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, dos 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). I enjoy hearing from my readers. Please contact me at my home address: paradegi@rogers.com
The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 26
As it happened, Cory and Sean did not ride in the last bus leaving AURORA for Comox. Sean, as always prim and proper and very conscious of his status as a Chief Petty Officer, insisted on changing. He also insisted that Cory change into long trousers, an open-neck, short-sleeved shirt, and proper shoes. Cory, much his old self, acquiesced with an ill and profane grace.
It was well past two in the afternoon when the two boys set out for Comox. The town was not all that far and they would have made better time by taking a whaler, or one of the many sailboats tied to lower jetties in the Dockyard, but the day was fair and there was a slight breeze that cooled the air.
As they walked Sean deliberately avoided any mention of the conflict between Cory and his brother. He chatted away, his primary topic being his plans for the future. He was undecided what he should do with his life. The Navy as a career was interesting, but he had his doubts. His parents were pushing him toward Medical School, which intrigued him. His high school courses had been heavily into the sciences and he was an A student.
Cory, whose feet hurt from his Navy-issue shoes, was grumpy. He suggested that Sean specialize in gynaecology. That way he did not have to worry about molesting his patients. "Really, Cory, that is low," complained Sean. "I would no more 'molest' one of my patients, presuming I do become a physician than, well, molest you!"
Cory gave Sean a sideways glance. "You tried that once, remember?"
Sean coloured, then squared his shoulders. "As I recall the incident, of which you seem never to tire of reminding me, I was rather hoping that it would be you molesting me!"
Cory snickered. "Yes, Sean, you were." He deliberately stopped in the middle of the road and looked Sean up and down. Then he did a slow walk around the short, red-haired Chief. "You're not bad, you know. A little skinny, and you could lose that funeral suit . . ."
Much to Cory's surprise Sean nodded briskly and undid the buckle of his belt and, before Cory could stop him, he dropped his black trousers, stepped out of them, folded them neatly over his arm, and started walking. "Is this what you had in mind?" Sean asked over his shoulder.
Cory, momentarily stunned, watched as Sean walked down the road, his shirttail flapping, exposing his white briefs and, so far as Cory was concerned, a well-packed, round bottom. He ran after Sean and, laughing, told him to put his pants back on.
"I do wish that you would make up your mind, Cory," grumbled Sean as he dressed. "You told me to lose the funeral suit!"
Laughing, Cory gave Sean a hug. "Now that's the Sean I remember," he said, and then quickly pulled away. "And don't make anything of that hug."
They had walked a little farther down the road when Sean spoke. "Philip was correct in what he said, Cory. We really should at least discuss our relationship."
Cory glanced at Sean out of the corner of his eye. Sean was no showstopper, and never would be. Still, there was something about him that was intriguing. He was not, however, that intriguing. "Sean, I am not looking for a boyfriend." He saw the stricken look on Sean's face and moderated his tone. "Sean, I like you. I admit that you do, in some strange way, turn me on." Cory saw that Sean was about to reply and held up his hand. "You are a very kind, sweet person . . ."
"Next you will tell me that I have a great personality!" protested Sean.
"You have the personality of a dead fish!" retorted Cory. "You are also so anal-retentive that I am surprised that your head hasn't exploded!"
"Thank you, Cory," replied Sean, hurt.
"Look, Sean, hear me out, okay?"
Sean nodded. "Just as long as I have the opportunity to reply."
"We have all afternoon," said Cory. He put his arm around Sean's waist. Sean twitched, but did not pull away. "Sean, I am gay, and people know it. You, Sean, are gay but you are so deep in the closet that your mother piles the winter blankets over you. That's fine. That is your choice. But it is not my choice."
"Cory, I cannot be what you want me to be!"
Cory nodded. He deliberately gave Sean a squeeze. "I'm not asking you to be anything, Sean. You could loosen up, be more like the old Sean, true. But, and I mean this, you are an all right guy, and I like you. I am just not going to be involved with you and live my life hiding a relationship with you. And I am not interested in a one-off. To put it crudely, if I want a good fuck I can go find Nathan. That is assuming he and Caspar have come up for air!"
Sean stiffened and then pulled away, angry. "And neither am I. If I am in the closet it's because that is where I have to be. I have not had sex with another boy since I broke up with my last boyfriend - over a year ago! I do not go out looking for sex, Cory, and I am not the type of person who thinks that sex is the be all and end all of a relationship. I told you about the two relationships I had. It might interest you vaguely to know that they were deep, intense, and I did not seek other companions when I was in those relationships. If, and I say if, I ever come out of my closet it will be for one reason: I have found the person I wish to spend the rest of my life with. Until then, my closet is my refuge and I am staying in it!"
Surprised at the vehemence of Sean's statement, Cory looked at him. "So, you don't want to sleep with me?"
