when the passenger side of the vehicle opened and Ray got into the car. The Phantom, surprised at Ray's sudden appearance, stared at him.

Ray stared back. "You fucked Little Big Man," he said bluntly, without emotion. "And you blew Cory."

The Phantom slowly turned the key in the ignition and the sound of the motor died away. At first he thought that someone had told Ray what had happened in the Petty Officers Mess. Then he remembered that only he and Cory had been in Cabin 5 when he had . . . "You followed me!" he declared, an angry tone in his voice.

Ray stared straight ahead, not wanting to look at The Phantom. "No, I didn't," replied Ray just as hotly. "I got up to have a piss and heard Todd, and Tyler, and Val, and Cory talking in the change room."

"It was none of your business, Ray," said The Phantom tightly. "It . . . is . . . none of your business."

"None of my business?" yelled Ray. He slammed the dashboard of the car. "None of MY business that you feel the need to protect me, to make me safe?"

The Phantom had never seen Ray angry before. Nor had he seen his friend so upset. "Ray, this is hardly the place . . ." he began.

Ray crossed his arms. His face was set in stone. "I want an explanation, Phantom. I want to know why you felt the need to fuck Little Big Man. I want to know what I am being protected from. I am not leaving this FUCKING car until I get some answers!"

The Phantom started the car and pulled away from the Mess Hall. "You won't like what you hear, Ray," said The Phantom slowly.

"You let me be the judge of that," returned Ray sharply.

"I'm going ashore," replied The Phantom tightly. "Once we're across the causeway you're in trouble. You don't have permission to go ashore."

Continuing to stare straight ahead Ray snorted. "So, I'm jumping ship. Sue me. You are not getting rid of me that easily."

Faced with Ray's obduracy The Phantom decided to tell him everything. They drove in silence until they came to the turn in the road leading to The Phantom's house. Instead of turning The Phantom drove on. Ray pointed in the direction of The Phantom's house. "You live back there," he pointed out.

"You want to talk, we'll talk," replied The Phantom. "But not at my house. My parents are due home today. For all I know they're home already."

"So where are we going?" asked Ray, curious.

"The Gunner's apartment," The Phantom replied. He nodded toward the ring of keys dangling from the ignition. "I have the key. We can talk there and you can yell as much as you like."

Ray ignored the obvious gibe. "Fine."

After unlocking and opening the door to The Gunner's apartment, The Phantom gestured for Ray to enter. Once inside The Phantom leaned against the serving counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and offered Ray something to drink. Ray politely declined The Phantom's offer and sat in the lounge chair. "Please do not treat me as if I am a child," Ray said coldly.

"I don't intend to, and I didn't mean to," returned The Phantom. He sat on the sofa opposite Ray. "If I gave you that impression I apologise."

"Don't patronize me, Phantom."

"Ray, I . . ."

Ray held up his hand, not wanting The Phantom speak just yet. "Hear me out, Phantom."

"All right."

"Last night you went into the Petty Officers Mess and you fucked Little Big Man." Ray's tone was matter-of-fact. "I was in Chef's office with Kevin. I woke up and had to take a piss. I heard the others talking. I heard Todd say that they would take you to Cabin 5."

"You obviously heard more than that."

"I heard enough," snapped Ray. "After I cleaned up the mess you and your friends left I went toward the Wardroom. I saw Tyler and Val, and Todd. They didn't see me. I went into the Wardroom and I heard you and Cory."

The Phantom considered what he was going to say. He couldn't, and wouldn't lie to Ray. Ray's anger had surprised him. Perhaps he had misjudged Ray. "Ray, I am not trying to patronize you. I can't deny that I fucked Little Big Man. But, please understand, I did it for a good reason . . ."

"Don't tell me that you did it to protect ME!" shouted Ray. He balled his fist and waved it at The Phantom. "Don't automatically assume that I can't protect myself! Maybe I am not as strong as Harry is! Maybe I am not as smart as Todd is! You still do not have the right to appoint YOURSELF my protector! You had no fucking RIGHT to take away my RIGHT to at least TRY!" Ray stood up and pointed his finger at The Phantom. "You had the gall to tell Cory that I am one four people that you love more than anyone else in the world."

"I do, Ray," said The Phantom quietly. "And it wasn't gall. It was the truth." Ray swung his arm and pointed toward the bedroom. "No, Phantom. In there is the truth! In there you sleep with The Gunner! Did you sleep with the Twins in there? Well, did you, because you have slept with them, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have," replied The Phantom simply. "But not here."

Ray punched his chest. "And what about me? Answer me, Phantom, and tell me the truth! Climb down from that fucking white horse of yours and tell me!" He knelt in front of The Phantom and took his hands in his. "Tell me why, Phantom. Tell the guy you came to night after night. Tell the guy you made love you!"

The Phantom took a sharp breath as he pulled his hands away and then placed his palms against Ray's red, hot face. "Ray, I do love you. I love you in a way that I can't explain. I want to hold you, to make love to you. I want to protect you and, ah, fuck, Ray, I wish I had never started with you." He pulled away his hands and beat on the arm of the sofa. A smile curled his lips. "Before The Gunner, before Cory, before Todd, there was you. Yes, there were others, but Ray, they never meant to me what you mean to me." He reached up and pounded his forehead. "Why couldn't I just have left you alone!" He smiled gently at Ray. "I should have done with you what I did with the others. I should have just done it once, then walked away." He laughed cynically. "Instead I kept going back and the one thing I never figured on happened."

Ray reached up and ran his finger down The Phantom's face. He smiled his warm, sweet smile. "That I would fall in love with you?"

The Phantom nodded. "Got it in one."

Ray gave The Phantom a knowing smile. "Well, I did. And you fell in love with me." He held up his hand. His thumb and forefinger were barely half-an-inch apart. "Even if it was only that much."

The Phantom closed his eyes and moaned softy. "It was more than that, Ray," he whispered.

Ray stood up and then sat on the sofa beside The Phantom, who put his arms around him. Ray did the same and for a long time they sat there, just holding each other, savouring the moment.

The Phantom wanted to be held. He wanted to be held by this very special young man. He had not lied when he told Ray that he loved him. He leaned forward and kissed Ray gently. "When we were in Victoria, when we slept together, I wanted to make love to you."

"And I wanted you to," whispered Ray. "With all my heart, I wanted to feel you in me, I wanted to be a part of you, and I wanted you to be a part of me." He ran his hand up The Phantom's chest, feeling the hard muscles under the white cook's shirt.

The Phantom placed his hands on Ray's thin waist. "I couldn't. I wanted to, but I just couldn't." He moved his hands upward, feeling the warm, soft flesh under Ray's T-shirt. "I felt guilty. I still feel guilty."

"Guilty? Why would you feel guilty?" He moved his hands again and his fingers found the buttons of The Phantom's shirt. He was not sure how far this was going, but he was going to make the most of it.

"Ray, there were other boys before you. But, I never felt about them the way I felt about you." The Phantom chuckled ruefully. "At first, all I did was masturbate them. I did them once and I never went back. There were so many, you see."

Ray had unbuttoned The Phantom's shirt and was slowly rubbing his thumbs over and over the small nubs of The Phantom's nipples hidden under the soft cotton of his T-shirt. "What happened?"

The Phantom trembled with the delight he felt from Ray's caressing hands. "I sucked on you. I had never sucked a dick before, and when you came in my mouth, God, Ray, I had never tasted anything so sweet, so . . . desirable. I wanted more." He slipped his hands under Ray's T-shirt and pushed it over the boys' head. "I sucked you off and I wanted more and I kept going back to you. I knew what was happening. I knew that the more I came on to you the more you fell in love with me and the more I wanted you. I'm in love with The Gunner and I love you." He sighed heavily. "I was in love with another guy and there I was sleeping with you. I thought that I was leading you on. I wanted you, but not for the reasons you wanted me."

Ray pushed The Phantom's shirt off of his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He reached down and pulled The Phantom's T-shirt over his head. They were both naked from the waist up. Ray's arms enveloped The Phantom and their lips met. When they parted Ray looked at his first lover and smiled. "You never led me anywhere, Phantom. The first time you came to my bunk, I was startled, and afraid. At first I tried to tell myself that the feelings I was having were not true, that I didn't want to feel them." He undid the button of The Phantom's white trousers and pushed them, and his underwear, down. He ran the back of his hand up the underside of The Phantom's iron-hard erection.

"But, you did feel them," replied The Phantom. His hands found the waistband of Ray's briefs and he slipped them down under the elastic and cotton. He felt Ray's firm, round butt.

"I felt them," confirmed Ray as his hand grasped The Phantom's wonderfully hard erection. "In time I realized that those feelings had always been there. I wanted you. I wasn't afraid anymore and I wanted you to make love to me." He wrinkled his nose and scowled slightly. "I would lie at night in my bunk, waiting for you to come to me. When you didn't . . ."

The Phantom's hands slowly circled Ray's thighs, meeting and grasping Ray's turgid, warm, erect penis. With one hand he slowly traced the outline of Ray's hard five-inches. With the other he cupped Ray's smooth, hairless balls. "There were other boys I was seeing, Ray. Boys who were just boys with hard dicks." He thought of Tyler and Val. "Boys I enjoyed giving pleasure to, maybe a new sense of themselves."

"Were they special to you, too?" he asked. He began massaging The Phantom's firm, smooth helmet, which was leaking precum.

The Phantom shook his head. "I just liked the way they tasted. I guess, in a way that made them special. But not like you. Never like you."