"I do not recall making a statement of that kind. I neither confirm nor deny that I would not sleep with you if the opportunity presented itself," returned Sean coldly. Then his face softened. "Cory, I told you last night, I am telling you now, that I love you. That is not going to change. I am not asking you for a physical relationship, though I would be lying if I said that I did not want one." He scuffed the dirt with the toe of his shoe. "I started out last night apologizing about Kingston. I had thought that apologizing would be the end of it, that we would go our own ways. This morning, when we said goodbye, I thought that whatever we might have had together was just a . . . dream. I had no idea that our being together, for even such a brief period, would be so . . . disruptive."
"You did not disrupt anything. Todd is the one making an ass of himself," replied Cory flatly. He stopped abruptly and sat down at the side of the road. Sean sat beside him. Cory stared off into the woods for a long time and then spoke quietly. "Sean, I am attracted to you. I admit it." He gave Sean a nudge with his elbow. "Don't get a swelled head, though."
"I won't," replied Sean, his spirits soaring. Cory was attracted to him!
"I went to the Dockyard last night because I wanted to hear what you had to say," Cory continued. "I had no idea you felt the way you do about me. I know that you are sincere, and that you are not on the make."
Sean snorted. "If I wanted a piece of ass, Cory, I would wait until I got home and then go down to Gastown. Down there all I need is an erection and a twenty-dollar bill."
Cory found this terribly funny. The idea of Sean, with an erection, prowling the alleys of Gastown, Vancouver's Skid Row, looking for sex, was ludicrous. He began to laugh uproariously.
Sean, after realizing what he had said, joined in Cory's laughter. Without thinking he put his arms around Cory and pulled him close. "At least we can laugh together." Suddenly, without caring where he was, without caring if he was seen or not, Sean kissed Cory deeply.
Cory, startled, allowed the kiss. Then he pushed Sean away. "No, Sean."
Crestfallen, and ashamed, Sean nodded. Then he straightened. "I will not apologize, Cory. At least I had the opportunity to kiss you."
"I did not ask you to apologize," replied Cory. He stood up and offered his hand to Sean. "We should be going."
As Cory pulled him to his feet Sean said, "There is no hope for me, is there Cory?"
"I did not say that," replied Cory. He released Sean's hand and started walking down the road.
"You have not said anything!" protested Sean. He ran the short distance between him and Cory. "If you want me to go away and leave you alone, say so!" he said as he caught up with Cory.
Cory gave Sean a sideways glance. "I want to have lunch with you."
Sean growled and gnashed his teeth. Cory was being too damned coy and smug. He gave up. "All right then. Lunch."
"Just remember, Sean," began Cory, a slight smile forming on his lips.
Sean cut him off. "I know! This is not a date!" And I am getting damned fed up with you saying that!
The Phantom dressed and then called Joey to his side. He knelt down and put his hands on the boy's thin shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. "Joey, Todd and I are leaving now."
Joey shrugged, and then looked over his shoulder. Simon was wrestling with Randy and it was evident that Simon was enjoying himself. His thin penis, perhaps two inches when soft, had lengthened and the smoothly turned head had reddened. Joey giggled. "He'll be all right, Phantom."
"Joey, I cannot tell you what to do. All I will say is this: 'only if he asks'." He leaned his head forward and kissed Joey softly. "I know you love Randy, so if there is a problem . . ."
Joey turned his head again, and then looked into The Phantom's eyes. His face was sombre. "Randy likes Simon. So do I. We will be nice to him. But only if he asks."
The Phantom stood up and nodded. He gestured to Todd to follow him and then stopped. He regarded Joey a moment and then said, "Joey, Simon has never been with a boy before. Maybe you shouldn't . . ."
Joey shook his head firmly. "We'll do everything Simon wants to do but that." He smiled coyly. "We might show him, though."
The Phantom shook his head and walked quickly along the path. Todd followed and together they walked in silence until they were well clear of the woods. As they neared the Staff Barracks Todd paused and looked back, then grinned at The Phantom. "You do know what is happening back there, don't you?" he asked.
"Oh, I have a good idea," replied The Phantom as he returned Todd's grin.
"And it doesn't bother you?"
The Phantom shook his head. "Todd, the first guy I was ever with, the very first guy, would lock the door and pull down all the shades in my bedroom before he would so much as unzip his fly! I swear he would have barricaded the door if he could." He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "What's better? Having illicit sex in a darkened room, pounding your pud so fast that all you get out of it is release, or making love beside a tidal pool, under the sun and trees?"
"Why, Phantom, you surprise me!" Todd laughed and wrapped his arm around The Phantom's back. "You really are a bigger romantic than I thought you were."
"Piss off, Todd. You know what I mean."
"Oh, I do," replied Todd. "I just wish that more guys our age thought that way." "Most guys our age are a walking hardon. Romance does not enter into the equation."
Laughing, Todd led The Phantom to the barracks stoop. He sat down and motioned for The Phantom to join him. "In a way, Simon is lucky," he said. "Randy and Joey might be right little monsters, but they do love each other and they won't take advantage of him."
The Phantom agreed and smiled. "They'll show Simon what it means to be a gay boy and how much pleasure he can have with another boy. It will not be sleazy, or furtive. They will teach him to love, just the way you and Cory taught me. They will not force themselves on Simon, or do anything that he doesn't want to do."
Todd looked off into the distance. "Cory and I taught each other. We learned how to love from each other." He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. "Believe it or not, Phantom, it was two years after we started fooling around before we made real love."
The Phantom smiled. "I never made real love at all until I was with you in the shack." He grimaced slightly. "Before that all I ever did was beat my best friend's dick and even then I had to let go before he shot off."
"You're kidding!"
"No, it's the truth. I would jerk him off until he was almost there and then I had to let go and he would finish himself off. He would do the same to me. Once I was so horny I didn't tell him that I was going to squirt. I just let loose a broadside and covered him in my spunk. He was some pissed off."
"Why did you bother? Hell, Phantom, half the guys in my school were lined up with their flies open and their dicks out once they found out that I was gay."
"Nobody but he knew that I liked playing with dicks. It was our secret. We both wanted what we were doing, we both needed what we were doing, but we could not let anybody else know. In the end we both ended up frustrated and angry. He went off to sea with his father and I started visiting the cadets. That was last summer."
"And this summer?"
The Phantom cocked his head and grinned sheepishly. "I started out just masturbating them. Then, one night, I wondered what a dick tasted like."
"So you tasted one?"
"Eventually more than one," admitted The Phantom. "I liked sucking their dicks. It gave me as much pleasure as I gave them. What surprised me was that the guys I did it to never complained about it. If they said anything at all, which most of them did not, they claimed that they had had a wicked wet dream."
Todd laughed scornfully. "My ass! I would bet you a buck, if I had one, which I don't because Harry borrowed all my money, every guy you blew might have been asleep when you started but he sure as hell was awake when you finished. You gave them what most of them dream about getting. You gave them a blow job and that, Phantom, is the one thing they all want, the thing they all talk about." The Phantom thought a moment. "Simon said something along those lines. He told me that two of his fellow Sea Puppies, when they see a pretty girl in the movies, they want to stick their dicks in her mouth. They don't want to fuck her, they wanted her to suck them off!"
"Of course they do," returned Todd. "Getting your dick sucked is the ultimate forbidden act. Fucking is something that is going to happen to most guys sooner or later. That is a given because they will either meet the local mattress, or they will get married. Most girls will not suck a guy's dick no matter how much he begs and whines. They will give their boyfriends a hand job, but actually putting that THING in their mouths, well, nice girls don't do that. As for bad girls, they are few and far between and sometimes even they are particular about what they put in their mouths."
The Phantom thought briefly of Amy Jensen, and of her giving Greg Langston what he wanted, up beside the reservoir. He remembered how disgusted her young brother, Robby, had been. He also remembered the disappointment written on the face of her older brother, Jeff. He wondered if the word had spread as much as Robby had said it had, and if Amy was now the town slut. He shook his head at the hypocrisy of it all.
"Teenage guys think of nothing but sex," Todd went on. "Getting a blow job is something they all want, something they all dream about and when they get one, and when they know that they will continue to go on getting blown, they keep their mouths shut and their dicks hard!"
The Phantom chortled softly. "One mystery solved," he joked.
"No mystery, Phantom. Just horny teenage boys who know a good thing when they have it."
The Phantom thought of Brian, and Rob. Both boys had frankly admitted that they had waited, and wanted The Phantom to return in the night, and he wondered how many of the others had been like Brian and Rob, lying in their bunks, pretending to be asleep, and waiting impatiently to be serviced. Todd had been right, of course. It was all sex to be sure, but it had been something else as well. What he had done had awakened in some of the boys feelings that they barely knew existed; feelings that grew within them and made them realize their true selves. Because of what he had done Brian had found Dylan, Rob had found Ryan, and Ray, his sweet adorable Ray, had found Kevin. Something magnificent had come out of his nightly visits. A frown creased The Phantom's brow. If something magnificent had happened why then did he feel, well, soiled?' He asked Todd that question and was surprised by his friend's answer.
"Because you have a conscience," replied Todd. "You feel bad because deep down inside you knew that what you were doing was wrong. Also, you developed feelings, deep personal feelings for the boys you went to. Suddenly, this year, unlike last year, what you did was not anonymous sex in the middle of the night. You connected with the guys, they became more than a notch in your belt."