The Phantom's hands left Ray's genitals and he pulled them out of the boy's pants. In two swift motions Ray's trousers were undone and gathered in an untidy heap at his ankles. Simultaneously each boy reached around and cupped the other's bum, pulling each closer until the sensitive tips of their dicks were touching.

Ray closed his eyes and buried his face in The Phantom's curving shoulder. He drank in the sweet essence of the boy he wanted to make love to him.

The Phantom rested his cheek against the back of Ray's head, feeling the short hair tickling his cheek and smelling Ray's fresh, clean odour.

They stood there, not moving, holding each other, and feeling the warmth that both now knew would never leave them. After what seemed like an eternity Ray raised his head and gazed into The Phantom's sparkling, emerald eyes. "Please Phantom, please don't let it end."

The Phantom kissed him, a long deep kiss. "It won't end, Ray," promised The Phantom. "It may not be the way you want it to be, but it will not end!"

With slow, deliberate, clumsy movements they divested themselves of their remaining clothing, shoes and socks, and then went into the bedroom. They lay side-by-side on top of the bed, exploring each other's body, touching, fondling, stroking, kissing, oblivious to the world outside, lost in the adoration each felt for the other. Wordlessly they paid homage, each to the other. Then, it was time. The Phantom gazed into Ray's eyes, silently imploring, wondering at the deep, dark brown pools of sparkling life that gazed back at him. Ray nodded slowly. It was time.

The Phantom reached up and pulled down one of the pillows. He placed it under Ray's butt, and then found the Vaseline. After preparing Ray's hole, and his own throbbing, leaking hardon, he knelt between Ray's legs, positioning himself.

Ray groaned softly as he felt the firm roundness of The Phantom's glorious mushroom probe carefully at his opening. The Phantom pushed slowly forward, carefully inserting himself. First his glans, then just the first inch or so of his shaft was enveloped by the tight, warm wetness of Ray. As he pushed into Ray, Ray pushed back. He pushed Ray's legs back and slowly completed his penetration. He felt Ray's balls crush his public hairs.

Ray lay back, his eyes closed, breathing heavily, his body filled with the length and thickness that he had so longed for. He whimpered softly as he felt the fullness lessening as The Phantom slowly withdrew until just his glans was still inside Ray.

The Phantom, using every ounce of his willpower, with excruciating slowness, pushed forward again, so slowly that Ray clawed at the top sheet of the bed as his body convulsed.

Ray felt the slow advance of The Phantom's penis, the pleasure so great that his mind refused to believe that so much pleasure was possible. Suddenly, from deep within him came such a powerful jolt of electric, exquisite PLEASURE that his eyes rolled back in his head and he screamed loudly.

The Phantom continued his slow, deliberate movements, feeling with each inward thrust the top of his penis caressing Ray's prostate, hearing Ray's muffled groans as wave after wave of pleasure smashed through his spasming body, resisting the urge to reach down and grasp Ray's swollen, red, pulsing dick, so red and expanded that it looked about to explode.

Ray began to thrust back, unable to stop the momentum of ecstasy that pushed him higher and higher and toward the ultimate plateau. Suddenly he was there. His whole body shuddered and he thrust his hips higher. His head thrashed back and forth and a long, keening moan rent the quiet of the room. His balls withdrew into his body. His dick lengthened and thickened and a huge gout of his juices spewed outward smashing against the flushed, heated flesh of his chest. As he continued to thrust uncontrollably his ass muscles clenched, encasing The Phantom's penis in a vise-like grip, pushing him over the top, his gaping piss slit squirting explosively, filling Ray with his hot, thick semen.

They moaned and groaned as their bodies jerked and bucked, draining their life fluids, until finally The Phantom, gasping uncontrollably, collapsed on Ray's chest. Ray's arms and legs enveloped him, and they lay there, spent, barely able to move. When The Phantom tried to withdraw his still hard cock from Ray's tight, grasping hole, Ray growled low. "No!"

The Phantom raised his head, grinned, and nodded his head. "Yes."

He pulled out of Ray and began rolling, pulling Ray with him until the boy was on top. He looked into Ray's wide brown eyes. He reached down and his hand found Ray's still hard penis. He pushed the hot, raging flesh down slowly, running his thumb across the slimy, wet glans. Ray shuddered as The Phantom raised his hips and whispered one word, "Yes!"

After Todd left the Mess, Tyler lay down on his bunk. He told himself that he should get some sleep. He thrust his arm under his pillow and lay on his side, hugging the pillow, and without realizing he was doing it, he slipped his left hand down the front of his Jockeys, holding his soft genitals. This was the way he always slept and normally once he had assumed this position he would drop right off. Except this morning sleep would not come. He tossed and turned, squeezed himself, sat up, and then lay back down again. He lay in his bunk, staring at the deckhead, refusing to confront the real reason he could not sleep.

Tyler's mind was reeling with emotions that had long lain dormant within him, feelings that now sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He rolled onto his side and stared across the small cabin at his sleeping roommate. Val was also lying on his side, with his back to the room. Tyler's eyes followed the smooth, flowing contours of Val's body, rolling downward from his broad back and shoulders, dipping gently to form his slim waist, and then rising again to mound his firm hips.

Stifling a sob, Tyler rolled on his side, facing the bulkhead and hugging himself. At long last he was admitting to himself his true feelings, and the object of all those feelings was lying in a bunk not ten feet away from him. He was in love with Val.

Until now Tyler had refused to admit that his feelings for Val were anything other than the normal feelings one boy would have for another. Val was his best friend, his confidant, and his confessor. Val was his brother in spirit if not the flesh. They had done everything together. In school they had shared a room. In school they had been teammates, joining the soccer, field hockey and swim teams together. They had joined the Sea Cadets together and had attended Sea Cadet camps together, spending most of their summers together, first at HMCS ONTARIO, in Kingston, then the Esquimalt Sea Cadet Camp, and now here, in AURORA.

For a long time Tyler had tried to tell himself that what he felt for Val was just a phase, a silly crush, a slight bump on the road to manhood. For an even longer time Tyler had tried to tell himself that the feelings he felt for Val were the same feelings that every boy going through puberty felt. Puberty was a time of new awakenings, right? A time of curiosity, right? A time when a boy not only wondered about girls, but also about other boys, right?

With the onset of puberty Tyler had wondered what it would be like to kiss another boy, to maybe fool around with another boy. And there had been more than enough opportunities to do THAT. Upper Canada College School was a "boys only" school, full of pubescent and prepubescent, curious and, in the upper forms, constantly horny boys. The masters might rail against special relationships and roam the halls in the middle of the night making sure that every bed was occupied by the person assigned to it, and only that person; the Chaplain might thunder every Sunday at Chapel about sins of the flesh and the evils of the Devil; the Headmaster, a kindly old duffer might assume a sad face, puff reflectively on his pipe, but still he quietly expelled, at least once a year, boys found in compromising positions.

Thinking about his schooldays, Tyler started to chuckle. Some nights the house where he and Val lived all but heaved rhythmically from all the jerking off going on. He also knew for a proven fact that at least six of the senior "gentleman scholars" had active and apparently very satisfying sex lives within the confines of the school.

Tyler and Val had never fooled around, not when they were smaller, and sometimes slept together. When they were older each boy stayed firmly in his bed of a night.

Val twitched and snuffled in his sleep and Tyler returned to looking at him. He smiled, thinking of what they were like when they were little, when they were only seven years old, two skinny little boys with brush cuts, two lonely, homesick, frightened little boys.

One night, not long after they had come to the school they were both so consumed with loneliness that they had huddled under their covers, weeping silently, not wanting the other to hear. That was the night that their friendship had been forged. Val, emotional, missing the warmth and affection of his voluble and demonstrative family, had left his bed and silently gotten into Tyler's. They had cried together, agreed that they were big boys and not babies and too old to cry. But they had not parted.

From that moment on they were inseparable. They told each other everything, consoled each other, laughed at the stale schoolboy jokes they both told, fought on occasion, but always, at the end of the day, together. For a long time, before they knew what sex was they snickered and giggled at their adolescent boners that pooched out the front of their Fruit of the Looms, or pretended indignation and disgust when one or both of them would jack up while they slept together. They would laugh, they would giggle, once they had measured each other, but they had never fooled around. Later, after Val had graduated to boxers (Tyler stubbornly refused to give up the imagined snugness and security of his briefs) and morning erections were an accepted fact of life, they had not fooled around. Tyler sighed with regret at the memories. He and Val had not shared a bed for years.

Val was now the quintessential Italian Stallion, the bane of the Headmistress of Havergal College, the Dean of Branksome Hall, and the nuns of Loretto Abbey and St. Joseph's Convent school, and self-appointed despoiler of the virgins who attended those schools. Val was so damned straight!

They had come a long way. They still comforted one another. But not like it had been. Before, they would lie together, and wake up with their arms and legs entwined, their morning boners pressed together. Now, it was all a sympathetic pat on the back, maybe a shoulder hug.

Now they were no longer innocent little boys. Now they were men, and men did not cry, or hug, or, God forbid, kiss. Now they were young men and required to do manly things in manly ways.

Tonight he had kissed Phantom. Tonight Todd had given him a gentle feel. Tonight the yearnings and desires that he had kept repressed for so long had surfaced. Tonight Todd had spoken of things that might have been. Tyler preferred to think of opportunities lost. The phrase echoed through his brain as his eyelids grew heavy.

Opportunities lost and never to be found again.

As the sun climbed higher, reached its zenith and began its slow descent, as most of the cadets slept away their day, as Anson discovered that getting there was half the fun and Ray found a happiness he had only dreamed of, a battered, rust-eaten, black 1969 Chrysler Imperial, huge and as graceless as an under-ruddered, flat-bottomed steamer, sputtered and coughed its noisy way down Comox Road and across the causeway.

The behemoth stopped briefly at the Gatehouse where the driver exchanged pleasantries and greetings with No "H", who was Duty Officer, and Willy, who was Duty Quartermaster. The driver was directed to park his beast in the area directly in front of the Mess Hall.

With the car safely parked the driver and two passengers got out. The driver was tall and tanned with firmly chiselled features, his head crowned with a mass of curly, sun-bleached blonde hair. He had sparkling blue eyes and when he laughed he displayed startling white, perfect teeth. He had long, muscular legs and a marvellously round butt.

The second boy was as darkly handsome as the first was fair. He was short, slim, and as finely muscled as the driver of the car. His coal-black hair was cut short in a military manner. His deep brown, dark eyes smouldered. Like the first boy he had a ready smile and an easy laugh.

The third boy was as distinctly handsome as the other two, though not as spectacular. He had a long, oval face set with flaming sapphire eyes. His hair, cut short and high on the sides and back, was still long enough on top to curl invitingly over his high, wide, forehead. Like the other two he exuded total masculinity.

They were all dressed alike, in wide, dark blue shorts, white T-shirts, and low-cut sneakers and white socks. That they were military was evidenced, not only by their dress and haircuts, but by the way they carried themselves and by the way they automatically fell into step as they walked the short distance from their car to the Mess Hall.

Inside the Mess Hall they renewed acquaintances with Sandro and the Brats, who did not let opportunity slip by when the three young men sat and chatted with Sandro. Both Joey and Randy managed to "accidentally" drop something and peek up the open legs of their visitors' shorts. Two, the driver and the first passenger, were wearing boxers, the third white briefs, which made him all the more interesting. Sandro, who knew exactly what the Brats were up to, sent them packing with a few choice Russian oaths.

After refusing the offer of lunch - they had stopped to eat beforehand - the three boys strolled leisurely toward the far side of the parade square, heading for the Staff Barracks. They greeted the few cadets about with the restrained hand waves and nods that fashion dictated all males use.

In the Chiefs' Mess Tyler dozed fitfully. He had not slept well and had been beset with images and dreams that were at once disturbing and erotic. He heard the crunch of gravel and the sound of low voices outside the cabin window but paid no attention. From the amount of sunlight streaming into the room he knew it was well past noon. The troops were stirring and so long as they did not start a riot, rape Matron, or kill each other, he was content to roll over and ignore the world.

Tyler snuffled and was just settling back when the door to the cabin crashed open and a short, slim, dark-haired figure flew through the air, landed on Val's bunk, and bounced twice. Val yelped and struggled as the figure attempted to tear away the entangling sheets and coverlet.

"Val, paison, brother!"

Val shook his head, stared, and shook his head again. "Tony!"

"Who else? Of course it's me!" replied Tony. He grabbed Val's head and planted huge, wet kisses on his cheeks and then slapped an even wetter kiss on Val's lips.

"ACH! Ptui, Ach fuck." Val struggled to free himself but Tony held him down. "You're disgusting!" Val snarled. He stopped struggling long enough to glare malevolently at his tormentor. "Tony, what the fuck are you doing here?"

Tony grinned and kissed Val's forehead. "I came to visit my Italian brother-in-arms, my brother-of-the sea. And to tell you a joke!"

"A joke? You came all the way from Seattle to tell me a joke?"

Val pushed Tony, who pushed back. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Tony grinned a wider grin. "I gotta tell you this joke. Help me out, or I'll have to give you a kitty-lick."

That sounded dirty and Val was almost afraid to ask what a kitty-lick was. He asked anyway.

"You don't want to know," came the voice of the tall, blonde boy. He was standing in the doorway shaking his head at Tony's antics. He saw Tyler pulling himself into a sitting position. "Hey, Tyler."

Tyler smiled broadly. "Hey, Mark." He looked and saw another figure behind Mark. "Who's that with you? Is it, nah, it can't be Nathan."

Nathan grinned and nodded. "Yeah, it's me."

Ignoring Tony, who was trying to tickle Val, Tyler got out of bed and walked over to shake Mark and Nathan's hands. He looked at Tony and then gave Mark a quizzical look. Mark raised his eyes. "He's been like that ever since we crossed the border. He's either glad to be here or he ate some loco weed."

"He ate some loco weed," said Nathan with a straight face.

"Will you get off me, you Calabrian ox!" yelled Val, feigning anger.

"Not until you let me tell you my joke!" Tony waggled his tongue at Val. "Either I tell the joke or you get a kitty-lick!"

"Let him tell his fucking joke," said Mark, laughing. "It's a sick joke, but trust me, it's way better than a kitty-lick!"

Val, who didn't want to hear the joke in the first place, but fearing whatever a kitty-lick was, acquiesced. "Okay, Tony, tell your fucking joke!"

"You mean it? You sure you don't want a kitty-lick instead?"

"Tony, tell the fucking joke already!" bellowed Mark and Nathan in unison.

"Hey, don't get your balls to flopping," returned Tony. He grinned at Val. "You ready?"

Val, having finally managed to untangle himself, punched his mattress. "WILL you get on with it?"

"Okay," agreed Tony. "Here goes. Val, why did the Sea Cadet cross the road?" he asked seriously.

"WHAT?"

"Why did the Sea Cadet cross the road? Come on, work with me."

Val thought a moment. He could think of a few reasons for a Sea Cadet to cross the road, the most important one being to get away from Tony. "Now how the fuck would I know?" returned Val. "Why would the Sea Cadet cross the road?"

Tony's face lit up. A huge grin creased his features. "HIS DICK WAS STILL IN THE CHICKEN!"

Tyler, Mark and Nathan groaned loudly. Val, totally disgusted, grimaced and pushed the laughing Tony off the bunk. Tony hit the deck with a loud thump. He looked up at Val, who was leaning over and looking back down at him. "It's fucking good to see you, Val. I mean that. I missed you buggers!" Tony reached out his hand.

"It's good to see you, Tony." Val reached down to take Tony's hand.

Tony clasped Val's hand, cackled like a loon, and pulled Val from his bunk. Val, in a flurry of legs, arms, dark hair and tartan boxers, landed with a crash beside Tony, who rolled and pinned Val before he could do anything about it. "Now, Val, my brother, it is time for a KITTY-LICK!" He lowered his head and opened his mouth wide.

Val let out a high-pitched shriek. With a Dracula-like laugh Tony lowered his head and stuck out his tongue. "NOOOOOO!" screamed Val as Tony's wet tongue traced a long, slow, path along his neck. Val struggled mightily and finally succeed in breaking Tony's limpet grasp. He pushed Tony away and they lay on the deck, gasping and laughing. "You son of a BITCH!" Val grinned at Tony.

"That's me! Does this mean you're glad to see me?"

Val struggled upright and pulled Tony to his feet. He looked at Tony and then shook his head. "Yeah, I am."

Val and Tony embraced, giving each other a huge, uninhibited Italian hug. When they broke their hug Tony turned and grinned at Tyler. He looked Tyler up and down and nodded at Tyler's tighty-whiteys. "Ah, shit! They started the Zulu Warrior without us!"

Ray lay on his side, gazing into the deep emerald eyes of the boy who had brought him a pleasure that words could never describe. He reached out with his hand and traced the outline of The Phantom's sweet, pink lips. "I love you Phantom. I always will," he said with a shy smile.

The Phantom leaned forward and gave Ray a small kiss. "And in my own way, I will always love you."

Ray reached down and began to rub The Phantom's firm chest. "But, it's over, now, isn't it?" he asked without rancour. "You belong with The Gunner, and I, well, I guess I belong with Kevin."

"Ray, I . . ." began The Phantom.

Ray shook his head slowly. "No, don't Phantom. It's true, and you know it. I wish we could be like this, together, always, but we can't."

The Phantom exhaled loudly. "Ray, all I want for you is happiness."

"I know, Phantom. I'm happy now, and you've given me something that I'll remember and cherish forever. This afternoon has been wonderful. But is has to end. I knew that before we ever made love."

"No regrets?"

Ray shook his head. "No, no regrets." Then he giggled and reached down and fondled The Phantom's soft dick. "I'll miss this, and what's attached to it." "You're insatiable, you know that?" He returned Ray's gesture, feeling Ray's warm, juice-slicked penis. "You're a beautiful person with a beautiful dick and if I ever hear that Kevin treats you badly I'll come gunning for him and steal you away!"

Ray giggled, basking in the warmth and love. "You mean that?"

The Phantom nodded. "I mean it, Ray. I always say what I mean, and do what I say. If Kevin, or any other boy you meet treats you badly, and I hear about, God help the guy!"

Ray, while he was enjoying The Phantom's gentle fondling, pulled away. "Did He help Little Big Man last night?" he asked quietly.

The Phantom sat up, looked at Ray for a moment, and then left the bed. He found his trousers and fumbled in the pockets for his cigarettes. He lit up and returned to the bed, sitting beside the recumbent Ray. He smoked for a few minutes and then began to speak. "In Victoria, after we finished the practice, some of us overheard The Gunner talking to a friend of his . . ." he began slowly, his voice low and calm. The Phantom told Ray everything. He told him about the letters that Greg had confiscated, about the letter Little Big Man's Father had written to Special Branch. He left nothing out. "So, now you know," The Phantom finished.

"The little cocksucker!" spat Ray.

The Phantom burst out laughing. "He is that, in more ways than one!"