"They sure did," said The Phantom with a grin. Then he sobered. "Still, I wonder now . . ."
"How much of a role you played in their sexual development?" Seeing The Phantom nod, Todd continued. "Probably very little. Of all the cadets you went to, jerked off or blew, how many went on to a relationship with another boy? And how many boys that you did not go near are in a relationship?"
The Phantom thought about that for a moment. "I see your point, Todd," he said. "Relationships, encounters, are going to happen whether I have anything to do with it or not."
"That's right. To some of the guys what you did to them will always be a very happy memory. Others now know that what they like is being with another guy. And still others, like Simon, will eventually discover what they are." A sad memory filled Todd's mind. "And others will be forced into a situation that they do not want to be in because their older brother is too fucking stupid to realize it!"
"Nathan and Cory?"
Todd nodded his confirmation. "Nathan would have remained a quick fuck gone bad if I had just minded my own business."
"You could hardly have known that he was a confirmed cock hound, or that he would be dumb enough to tell Cory that he was," replied The Phantom sympathetically.
Todd pulled his knees up close to his chest and hugged them. "I pushed Nathan on Cory and I am trying to drive Sean away. I misjudged the one and do not know anything about the other." He rested his forehead on his knees and then looked mournfully at his friend. "Until this morning I thought I knew what I was doing. Now, shit, Phantom, I am so fucked up I do not know if I am punched, reamed or bored!"
The Phantom chuckled. "You let your heart rule your head. You have a habit of doing that when it comes to Cory. You have to let him go, Todd."
Todd laughed, a sad, tired, bitter laugh. "Only last night I told Harry that Cory was growing up, that he was becoming his own man. Then I turn around and make a complete jerk of myself, treating him like my little brother again!"
"If it will make you feel any better I'll pee on you from a great height," deadpanned The Phantom.
"The Gunner already did!" blurted Todd. He groaned and lay back. "Shit!" he gave The Phantom a worried look. "I guess he's right ticked off at us."
"He is," confirmed The Phantom. "However, if you and Cory, together . . ." he emphasized the "together". "If you time it right, he'll be feeling so angry with himself for hitting you, and calling you fuckups, that if you both show up on his doorstep, full of contrition, he will forgive you and apologise for what he did and said."
"We'll be the ones apologizing," said Todd firmly. He looked at The Phantom. "Cory's in love with The Gunner, you know."
"I know. And so are you." The Phantom's tone was not accusatory.
Todd blushed and raised his head. "It shows, does it?"
"It does. The Gunner knows how you feel. He also knows that you and Cory are one day going to try to get into his bed." Todd sat up quickly and began to sputter a protest. The Phantom cut him off. "Cheer up. The Gunner's aware of the way you and Cory feel about him." He began to laugh and then slapped Todd's bare leg. "Hey, maybe he will make you and Cory his Pages. Then none of you will have to worry for at least a year!"
Todd gave The Phantom a curious look. "What is that all about?"
"Well, the two highest ranking members of the Order, the Grand Master, and the Chancellor, are allowed to have two pages. They're called Pages of Honour and Profess. Knights are allowed one. Pages are beyond touch, sacrosanct. A knight, even a candidate knight, is not allowed to so much as breathe on a Page. Putting the moves on a Page gets you big time trouble! The Proctor didn't exactly say what would happen but I got the impression that the punishment involved a big knife and the molester's balls."
Todd winced, and then fixed his friend with a hard look. "By that I take it you mean that we, Cory and I, could not have sex with The Gunner?" His jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide. "No way, Phantom."
"I did not say he was going to make you his Pages. Besides, you and Cory would have to agree to it." Almost as an afterthought he added, "You could have all the sex you wanted with Cory, but sex with me is . . ." He paused, hesitant to tell his best friend that Rule of the Order was quite explicit when it came to sex between Knights of any degree and Pages. The Phantom swallowed and forged ahead. "You, uh, well, you couldn't have sex with me at all, because I would be a Candidate Knight and . . ."
A look of utter fierceness came over Todd's face as he exploded, "Phantom Lascelles, you had better be joking because if you think for one minute I am going to let some Order tell me whom I can and cannot sleep with you are sadly mistaken."
"Them's the rules, Todd," replied The Phantom calmly. He had more or less expected Todd's reaction to the no sex rule. However, he had a plan. He looked at Todd and shrugged. "But then, I don't see what you are so hot to trot about. A little while ago you weren't all that interested in the Order, or its rules. Since you aren't interested, Todd . . ."
"Maybe I've been thinking about it," snapped Todd. "Maybe I just might want to become a Candidate Knight, as you are. Maybe I just might be interested." He grimaced at The Phantom. "I guy can change his mind, you know."