Ray joined in The Phantom's laughter. The he sobered. "So that was what yesterday was leading up to."

The Phantom nodded. "You were happy with Kevin, Little Big Man didn't know about you and Kevin, so there was no need for you to know what I was going to do." He lowered his head and kissed Ray's lips. "I don't think you're a wuss, or weak. I wasn't all that sure that what I was doing was going to work out the way we all thought it would. I didn't want you involved."

"Protecting me again, huh?"

"Yes, I was protecting you. I wanted you far away from what was going to happen. If everything came a cropper I wanted to be damned sure that none of the mud would be thrown in your direction. I'm not sorry for that, Ray."

Ray ran his hand along The Phantom's bare thigh. "I understand, Phantom. But you must understand that I would have stood by you. No matter what happened. I meant what I said yesterday."

The Phantom smiled his thanks. "I know that now. I should have known it yesterday. I'm sorry I doubted you."

Ray sat up and put his arm around The Phantom's waist. He gave his lover a small, firm hug. "Just so you know now that no matter what, I'll be there for you."

"And no matter what, I'll be there for you." The Phantom took another drag on his cigarette. "There's one thing, though. You must never, ever tell what I told you today to anyone. Not Kevin, not Joey or Randy, not anybody."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anybody anything. What they don't know sure as hell won't hurt them." Ray groaned. "But what the fuck am I going to tell Chef?"

"Chef? What has Chef got to do with the price of beans in cans?"

"I have to be on duty at 1600. Shit, Phantom, if I'm late Chef will kill me!" Ray quickly scrambled out of the bed and began pulling on his clothes. The Phantom calmly snuffed his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table, and then left the bed. Ray was bending over to pick up his socks so The Phantom patted his bum. Ray stood up abruptly and saw The Phantom pointing at the small clock sitting on the table beside the bed. The time read 1515. Ray breathed a sigh of relief, then stepped back as The Phantom slowly undid the top button of his white trousers. He giggled, and then grinned slyly. "Do you think we'll have enough time?"

The Phantom pretended exasperation. "Don't you ever get enough?"

Ray chuckled. "After an afternoon of brilliant sex with you? Never!"

The Phantom shook his head as he pushed Ray's shirt over his shoulders. "IF we were going to be doing what you'd like to think we're going to do, no, we would not have enough time."

"What are we going to do?" asked Ray as he wiggled out of his trousers.

The Phantom slipped his hands under the waistband of Ray's briefs and began to push them down. "In case you haven't noticed, goof, we are both crusted in spunk. An afternoon of brilliant sex does that, you know."

Ray wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, I guess it does. Still, I can hope, can't I?"

The Phantom shook his head firmly. "Nope. What you CAN do is get your beautiful, pink ass into the shower."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone. I have to strip the bed and put on clean sheets. The Gunner might forgive me having an afternoon of brilliant sex with you but he'll get some shitty about spooge on the sheets."

"You're not going to tell him about us," gasped Ray.

The Phantom began walking Ray toward the bathroom, and the shower stall. "I love him, Ray, and if he asks me I'll tell him the truth." He chuckled as they entered the bathroom. "To be honest, he's been more or less expecting us to be together." He reached in and turned on the shower.

Ray shook his had in wonderment. "IF Kevin finds out, or IF I tell him, I sure as fuck hope that he's as understanding as The Gunner." He stepped into the shower and then turned to look at The Phantom. "Will The Gunner be as understanding if he finds out that you fucked Little Big Man?" he asked quietly.

The Phantom shrugged and turned away. He could not give Ray an answer. He could not answer because he was not all that sure that he was going to tell The Gunner anything at all.

Nathan left the tomfoolery of the Chiefs Mess and walked quietly into the Gunroom. The long chamber was very quiet. He noticed that about half the bunks were empty. Only one bunk interested him and he saw that it was occupied. A slow smile spread across his face and he sat down on the bunk, gazing fondly at the golden-haired god whose image had filled his thoughts, enthralling him and frustrating him almost beyond bearing.

After looking around quickly, and seeing that the coast was clear, Nathan leaned down to kiss Cory's warm, pink cheek.

Cory was sound asleep in his usual position, on his side, the coverlet pulled up over his shoulders, with his hand stuck down the front of his boxers. He felt the light caress on his face and stirred slightly.

Emboldened, Nathan used the back of his hand to trace the soft contours of Cory's face. He so wanted to lean down and place his lips against Cory's, but did not dare.

At the second touch Cory opened his eyes. He glanced sideways and saw Nathan looking back at him. "Nathan?" he whispered as he struggled into a sitting position. "Nathan?"

Nathan grinned and nodded his head. He reached out his arms, and then quickly drew them back. "I missed you, Cory."

Cory, without thinking, and not really caring, bent forward and his arms enveloped Nathan. Their lips met and they kissed passionately. Nathan moaned deeply as the taste and feel and smell of Cory threatened to overwhelm him. When they parted Nathan held Cory at arm's length, not quite believing that this golden knight, this wonderful, glorious boy was once again in his arms.

Both Cory and Nathan would have been content just to sit and hold each other but Harry had chosen this moment to wake up. He heard the breathless greetings and saw the two boys embrace. Harry had no objections to Nathan and Cory doing what they were doing. Hell, given half the chance he'd be sitting on Cory's bunk. A quick glance told Harry that while he might have no objections there was someone in the bunk opposite who might. Fortunately, Two Strokes was a heavy sleeper. "Not in the Gunroom, you clowns," Harry grumbled, just loud enough to be heard. "You'll curdle the spit shine on my boots!"

Cory and Nathan, startled at the sound of Harry's voice, pulled away. They glanced nervously around, and then snickered. Cory gave Nathan a very quick peck on the lips. "Just let me get dressed, okay?"

"Sure," replied Nathan, watching as Cory swung his legs over the edge of his bunk, then stood up.

"What are you doing here?" asked Cory as he pulled on his shorts and began hunting for his socks. "How did you get here? Why didn't you tell me that you were coming when I talked to you last week?"

Todd's head popped from under the covers. "If you'd shut up he might get a word in," he snapped. "Jesus, Cory, you two were quieter when you were making out!"

"We were not making out," retorted Cory hotly as he reached into his locker for a clean T-shirt."

Todd sniffed loudly. "Balls! Either you get a room or I break out the fire hose!"

Nathan, not wanting a scene, and knowing the Twins as he did, quickly interrupted the two brothers. He took Cory's hand. "Come on, Cory, it's too nice a day to be inside. Let's go for a walk, or something."

Todd snickered loudly. "Or something is right!"

Cory gave his brother a malevolent glare but did not deign to reply. He turned to Nathan. "Yeah, let's get out of here." He could not resist one last dig at Todd. "Animal!"

They left the Gunroom and paused briefly, sitting on the low stoop while Cory put on his sneakers. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "The canteen is open. We could go to the Mess Hall. They serve a super brunch." Cory knew that he was chattering away but could not help himself. He was truly nervous. "Of course, it might be too late, but that's okay, because if Phantom is around he'll feed us . . ."

Nathan abruptly placed his hand across Cory's mouth. "Will you shut up?"

Cory nodded.

"Let's go for a walk on the beach," suggested Nathan. "I'm not hungry and I just want to be with you."

Cory coloured. "Nathan, I want to be with you."

They walked slowly together, not daring to hold hands, toward the channel leading to Comox harbour. Once they reached the beach they took off their shoes and walked toward the Strait. "I missed you Cory," began Nathan tentatively. "I missed you a lot. When Mark told me that him and Tony were coming up here and asked if I wanted to go with them, I jumped at the chance."

"I'm glad you've come, Nathan," replied Cory, his voice soft and tender. Then a strange look came over his face. "But, aren't you supposed to be in Bellingham?"

Nathan snickered. "Yeah, I was. Fortunately Broadhurst hit the jetty."

Cory remembered that Broadhurst was the Commanding Officer of the Seattle Sea Cadet Corps. He also remembered that the gentleman had a more than passing acquaintance with the bottle. "What jetty?"

"The one in Seattle that we always tie up to. He hit it with a hell of a bang, opened the bow, snapped the fluke from the starboard anchor and almost killed Jeremy Cohen." He laughed heartily. "You have not lived until you've heard somebody called a half-fucked fool in Hebrew."

"I think I've heard it in Russian." He gave Nathan a slight jab. "So, explain!"

Nathan lay back on his elbows, looking out to the smooth, rolling waters of the Strait of Georgia. He noticed a whaler under power, putt-putting along about two hundred yards out. "Isn't that one of AURORA's boats?" he asked, pointing with his chin.

Cory shaded his eyes and looked seaward. He nodded. "Yes. I think that's Anson coxing."

"Shouldn't he have a crew? At least another guy?"

As they watched, and before Cory could answer, the whaler veered to port. Anson rose from his seat, bringing another head into to view. The whaler heeled toward the shore, clearly revealing what was going on. Cory and Nathan exchanged glances. Then they burst into barely controllable giggles. "Gives new meaning to cock-sing a whaler!" gasped Nathan.

Recognising but refusing to rise to the pun, Cory pretended to be shocked. "Some people have no shame! Doing that in a whaler!"

"Well, I wouldn't mind trying my hand at it," replied Nathan with a grin.

"With Anson?" asked Cory artfully, finally twigging on the puns. "Or maybe Chad, 'cause that's who was handling the tiller!"

Nathan, having been out-punned, gave Cory a playful slap. "No, fool, with you! He sat up and rubbed his chin. "Of course, it doesn't have to be in a whaler."