The Phantom smiled inwardly. "GOTCHA!" he thought. "Well, when you see The Gunner, mention it to him. I am sure that he will be more than happy to consider you. Mind you, he might just tell you to go peddle your papers down the street. One of the things you have to swear to do is protect and defend your brothers, not beat the shit out of them if they do not happen to agree with your way of thinking."
"You're a sly bastard, Phantom," retorted Todd. "You set me up for that!"
"Yes, I did," replied The Phantom smoothly.
Todd grinned. "I promise, Phantom, I will do whatever I have to do to make up with Cory."
"You'll talk to him? More importantly, will you listen to him?"
"Yes," replied Todd with a firm nod of his head. "And I will stand aside when it comes to him and Sean."
"Better yet, why don't you try talking to Sean? Try to understand where he stands. You might learn something."
"Yeah, I might," said Todd grudgingly.
"You might learn that he has built this wall around his emotions. He will not let anybody except Cory get close to him. Everything he did, he did out of fear. Everybody thinks that he is an iron ass Chief. In fact, he is not. I've seen him with Cory. I've seen how he acts with Cory. Frankly, Todd, from the little I've seen when they've been together, they make a good couple. Cory might not be head over heels in love with Sean, but he does like him even though he tries not to show it. Hell, they snap and snarl at each other like an old married couple! I think that Cory would be good for Sean. If nothing else Cory can show Sean that he is loved for himself, loved for being who is he is. Plus Sean can be himself with Cory. He doesn't have to hide."
"Cory does that to people," muttered Todd. "He sometimes tends to bring out the worst in them."
The Phantom laughed and continued on. "No, Todd, that is not what I mean. Sean is in love with Cory. More importantly, he is not afraid of Cory, and will not back down. He tells Cory exactly what he thinks."
"And Cory listens to him?"
"Well, after his usual bitching and moaning. But yes, he listens. I think that deep down Cory knows that Sean is not after him for sex alone. Cory also knows that Sean is not Nathan. Sean has been with two guys - count 'em, Todd, two guys - since Kingston. From what Cory has told me, and from my own personal observations, Sean strikes me as a decent, loyal, dependable man. Cory could do worse."
"Are you Sean's champion now?" Todd asked, a slight sneer curling his lips.
"No. I am merely telling you my impression of Sean Anders. At the end of the day it doesn't matter what I think, or what you think. What matters is what Cory thinks." The Phantom stood up and stretched. "Right now Cory doesn't really know where he wants to go with Sean. You might give him some space to make up his own mind, in his own time, in his own way." He bent down and kissed Todd lightly. "I've got to go. Chef will be thinking I've been kidnapped by Gypsies."
Todd snorted derisively. "Luck to the Gypsies!" he said sourly.
Sean and Cory bickered amiably as they walked into town, enjoying the afternoon sun and the activity in the harbour. They took The Phantom's advice and went to Winston's, the most upscale and expensive restaurant in town only to discover that the restaurant was between services. Lunch was over, and the staff was busily setting up for the dinner hour. Cory, after one look at the fern littered main room of the restaurant, and the chintzy pretentiousness, turned away. Sean, whose tastes were basic plebeian, was not disappointed, and was quite satisfied to find a small, open-air cafe on the waterfront where both boys could satisfy their craving for the basic teenage necessities of life: hamburgers with everything, fries, onion rings and Cokes.
Cory, after tucking into two of the largest hamburgers the cafe served, a huge order of greasy French fries, a double order of onions rings, all washed down with at least a gallon of watered-down Coke, burped loudly, rubbed his distended belly and then grinned. "Best damned lunch I've had in a long time."
Sean ignored Cory's crudeness. Had he said anything it would only have set Cory off and Sean did not want that. He was much too happy spending time with Cory and really wanted nothing to mar the feelings of contentment he had.
Both boys lingered at the table, watching, with critical eyes (they both had attended the Sailing School in Kingston and held Gold Sail Certificates), the small sailboats darting and tacking across and about the small harbour, commenting on the technique of the various sailors, or their obvious amateurism. All in all it was a pleasant way to spend a lazy afternoon, although Cory did manage to spoil the moment by complaining about Sean's insistence that they wear long trousers and short-sleeved shirts. Shorts, sandals and T-shirts would have been, in Cory's opinion, much more appropriate.
Sean pointed out that as Chiefs they were expected to set an example to the other cadets just as officers were supposed to set an example for everyone by going ashore in a suit, tie, hat and, in some ships, carry gloves and a furled umbrella. Cory promptly told Sean what he could do with his umbrella, furled or otherwise. This set Sean off on his practiced "Duties And Responsibilities of Officers, Chiefs, and Petty Officers When Going Ashore" lecture. Fortunately for the physical well being of his dangling bits he was interrupted in mid-tirade by a shouted greeting.