"And it won't be on a public beach in the middle of the day, either!" Cory knew what Nathan wanted. The trouble was that he was not ready to give it to him. He abruptly changed the subject. "So, what happened with Broadhurst and the jetty?" he asked pointedly.

Nathan gave Cory a sour look, but decided to humour him. "Well, last Saturday we went for a day steam, which we always do if we're in port," he began. "It was all right as day steams go, and Broadhurst was actually sober for most of it. We started back in around 1800, and we were steaming down the harbour at about half speed. When we got near our jetty we pointed the ship bow on and started in."

"Normal routine," nodded Cory.

"Yeah, if you don't forget that the tide is running in the same direction that you are steaming and you don't forget to reduce speed."

Cory laughed quietly. "A collision at sea can ruin your whole day."

Nathan agreed. "By the time Broadhurst realized what was happening it was too late. He rang down for full speed astern but we still hit with a fuck of a bang. The fluke of the starboard anchor snagged on the jetty and snapped off, which sent the shaft barrelling up the hawse pipe at a rate of knots. It just missed Jeremy, who was standing on the forecastle waiting to heave the line. The whole thing missed him by about an inch. He was some pissed off."

"I can't say that I blame him."

"Me neither. Anyway, the boat's in dry dock. We had bugger all to do so Mark borrowed his brother's car - he's on his two weeks of Army Reserve training - and here we are."

Cory gave Nathan a quizzical glance. "When you were here last month I got the impression that you and Mark were hardly bosom buddies."

Nathan nodded his agreement. "That was then. When we got back to Seattle they sort of helped me get through a few rough patches." He glanced nervously at Cory. "That's a lie. They helped me get through one rough patch."

"Me?"

Nathan swallowed hard, reluctant to start anything with Cory. "I love you, Cory, and I really couldn't understand why you did what you did to me. I didn't understand why we had to wait until you came down for the Labour Day holiday."

"And I do not understand why you took it upon yourself to discuss my private business with Mark and Tony," growled Cory.

"It's my business as well, Cory," returned Nathan hotly. "I didn't have anybody else to talk to! I couldn't go to my brother, because he's an asshole! I don't have any friends close enough to talk to about things like that! There was only Mark and Tony!" Nathan stood up and gestured for Cory to follow him. He walked purposely along the beach, stopping from time to time to toss stones into the grey-green water. "Mark and Tony are lovers. They have been ever since they were here last month," said Nathan presently.

"I know. They borrowed the keys for the Ropewalk from Todd," replied Cory. "That hardly entitles them to know my business, Nathan."

Nathan stopped and turned. He grasped Cory by the shoulders. "I've never been in love before, Cory. I don't know how to think, or act, or anything. I had to talk to somebody and Mark and Tony seemed the logical choices."

Cory pulled away. "Go on." he said calmly.

Nathan shrugged. "We talked. They made me realize what an asshole I'd been. They told me to think about how I really felt about you, and not push it, to let you set the pace."

"They were right." Cory saw that they had retraced their steps and were now abreast of the small forest that covered the southern part of the spit. "Come on."

They walked into the trees and Cory indicated a small hummock of grass. They sat together, hidden in the trees, while Cory gathered his thoughts. He turned and looked at Nathan, smiling gently. "Nathan, I want to be sure about us. I want to be sure that we both want the same thing, to be sure that I'm not being used and that I'm not using you."

"That's not the way I feel about you, Cory. I would never use you," protested Nathan. "I know we got off to a bad start, and I will always regret that . . ."

"That is not what I mean, Nathan." Cory placed his arm around Nathan's slim waist. "What happened last month is over, done with. It's the future I want to be sure about. I want to be sure that being with you is not just my hormones kicking in. I do not want another one off. There have been too many of them."

"Cory, I love you. I want to be with you. It's not my hormones, or my dick, or my balls, that make me feel the way I feel," said Nathan earnestly.

"I understand, Nathan. But, if I commit to you, and that's what I'm going to be doing, then I want to be damn sure that I'm doing the right thing! I want to be sure that I am in love with you. When I get in your bed, IF I get in your bed, I want to be sure that you'll be there in the morning, and be there every morning for as long as we're together."

"What makes you think I wouldn't be?" demanded Nathan.

Cory laughed ruefully. "Come on, Nathan, we are neither of us virgins. We're two gay boys. We're attracted to other boys. There will always be other boys that we'll want to get into the sack with. Can you honestly say that you haven't been with another guy since you were here last?"

Nathan's face fell, and a stricken look marred handsome his features. Cory nodded slowly. "I don't want to know who he was, or when it happened," began Cory quietly. "It's not important. What is important is that if I decide to be with you, there will be no more bed hopping. It will be you and me, together. If we are going to be together, then I want to know the real Nathan Berman. I want to live with you, not just sleep with you. That's my commitment, Nathan."

Nathan sighed and pulled Cory closer to him. Cory was, of course, right. There had been other boys. There was Bob Herzog, but he didn't really count. He was a football jock who liked to have his dick sucked. Then there had been Alex Valpone, Tony's brother, who also liked to have his dick sucked and, unlike Bob, didn't mind returning the favour. Their coupling had been the drunken aftermath of a beach party. They told each other that they were drunk and that a guy couldn't be held responsible for what he did when he was drunk. It was a shallow excuse, but it allowed them both to blow their loads without feeling guilty in the morning. The funny thing was, there were a lot of parties and they both seemed to get drunk a lot.

And then there was Jeremy. Jeremy Cohen had come on to him, and Nathan had responded. He couldn't help himself. He had felt an enormous attraction to Jeremy, a tall, slim, muscled boy, a Jewish American Prince with brownish-blonde hair, a square, clean-lined face, bedroom eyes and a dick that had been created to be sucked.

A week after returning to Seattle Nathan had begun sleeping with Jeremy. Unlike Alex, Jeremy did not need to find an excuse to get into the sack with Nathan, and also, unlike Alex, did not feel the need to pull up his Jockeys and Adidas shorts after he'd popped his puppy, and wander off looking for a beer. Jeremy liked sex, an infinite variety of sex, and in truth, his Hanes briefs spent more time under Nathan's bed than they did on Jeremy's firm, round ass.

Nathan realized that his infatuation with Jeremy was just that, an infatuation. Jeremy was a cockhound, and the cock that he wanted happened to be attached to Nathan's body. Their relationship would never last and sooner or later he, or Jeremy, would end their relationship, which had no hope of going anywhere. Jeremy might be a secular Jew, rarely seeing the inside of a synagogue, but he was Jew enough not to want a long-term relationship with a gentile. He wasn't about to give up life as a Cohen for a bit of rough sex on the side.

The more he thought about it the more Nathan realized that while Cory could, and would, make a firm commitment, he could not. As much as he adored Cory, Nathan could not make a commitment. As much as he wanted Cory, there would always be a Jeremy and or an Alex, there would always be little bits on the side.

Tears formed in Nathan's eyes and began to weep softly. He was enough of a realist to know that when Cory chose his partner, it would be for life. He would give everything to that partner. Cory would ask a great deal of his mate, but in return he would give a great deal, and he would not countenance infidelity.

Nathan buried his head in Cory's shoulder, sobbing, angry and ashamed that he could not give Cory what he wanted. Cory held Nathan close, comforting the sobbing boy as best he could. He was hurt, but he was not disappointed. His feelings for Nathan were deep, and they would be lasting, but he understood why Nathan could not give him the commitment that his soul yearned for.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Cory, but I can't," murmured Nathan between sobs. "I can't promise you. I want to, but I can't!"

Cory patted Nathan's shoulder. "It's all right, I understand."

Nathan pulled away from Cory, his tear-streaked face as mask of anguish. "Do you understand?" he asked plaintively. "Do you understand why I can't be what you want me to be?"

Cory nodded. "You're 18, Nathan, and you have your whole life ahead of you. There's college, a job, a career, a life. It's unfair of me to ask you to give up so much. I know that, but it's the way I feel."

Nathan wiped his eyes and gazed longingly at Cory. "I still love you, Cory, please believe that."

"I do."

"It's just that," he shrugged apologetically, "I love guys. I can't help myself. If I went with you sooner or later another guy would come along, and I would not be able to resist. You've been totally honest with me, so I have to be totally honest with you. If we were together I'd be catting around. I'd meet a guy and if he gave me any encouragement I'd end up in bed with him. That would be unfair to you, and it would make me a sneak, and while I admit to a lot of faults, I am not a sneak."

"I don't want to force you into anything Nathan," replied Cory. He stood up and offered his hand to Nathan. "Come on, then."

Cory pulled Nathan to his feet and together they walked back toward the Gunroom. "Do you hate me, Cory?" asked Nathan as they approached the barracks.

"No, Nathan, I do not hate you. You told me how you feel, you were honest with me."

"I guess you won't be coming down to Seattle, then."

Cory shook his head and laughed quietly. "Nathan, I didn't say that."

Nathan looked at Cory. "I don't understand."

"We can still be friends," replied Cory slowly. "We just won't be lovers."

"Oh." Then Nathan grinned. "Sometimes friends fool around, you know."

Cory chuckled. "Sometimes they do," he replied noncommittally.

They showered, the water laving away the lassitude that followed their afternoon of blissful and glorious lovemaking, and changed into some of the clean clothing that The Phantom kept at The Gunner's apartment. Then, reluctantly, they returned to AURORA.

As they turned down Comox Road they saw that AURORA had returned to life. The bay was full of sailboats and whalers. The YAGs were in and the jetty was full of activity as the crews visited back and forth. In the middle of the long jetty some barbecues had been set up and they could see the small figures gathered around them, the officers cooking, the cadets eating.