Both boys looked up to see Nicholas and Andre approaching their table. Cory smiled warmly as the two cadets sat down. Nicholas was one of Cory's favourite people and, if the truth were told, Nicholas could put his size tens under Cory's bunk any time he wanted to. Andre, whose deep, dark, soulful eyes sent shivers up and down Cory's spine, was sadly beyond the pale. Still, the way the young French-Canadian boy pronounced Cory's name caused him to shudder with desire tinged with not a little regret.
"Bon jour, Coree," said Andre in his shy way as he sat down. Cory beamed. Andre turned to Sean and was formally polite in his greeting. "Good afternoon, Chief Anders," he said, his voice devoid of the warmth he felt for Cory. He did a double take and looked at Cory's bruised face. He was about to ask what had happened, but thought better of it.
Nicholas, however, was made of sterner stuff. "Cory, what in the hell did you do to your face?"
"It's a long story," replied Cory with a look. "Let's just say that Todd and I decided to settle an argument the hard way."
Nicholas grinned and shook his head. "What does Todd look like, or should I ask?"
"Worse," supplied Sean. "Both Cory and Todd behaved like little children." He gave Cory a hard look.
Cory returned the look and a message flashed. Sean had been warned to belt up, and fast.
Nicholas, not wanting to start another war, turned to Sean. He nodded, not coldly, but there was little warmth in his greeting. "It's good to see you again, Sean."
Sean, who was fully aware of what the other cadets thought of him, returned the nod. He realized that he had no one but himself to blame for their attitude. He did not know Andre at all, and while he had sailed with Nicholas, the summer before last, in ORIOLE, they had been shipmates, not messmates, a subtle difference that few understood. Sean had built the wall around himself and now he was seeing the effect of the wall. He sighed inwardly. There was no sense in dwelling on the past so he decided to make the best of an awkward situation. He returned Andre's greeting with a smile and turned to Nicholas. "It is good to see both you and Andre, Nicholas. Are you taking advantage of the Sunday Routine?"
Nicholas shook his head as he signalled for the waitress to come and take his order. "I wish." He turned and grinned at Cory. "We have finally finished with the photos." He gave Andre a fond look. "And also somebody has been suffering a severe case of grumbling tummy for the last two hours!"
"I am hungry, Nicholas, and you promised to feed me if I helped. I have helped and now I wish to be fed!"
Nicholas chuckled and handed the menu to his friend, lover and helpmate. "You can have whatever you want so long as it doesn't cost over three dollars. I had to lash out for the albums," he explained to Cory.
"But the albums, they are very beautiful," Andre enthused. "You will be very pleased."
"You were," replied Nicholas with a lewd grin as he remembered the first time that he and Andre had begun the early preparations. Nicholas also remembered vividly the circumstances, which had led to him, and Andre, spending much of their free time (other than the time they spent together in the Flag Locker), toiling in the darkroom and photo prep room of the Base Photo Tech.
Cory saw the slow smile of nostalgia spread across Nicholas's face and, in turn, smiled as he remembered the happy times. He was not at all sure just what Nicholas was up to, but he knew that what the tall, handsome Yeoman was up to involved the snaps the boys had taken during their sailing escapade; photographs that would, Nicholas had promised, put paid to the humiliation of being mooned and would be the ammunition Todd needed to fire the final, penultimate volley and win the war of "The Mooning", to inflict the ultimate revenge on Sub-Lieutenant Kyle St. Vincent and his crew of bushwhackers and mooners!
Cory's gaze swept across Comox Harbour, taking in the panorama of small sailboats, the larger sailing yachts, and huge cabin cruisers, which the cadets, with all the disdain true sailors held for powerboats, called "Stink Pots", moving back and forth across the harbour. The small armada of boats reminded Cory of that day, the day the war had begun, and the waters of the Inland Passage had been full of small boats of every description
They had left Raven Bay, on Texada Island, and were in transit, sailing leisurely, toward Powell River, on the mainland coast. It had been the first full day of their sailing trip and, aside from the Twins making fools of themselves by jumping into the cold waters of the Strait the afternoon before, and scaring everybody half to death, it had been a pleasant, relaxing trip. Both crews had spent the night camped on the shores of Crescent Bay. Morning had seen them sailing along the coast of the island and as almost always happened, a friendly race had been held, The Gunner's whaler against Kyle's. They had downed sails and shipped the sweeps and, with each crew pulling mightily, growling and groaning, the race was on. It had been a near run thing, with Kyle's boat in the lead most of the way until the whalers came abeam of Raven Bay where The Gunner's crew, ably and profanely coxed by Harry, put on a burst of speed and slipped ahead.