The closer they came to AURORA the more activity they saw. The swimming beach, while not packed, was busy with cadets sunning themselves, or splashing about in the waters of the bay. In the middle of the parade square a game of touch football was in progress. From the look of the game all of the Sea Puppies were involved and, as The Phantom steered the car toward the Gatehouse, he and Ray could hear the shrill cries and laughter of the young boys as Harry, prominent and towering over the younger lads, directed traffic, tossed the ball, bellowed and generally acted as judge, jury, and executioner in the event of fouls or misplays.

As they neared the Guardhouse, and the Mess Hall, they could see Sandro and the Brats fussing over the barbecues while both halves of the Litany scurried in and out of the Mess Hall, loading the long tables that flanked the barbecues with salads, foil-wrapped baked potatoes, and huge bowls of butter, sour cream, chives and assorted condiments and mustards.

From three of the four barbecues small tendrils of smoke drifted skyward. As the Rover rolled past the Gatehouse and turned towards the Mess Hall The Phantom was momentarily distracted by a huge flash, and a rising column of black smoke. Ray sighed and shook his head. "He's done it again."

The Phantom braked to a stop and laughed. "Sandro will use too much fire starter."

"Yeah, well one of these days he'll either burn the whole place down or end up a crispy critter!" replied Ray as he cracked the passenger-side door. "I better get over there before Chef . . ."

There was a huge bellow of outrage from the Mess Hall.

"Too late!" said The Phantom with a straight face. "Poor Sandro."

Doing his best to ignore the shouting and tumult that always seemed to surround Chef, Ray reached over and squeezed The Phantom's hand. "Thanks, Phantom, for a wonderful afternoon." He smiled sadly. "Too bad that it ended too soon."

The Phantom reached over and ran his fingers along Ray's smooth face. "You'd better go now. Chef will be looking for you."

Ray nodded and got out of the car. He turned back and smiled. "Phantom, no matter what happens, I'll be there."

"I know. Now git."

Ray grinned, waved and trotted around to the side of the Mess Hall where the barbecues were. As The Phantom backed away from the Mess Hall he could hear Chef bellowing at Ray, demanding to know where he'd been.

"Poor Ray," thought The Phantom. "Old Chef will give him the third degree for sure." He spun the wheel and pulled ahead, wondering what Ray would tell Chef. He also wondered, briefly, who owned the huge black boat parked in front of the Mess Hall. "Tourists," he thought, noticing the Washington plate, or somebody's relatives up from the States to see the show on Wednesday.

Dismissing the black car from his mind The Phantom turned onto Comox Road and headed for home.

The Phantom drew up in front of his house and parked. The driveway was empty and he planned on leaving it that way. Chief Lascelles never used the garage at the back of the house and always parked his car in the driveway.

Once inside The Phantom went up to his room, stripped, walked down the corridor naked, which he figured would be the last time he could do that, showered and slipped on some shorts. He returned downstairs, snagged a beer from the fridge and went out to the pool.

He sipped his beer, contemplating his next moves. He doubted that Little Big Man knew who had been in the Mess. He also doubted that the little bastard would open his mouth. He had responded much too eagerly, and while he was a consummate liar, Little Big Man's reputation was such that few, if any, of the cadets would believe him. At the very least, most of them would think that he'd gotten exactly what he deserved.

Little Big Man crying rape was not a major concern so far as The Phantom could determine. Little Big Man had no proof, and the cadets in the Mess had been too far away to hear anything. They also hated Little Big Man and would not, even if they knew about his night of sex, support him in any way. Quite the opposite if past comments and insults were any indication. The second part of his plan, the actual confrontation and open declaration of knowledge that Little Big Man had not only had sex with another boy, but also enjoyed it, he would leave to Cory and Todd. They knew what to do and they knew how to do it.

The Phantom was not worried about Ray. He was worried about how The Gunner would react if he told him that he had popped Little Big Man's puppy. The Phantom finished the last of the beer and crushed the flimsy aluminium can. Whether he liked it or not, he would have to tell The Gunner. He would have to tell The Gunner what he had done, and why he had done it. Far better to let the man know first hand than to risk him hearing second or third hand. Better to risk the wrath now, than to risk losing everything later.

Leaving the poolside chair The Phantom returned inside, debated on having another beer, then decided against it. He was driving later on and the road between the town and the aerodrome was winding in places and, thanks to an ongoing feud between the town, the Province and the military, unlit.

He decided to watch some television and, as usual after the set warmed up, he was confronted with an endless stream of mindless commercials. When the ads ended he was faced with even more drivel, this time in the form of what the CBC considered prime time entertainment, a documentary on the life of the Eskimos, replete with huskies, old, toothless women gumming whale blubber, and what looked like some sort of mating ritual. The Phantom was about to turn off the set when the front door opened. His parents were home.

With the almost ritualistic hugs, kisses, handshakes and back pats associated with homecomings after long absences, The Phantom greeted his parents. He was genuinely glad to see them. He loved them and he had missed them.

His mother, as mothers will, remarked that he looked thinner, and cast surreptitious glances around the house making sure that her son had not destroyed anything during her absence. His father, as fathers will, said that he looked fine, expressed the hope that his son hadn't held too many parties, and suggested that he could use some help with the luggage.

The Phantom helped unload his father's car and carried the suitcases up to his parents' room, except for one small bag, new and purchased expressly for the gifts his mother brought back with her from any trip. The Phantom did not have to see the bag opened. He knew that it contained souvenir T-shirts from every town and village his mother had visited. These were for him. There would also be silver teaspoons for her burgeoning collection, and small pieces of china and porcelain that she would give to her friends and co-workers at the bank.

With the luggage upstairs The Phantom returned to the kitchen where he found his mother fussing over the teapot. One of the first things she always did, after her inspection, was to brew a pot of tea. Tea, she always said, never seemed to taste the same away from home, and as for the Americans, well, all they ever heard of was iced tea and the less said about that the better.

With a cup of tea in front of her his mother settled in, prepared for what she hoped would be a report on what she had missed while away. The Phantom told her truthfully that he had only been into town twice in the last week or so and except for the water shortage he knew very little of what was going on.

"I did see Jeff and Robbie Jensen last week," said The Phantom. "Jeff was taking Robbie up island for some camping."

"How nice," replied his mother. She took a sip of her tea. "It's not often you see older brothers so devoted to their younger brothers."

The Phantom bit back the reply he wanted to give. If his mother only knew how "devoted" Jeff was to Robbie, and the reason behind that devotion, she'd faint. As for his father, well, that did not bear thinking about.

"It was sort of a goodbye trip from Jeff to Robbie," said The Phantom. "Jeff's off to the university next month, you know."

His mother nodded. "I can remember when Jeff was just a child, and Robbie when he was just a baby. They are both such sweet boys." Once again The Phantom bit back his reply. "It's too bad you have you work, Phantom, you could have gone with Jeff and Robbie. You do enjoy camping."

The Phantom reached for the teapot and poured himself another cup of tea. His mother had just presented him with an opening. "Not much chance of camping for me, Mom," he sighed. "You know I like to go later in the season. But, Sam isn't getting back until the day before school opens and Jeff will be heading south to get himself settled in at the university." He shrugged. "Nobody to go with."

"Surely there's someone. You need some time away," returned his mother. "Perhaps one of the boys from the base?"

The Phantom grinned inwardly and shook his head. "Most of them leave next Thursday and the ones that are staying will be too busy closing the place down. So I guess camping this year is out." He paused for effect and then said, slowly, "Although . . ."

"Although?"

With feigned reluctance The Phantom continued. "Well, The Gunner did say something about going camping when the training was finished." He shook his head. "But, nah, he wouldn't want to be saddled with me. Not after two months of cadets."

"What do you mean, 'saddled with you'?" asked his mother. "You've been camping all over this part of the island since you were old enough to carry a backpack. You could show him the better places and he'd never get lost with you there to guide him!"

"I don't know, Mom. I would really hate to ask him. He's already done me a lot of favours. He even loaned me his car while he's away."

"His car?" replied his mother, astonished. "Why, Phantom, you can't drive!"

"Mother, I've been driving for years. Dad taught me when I was twelve, remember."

His mother thought a moment. "Oh, yes, so he did." The she brightened. "But you don't have a license!"

The Phantom laughed. His mother hated to be proven wrong. "I do now. I got it last week."

"You did?"

The Phantom nodded. "Last week. I got tired of riding my bike and what with all the running around I do, I went for my license. The Gunner let me use his car."

"Did I hear you say you got your license?" boomed Chief Lascelles as he entered the kitchen. He had a fistful of envelopes. He held them out and his wife took the envelopes from him.

"Bills?" asked Mrs. Lascelles.

"And then some," complained Chief Lascelles. "There's an invitation to attend the Passing Out Parade at AURORA. It's next Wednesday. A letter from your sister, and the usual junk mail." He sat at the table and squeezed his son's shoulder. "So, you finally got your license."

"Yeah. Like I told mom, I got tired of riding my bike, and what with all of the running around I do now, I figured I might as well get it. The Gunner loaned me his car while he's away so I've managed to get a lot done."

"He's away?" asked Chief Lascelles.

"In Vancouver. Been there since last week. Some sort of meeting," replied The Phantom. "I have to pick him up at the airport later on." He looked downcast. "No more car after tonight."

Chief Lascelles rubbed his chin. "Well, I might be able to help you there. The Impound Auction is coming up. I can put a reserved bid on something. I will pay half."

"You will?" It was The Phantom's turn to be surprised.

"Sure. It's the least the Deputy Chief of Police for the City of Courtenay can do for his son." He grinned broadly and held up a long, buff envelope. "Effective the 1st of September."

"Oh, Tommy, how wonderful!" Mrs. Lascelles left her seat and hugged her husband. The Phantom joined her in hugging his father.

"Of course, I'm not going to be able to go to your function on Wednesday," said Chief Lascelles after he managed to shoo his wife and son away. "There's a lot to be done between now and September."

Mrs. Lascelles frowned. "And I can't go, Phantom. I've been away from the bank too long. They'll think I've retired!"

"You don't have to work, Betty," said the Chief.

"I want to work, Tommy. Brendan's gone, Phantom is never here half the time, so what would I do with myself?"

"Well, gee, I would like you to be there. It might be the only time I get to see you both before next week." The Phantom had been thinking quickly. With The Gunner returning he knew where he wanted to spend his nights. "I've been thinking about staying over at AURORA. We've got a big dinner tomorrow night, plus all the preparation for Wednesday, plus . . ."

"Oh, Phantom, we've only gotten back and you want to leave!" said his mother.

"Now, Betty, he's a man now, and he's got a job to do." Chief Lascelles winked at his son. "It's important for him to do his job well. He'll get a good recommendation from the Commanding Officer of AURORA. Which he'll need."

"He will?" Mrs. Lascelles looked blankly at her husband.

Chief Lascelles nodded. "He needs a letter from his employer, which is the Commanding Officer, a letter from the school, which he'll get easily enough, and one from his minister or priest. I'll get Hennepin and McMaster to write something as well." He looked at The Phantom. "Do you think that the Mayors of Comox and Courtenay are good enough character references to get you accepted for the UNTD programme?"

"You found the application? I left it on your desk and . . ."

"I found it, I signed it."

"And you don't mind me spending the next few nights away from home?"

Chief Lascelles shrugged. "You're old enough to know what you want, and you're hardly travelling to the moon. You're only across the bay, for Christ's sake." "Language, Tommy," admonished Mrs. Lascelles mildly.

Chief Lascelles snorted and then grinned at his son. "He's heard worse and I'm willing to bet he's used worse."

The Phantom thought it best not to reply.

"You will be home for dinner, then, on Thursday?" asked Mrs. Lascelles, abruptly changing the subject,

The Phantom looked puzzled. "Sure. But why Thursday?"

"Because that is the night you are going to invite The Gunner over for dinner."

"I am?"

"You are."

"But, Mom, why would I invite The Gunner for dinner?"

"Because how else can I convince him that he'd love to have you as a camping companion?"

The Phantom's jaw dropped. Chief Lascelles chuckled. "I am sure that your mother will tell me what she is up to later on. I suggest you just nod your head and agree with her." The Phantom did as he was told. Chief Lascelles looked at his wife and grinned. "Now that you've all but solved Phantom's problem, don't you think that you should tell him about Brendan?"

The Phantom, who was not all that fond of his brother in the first place, was even less interested in whatever problem, or problems, that Brendan might have this time. Still, Brendan was his brother . . . "Is Brendan in trouble?" he asked innocently.

Mrs. Lascelles flashed her husband one of her unmistakeable "don't you dare" looks. Chief Lascelles ignored his wife. "Brendan isn't," he said with a grin. Then he started chortling.

Mrs. Lascelles glared venomously at her husband and then turned to her son. She was obviously very uncomfortable about something. She cleared her throat, and then spoke in hushed tones. "Brendan is engaged to be married."

"He is?" asked The Phantom, a shocked look on his face. "To a girl?"

Mrs. Lascelles pursed her lips in displeasure. Chief Lascelles roared with laughter and leaned so far back in his chair that it tipped over and he cracked his skull on the tile floor.

The Phantom chuckled and snickered every time he thought of Brendan knocking up his girlfriend. As far as The Phantom was concerned it served Brendan damn good and right. For years he'd bragged about what a swordsman he was, of how many of the local lovelies he managed to get in the hay. "Should have kept that weapon in your pants, Brendan my lad," thought The Phantom as he deftly swung the Land Rover onto the road leading to CFB Comox.

There was a light rain falling and The Phantom drove carefully. All he needed was to crack up The Gunner's beloved Land Rover. Fortunately there was almost no traffic and even though the sun was setting there was still enough light to see. Which would not be the case on the return trip. There were no overhead lights at all on the stretch of road leading from the town up to the base and at night the carriageway was as black as the inside of a cow's stomach. To make driving even worse than it was both sides of the road were bordered by thick stands of pine trees.

With an audible sigh of relief The Phantom saw the lights of CFB Comox come into view. He had changed into his uniform and, as he expected, was waved through the gate. He parked outside the Departures/Arrivals Lounge and went inside where he was informed that the flight from Vancouver was on time. Rather than sit in the car in the rain he hung about the lounge, smoking and occasionally looking out of the windows for sight of the plane carrying The Gunner.

As he waited The Phantom felt his nervousness increasing. He was not looking forward to telling The Gunner of what had happened, yet he realized that it was something that he had to do because he knew Steve Winslow. The Gunner was a straightforward, blunt, honest sailor who never flinched from his duty and never procrastinated. A guy always knew where he stood with The Gunner. He might not approve of what you did, but he never stood in judgement for he understood the failings of men and boys. A case in point was what had happened between Harry and Stefan. The Gunner had not minced his words when he told Harry that he did not approve of what had happened. He had not approved, but he had not judged and he had done everything possible to ease Harry's pain. For The Gunner there could be no secrets and no dishonesty. He judged a man by his conduct and never failed to do the harder right rather than pursue the easier wrong.

As The Phantom chain-smoked his cigarettes he realized that his relationship with The Gunner would founder if he did not tell him the truth. For any relationship to grow and flourish there had to be mutual honesty and no secrets. A relationship built on a foundation of lies and secrets was bound to fail. And that The Phantom did not want to happen. Better now to do the harder right.

At exactly 2100 the long, white-painted Boeing appeared on the northern edge of the field and glided smoothly onto the runway. The landing stairs were driven out and placed, the door opened, and the first of the passengers, a General, debarked. The Phantom snorted quietly. The only way he could tell that the man was a General was the wide, gold coloured cloth band on the sleeves of his jacket. "Not even gold wire," The Phantom thought. He sniffed disdainfully at the General's gold coloured cloth and plastic button and then dismissed the cut-rate General from his mind as The Gunner appeared in the doorway of the aircraft and descended the metal steps. Within minutes he was coming through the door and it took every ounce of restraint The Phantom could muster not to rush ahead and enfold The Gunner in his arms.

They both knew that any display of affection would be disastrous. With proper military decorum they greeted each other, an instructor greeting a student. They waited impatiently for The Gunner's bags to be unloaded and then, bags in hand, walked slowly to the car. The Gunner took the driver's seat and as The Phantom passed over the keys to the vehicle he squeezed the boy's hand. "You have no idea how much I missed you, Phantom," said The Gunner, his voice full of longing. "You have no idea how much I want to take you in my arms and just hold you."

The Phantom opened his mouth to speak. He had tried to steel himself for what was about to come, but the tears that trickled down his cheeks betrayed him. "I love you, Gunner, so much. I . . ."

The Gunner did not reply. He put the car in gear and backed out of the parking spot. He remained silent until they were well away from the bright lights of CFB Comox. He pulled into a logging road and stopped the car. Except for the drumming rain and the slow tick of the engine as it cooled they sat in silence. "Are you in trouble?" asked The Gunner quietly. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his packet of cigarettes. He fumbled badly as he tried to extract a cigarette, then cracked the window, oblivious to the drizzle of rain that came into the car, soaking the sleeve of his uniform shirt.

The Phantom shook his head. "No. At least I don't think I am."

The Gunner looked and sighed softy. "Sleeping with Ray is not the end of the world, Phantom," he said softly.

The Phantom stared at The Gunner. "How did . . .?"

The Gunner chuckled cynically. "I've been expecting it. You've never hidden the fact that Ray has always been special to you. It was only a matter of time before you slept with him."

"It's not what you think," protested The Phantom weakly.

The Gunner shrugged. "Yes, it is. He's young, good looking, and you love him. It should have happened in Victoria. It didn't, so it happened here."

"Damn it, Gunner, don't do this," snapped The Phantom.

The Gunner shook his head and smiled ruefully. "Phantom, Ray has always been, and always will be, my greatest rival." He gripped the steering wheel tightly. "I don't own you."

"No, you don't," returned The Phantom. "Yes, I did sleep with Ray. Yes, he is special to me. I did not start out intending to sleep with him. It just happened. "

The Gunner nodded slowly and turned the key in the ignition. The engine of the Land Rover roared, breaking the silence. "I'll take you home."

The Phantom quickly placed his hand on The Gunner's arm. "Please don't. I have to tell you something," he said, his voice a raspy croak. The Gunner turned off the engine and waited.

"Ray means a great deal to me, yes. He always will," began The Phantom. He was crying softly. "Last year, before you, or the Twins, or even Ray, I did some things that were bad. This year, I did the same things again. I shouldn't have, and I know it was wrong, but I did them. I haven't done them since you and I have been together."

"What has Ray got to do with the things you did?" asked The Gunner, confused. "I can understand if you flat out love him. I can understand if you want to be with him."

The Phantom smiled through his tears. "Ray has a lover. It's not me he's going to be with."

"Then what are you talking about?" The Gunner ran his hand across his face. "You're talking in riddles!"