Disappointed, Kyle, who had coxed more than one winning team in more regattas than he cared to remember, also knew how to be a loser. As a veteran coxswain Kyle told his crew what to do as soon as the winning boat pulled alongside to commiserate the winners. Kyle's crew were ready when The Gunner's whaler came alongside, and The Gunner's crew, all set to gloat, were well and truly ambushed. They were soaked with buckets of water, assaulted with assorted bits and pieces of flotsam, and gifted with the carcase of a dead herring. Everybody had a hell of good time and they pulled into the bay to clean up and repair ship.
As the whalers made their way north and east toward Powell River they sailed closer to the Sunshine Coast. The cadets could see that the beaches, like the adjoining waters, were crowded. It was a perfect, sunny, lazy Saturday afternoon, and the cadets had been enjoying themselves, taking pictures of the shoreline, of the small boats that abounded and ogling the pretty girls that seemed to be roosting on every yacht, Stink Pot, and dory afloat. Cory, who had little or no interest in girls in general or the ones preening and posing a hundred or so yards away in particular, had been sunning himself, lying across the thwartship seat, debating with himself whether or not to have a nap, when he caught some movement to seaward out of the corner of his eye. Looking up he had seen Kyle's whaler, about fifty feet to seaward, pulling abeam.
Cory watched a master at work as Kyle manoeuvred his whaler. Kyle, for all his youth, was a competent and careful seaman and a White Sail Instructor. He was sitting in the stern of his whaler while his crew sat along the starboard gunwale, acting as a counterweight, which struck Cory as odd. Why would all seven crewmembers be needed to steady the whaler when there was a following sea and the wind was from the south?
As Cory watched, Kyle, close hauling and jibing expertly, began to pull abeam of The Gunner's whaler. Cory glanced aft and saw The Gunner, with Phantom at his side, and Tyler sitting on the seat in front of them, watching Kyle's manoeuvring. Cory glanced back toward the other whaler, yawned and, having decided that a nap was definitely in order, was about to settle back when it happened.
Kyle brought his boat abeam of The Gunner's, keeping pace and distance. Suddenly he saluted and shouted, "Ship's Company! . . . Ship's Company, Ho!"
Cory's eyes flew open and he watched as the crew of the other whaler, all seven of them, Andy, Chris, Steve, Rob, Stuart, Greg and Val, stood up.
Grinning, Kyle bellowed, "Ship's Company, Down Shorts!"
From somewhere aft Cory could hear The Phantom hooting about his camera. As he watched, Cory heard Kyle bellow his next order: "Bend Over!" and the Twin's mouth fell open. Before Cory were seven pinky-browny bums, smooth and hairless. A jagged, deep pink scar marred one bum (Andy's). >From up forward, where Harry had been sitting, Cory could hear loud laughter, then loud swearing as Harry fell off the seat and began thrashing about in the bottom of the whaler. Ray and Nicholas began tossing kit bags around, looking for their own bags, and their cameras.
As Nicholas's camera clicked rapidly, Kyle shouted his next order and the occupants of The Gunner's whaler were presented with seven brown, wrinkled anal orifices as Andy and the cadets spread their bum cheeks. Then, adding injury to insult, they wiggled, actually wiggled, their bums at the other boat, stood up, pulled up their shorts, waved and grinned, and then sailed off.
Kyle wisely kept a safe distance from The Gunner's whaler, where there was a gathering of the clans in the bow of the boat. Harry was vociferous in his indignation at the insult. They had been most grievously mooned! Not only that, the miscreants had foully exposed their holes! Harry was most upset, and consoled himself with threatening mayhem on Two Strokes' parts. Todd, Cory, Nicholas and Ray were equally insulted.
The problem, as The Phantom calmly pointed out, was that revenge, while definitely in order, would have to be well thought out, his argument being what could you do to revenge yourself on seven cadets who'd just mooned you? Mooning them back was hardly an option, and hanging a collective rat was not worth the effort because, as The Phantom again pointed out, a dick was a dick and besides they had all seen each other's dick only this morning. They had seen every dick in sight, so there was no shock value.
With rising temper Todd listened to a spirited discussion, with Harry leading, about the relative size and shape of their dicks. Then Two Strokes and Harry got into a minor spat about guys checking out guys, during which Two Strokes admitted to comparing his dick with The Gunner's, which led Harry to observe that a guy had to check out the competition, even if some of them had pretty ugly dicks, which he, Harry, did not of course have.
At this last statement, Todd blew up. "Would you two please shut the fuck up!" he bellowed, waving them all to silence. "Harry, you have a very nice dick. The Pride of the Fleet, and no danger! Two Strokes, you and The Gunner have twin dicks! You have a very handsome dick, a dick any man would be proud to own!" He then glared at the other boys. An idea was forming in his mind and he did not need a filibuster on comparative dick sizes. "No more talk about dicks! Case closed!" he ordered. "We all have wonderful, glorious, magnificent dicks! We are all brothers of the ring, with dicks that are the envy of millions from Newfyjohn to Squibbly. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
After Harry had voiced his opinion on that remark Todd continued. They wanted revenge, did they not? They had been insulted, had they not? They all wanted something done, did they not?