"It's not easy, Gunner, for me to tell you what I have to tell you," said The Phantom, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He stared into the darkness and the rain. "Last year, and for a part of this year, I went into the barracks at night. I did things to them, to the cadets when they were sleeping."

The Phantom did not see the look of stunned shock that crossed The Gunner's face. "You molested them?" The Gunner could barely get the words out.

"Yes," replied The Phantom, nodding. "I played with their dicks, and I jerked them off."

"Jesus!"

The Phantom did not hear him. "None of them said anything so I kept on doing it. At first, this year, I did the same things, then I went down on Ray."

The Gunner could hardly absorb what The Phantom was saying. "You . . . You . . ."

"Yes! I sucked their cocks, and again nobody said anything," murmured The Phantom. "Ray was the first I did that to, and he responded in a way I never expected. He fell in love with me."

The Gunner lowered his head and tried to think, tried to rationalize what The Phantom had done. "Why are you telling me this, Phantom?"

The Phantom wiped the tears from his eyes and turned to face The Gunner. "I am telling you everything because I want you to hear it from me. I do not want you to have to listen to rumours and innuendo. I want you to know the truth about me, to know what I've done."

"Why? You said it yourself. Nobody knew anything about what you were doing."

"Except the boys I did the things to," retorted The Phantom. "They knew, and the Twins know because I told them."

The Gunner stared, unbelieving. "Why would you do that?"

The Phantom shook his head. "Because, Gunner, they almost caught me. I thought I was so smart, sneaking around in the night all dressed up like some cat burglar. I made a mistake and they found me out." He shrugged. "I learned then that no matter how well you plan, how careful you are, there is always the chance that something will come along and fuck you up."

"And are you afraid that now, after the fact, that someone will come along and report what has been going on? Is that what this is all about?"

"No. If that was going to happen, it would have happened by now." The Phantom looked levelly at The Gunner. "I want you to know everything because there is a small chance that tomorrow morning you might not want to have anything to do with me."

"And why would you say that?"

The Phantom took a deep breath. "Because last night I went into the Petty Officers Mess and, I suppose technically, raped Little Big Man."

The Gunner felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He listened with increasing dismay and disbelief as The Phantom told him everything, told him how he had conceived the idea of seducing Little Big Man, how he had enlisted the aid of Cory and Todd, how he had gone into the Petty Officers Mess. Calmly and dispassionately The Phantom related every detail of what had happened in the Mess, how Little Big Man had responded beyond anyone's expectations. He told The Gunner what had happened afterwards, how the Twins, and Tyler and Val had cared for him. He left nothing out.

"So, the Master at Arms, my Chief GI, and the Twins, were all in on it!" The Gunner growled. "I might have known that the Twins would be involved, but Tyler and Val . . ."

"The Twins kept trying to talk me out of it," replied The Phantom, refusing to allow The Gunner to assign any blame to Cory and Todd. "Don't blame them. Tyler and Val were not involved until after the fact. I sort of lost it, afterwards, and the Twins needed help. They went to Tyler and Val."

"And Ray?"

The Phantom hesitated. There was no need for The Gunner to know the details of how Ray had come to know about last night's activities. "Ray overheard a conversation between the other guys. He didn't overhear everything and he couldn't understand why I would have sex with Little Big Man. He was angry and upset and, well, we had a confrontation. After I explained that I did it because I wanted to make damned sure that you, him, all my friends, were safe from Paul Greene, he began to understand. I held him to calm him down and before we knew what we were doing, we slept . . . had . . . sex. Neither of us planned it that way. It just happened."

When he was finished speaking The Phantom shrank back in his seat, afraid of what might happen next.

The Gunner sat in stony silence, digesting what he had just heard. He could understand Ray, but Little Big Man? To have sex with him so he could be threatened, blackmailed, into silence? Through his mind flashed visions of Phantom, naked, having sex with one of the most despicable human beings ever whelped. Through The Gunner's mind raged the question: "How could he have done that? How could Phantom have so distrusted ME, so doubted MY given word that nothing would happen, that Little Big Man would be thwarted, how could Phantom do it? How COULD he?"

The car seemed to be closing in on him. The Gunner could not breathe and he had to get away, had to think. He pushed open the door, left the car and began to walk down the dark, muddy logging road, oblivious to the rain, to the wet and cold.

What was he to do? How was he supposed to react? What was he supposed to say to The Phantom?

On and on he stumbled until finally he slumped onto a fallen log that blocked the road. Stupidly The Gunner tried to light a cigarette. The rain turned the paper cylinder of tobacco into mush. He tossed the sodden mess aside and tried to get his breathing under control.

Once he was more or less in control of his feelings, The Gunner started to think, trying to rationalize what Phantom had done, trying to determine why the boy would take matters to such depths. He had promised Phantom that he would take care of things! He had given his solemn assurances that no matter what Little Big Man did nothing would come of it. He had . . .

The Gunner groaned and laughed mirthlessly. He suddenly realised how stupid he was to think that he could avoid mistakes any more than The Phantom could when playing at being a cat burglar! How blind and selfish, egotistical and stupid! Here he was, sitting on a log in the middle of nowhere, soaked to the skin with his underwear sticking to his ass, and what was he thinking about? The Phantom? NO! He was thinking about himself, thinking about how he could fix everything! As if he actually had the power to contain the problem!

"What a selfish, conceited bastard I am," The Gunner muttered aloud. "I am sitting here, thinking about myself when I should be thinking about a frightened, teenaged boy!" He had finally realized that The Phantom did not deal in abstracts, did not deal in ifs and maybes. The Phantom's world was made up of friends and enemies. Suddenly every word The Phantom had said about being gay, about helping gays, came flooding back to The Gunner. Those whom he loved The Phantom cherished and held close. Those who were his enemies he would crush without emotion, without thought for himself, or the possible consequences of his actions. Little Big Man was an enemy of those The Phantom loved and had been crushed.

The more The Gunner thought of it the more he realized that The Phantom had only done what he himself had sworn to do: defend his gay brothers, without fear, without favour, pay any price, perform any deed required of him. The Phantom had identified a danger and had had determined that the danger would not go away after Little Big Man left AURORA. And he had done something about it and he had not acted out of fear. He had acted out of cold, dispassionate logic. He might not know it but he had identified what was sometimes called "the Pucker Factor", the unexpected, seemingly improbable monkey wrench that all too often fucked up a plan.

For all his machinations and scheming with Major Meinertzhagen and Rick Maslen, The Gunner knew that he had missed the Pucker Factor. He had approached the problem of Little Big Man with the logic and reasoning of an adult. Which was wrong, because Little Big Man was not an adult. He did not think or act logically. He was a teenager who thought and acted like a teenager.

The Gunner shook his head in wonder. He had been logically content to let Paul Greene leave, sure in the knowledge that all of the boy's lines of communications to the authorities were closed. What he had not considered was that Little Big Man could, and no doubt would, if given the chance, open his mouth to a teacher, the parent of a friend or, since he lived and went to school on an Air Force base, squeal to another service brat who would tell his service father, who would . . .

The Phantom had recognized that danger and decided to do something about it. He had coldly, logically, and methodically, decided what needed to be done and acted. Phantom had done what he had always said that he would do.

The Gunner started. "Dear God," he muttered. Now he understood why Phantom had seduced Little Big Man. The fire that burned within the boy had flared and he had acted as he had declared he would act. Phantom was hotheaded, yes, but he was less hotheaded than he was rationally, if naively, dedicated to his principles and sense of responsibility. He had fought the enemy, using a dirty trick, to be sure, but he had fought back.

The Gunner looked up at the overcast sky, the teeming rain mingling with his tears. He had stomped angrily into the night, refusing the silent plea for understanding. Phantom had told him everything, had confessed his innermost, darkest secrets, and instead of taking the boy in his arms, he had run away. He had to get back. He had to tell Phantom how he felt. God, please let him be there.

The Gunner ran through the mud of the road, oblivious to the ruination of his smartly polished shoes and of his trousers, turned into waterlogged rags by the incessant downpour. As he neared the car he saw the dome light on and the shadowed figure sitting inside. He rushed to the passenger side of the car and pulled the door open. "Get out," he commanded.

"What? Why?" asked The Phantom, confused and a little frightened at the look on The Gunner's face.

The Gunner reached in and pulled The Phantom from the Land Rover. For a few moments they stood there, just looking at each other. Then The Gunner reached out and pulled the boy to him, enveloping him with his arms, holding him tightly, and then kissing him, his kiss so deep and passionate that The Phantom's legs began to shake with excitement.

When their lips parted The Phantom gasped with the pleasure of their kiss, and opened his mouth to speak. The Gunner stopped him. "No, don't talk, just let me hold you, let me love you. Let me tell you what a blind, stupid fool I have been. Let be beg your forgiveness and let me tell you that what you did was heroic and wonderful."

The Phantom grinned and shook his head so enthusiastically that his white cap fell off his head and landed in the mud with a dull plop.

"No matter what happens, Phantom, I love you. Unconditionally, without question."

The Phantom reached up and touched his beloved's face. "I belong with you, Steve."

They embraced tightly and then The Gunner pulled away. "God, I want you."

"And I want you." The Phantom reached out and felt the bulge in the front of The Gunner's trousers. He looked pointedly at the back of the car. Then he grinned and tugged at The Gunner's erection. He looked around and laughed softly. "A logging road, the back of the car. Remember?"

The Gunner nodded. "You took advantage of me."

The Phantom smiled and before his lips once again met The Gunner's he whispered huskily, "And I plan on doing it again."