The other cadets nodded. They most definitely wanted their revenge. Todd grinned and nodded. They would have their revenge, but not just yet.
When the shouting subsided Todd smiled evilly and calmly asked The Phantom how many pictures of "The Mooning" he had taken. The Phantom told him. Nicholas offered that he had taken quite a few, with a telephoto lens. Todd beamed. "Now we have ammunition. Here's what we are going to do." He looked aft to where The Gunner was sitting in lonely splendour. Then he turned to The Phantom.
"Phantom, would you say that you have a handsome dick?"
Somewhat taken aback, The Phantom nodded slowly. "Yeah, I suppose so."
Todd grinned and looked at Harry but did not ask him his opinion of his dick. Everybody knew what Harry thought about his dick. Instead Todd asked Two Strokes. "And you, Roger, your dick, while small, and inserted once into hardly forbidden territory, is comparable to The Gunner's?"
Two Strokes gave Todd a dirty look. The insertion in question had barely been worth the effort. He ignored that part of Todd's remark. "Yeah, except my dick isn't wrinkled."
Over muted snickers and chuckles, Todd sniffed. Two Strokes' dick, wrinkled or not, was not something he cared to contemplate. He looked pointedly at Two Strokes' crotch, shook his head sadly, turned to Nicholas, then Ray, then Tyler. "You all have dicks that can be described as handsome."
"Todd, just what are you leading up to?" asked Tyler impatiently. He did not care to have his dick discussed so openly. He turned to Cory, who shrugged.
Todd spread his hands and smiled. "What I am getting at is that while we all have handsome bits and pieces none of us would care to have photographs of them, or our butts, or our bung holes hanging in say, the Mess Hall? On the morning of our final parade?"
The Phantom gasped. "You wouldn't . . . I mean, not even my mother has seen my dick since I was six! It's one thing for you guys to see me, I mean you've made me feel like we're shipmates! But I would definitely not want a picture of my dick . . ."
"You're more than a shipmate, Phantom," said Todd softly. "You're a messmate."
"Of course he is," boomed Harry. "We don't strip just anybody naked!"
"Just messmates?" asked The Phantom dryly.
"Of course," replied Harry smoothly. "If you were just a shipmate, we wouldn't bother!" He laughed uproariously. "Messmates have no secrets from their mates, and you, Phantom, shouldn't keep secrets from us."
"I don't!" protested The Phantom. "You guys have seen every inch of me! Hell, I've never been so naked for so long!" He grinned. "That does not mean that I want a picture of my dick on display!"
"Now, Phantom, why not?" asked Harry, a smug smile on his face. Todd had unwittingly opened the dry-dock gates and Harry, being the vain creature that he was, was revelling in his ownership of the newly-christened Pride. "You have a very nice dick. Not in the same class of dicks as the Pride, but very nice nevertheless. Now personally, I wouldn't mind. After all, as Todd says . . ."
"NOT US, YOU NINNY!" roared Todd. He looked around the semicircle of boys and smiled. "Them!"
"Do we dare?" asked Ray. "And where would we put the pictures?"
"The Wardroom Flats. On the bulletin board outside The Gunner's Office," supplied Cory.
"A picture of Val, bum to the breeze, enlarged, and tacked to the door of the Chiefs Mess," said Tyler with a firm nod. "Talk about embarrassing!"
The other boys laughed and began offering their own ideas of where the photographs could be displayed. Todd smiled and nodded. Now they were thinking as a team. There was only one hurdle. He turned to Nicholas. "We have to get as many negatives as we can. Kyle didn't drop his drawers but he did hatch this little insult. We need a picture of him. Did anyone get a picture when he was chasing Harry with the spatula?"
The others thought a moment. "I know I didn't," replied The Phantom. "But maybe one of the guys in the other boat did."
"And even if no one did there is going to be plenty of opportunity to get pictures of them," reminded Todd.
The Phantom grinned. "Of course! We'll be camping tonight on Harwood Island. We know the first thing we are all going to do is drop drawers and get naked!"
Todd laughed and slapped The Phantom's back. "Fuckin' aye! We'll have plenty of opportunities to get photos of them all!"
"You still have to get the pictures from the other guys," Cory pointed out. "And you have to get them developed, and enlarged, or whatever."
Nicholas smiled. Todd was not the only one who had been thinking. "Phantom," he asked slyly, "do you know where Chef keeps his supply of Pusser Penicillin?
The Phantom nodded. "How many bottles?"
"Two," replied Nicholas. "Three if all the film is in colour."
****** When the whalers returned to AURORA, each cadet laden down with rolls of undeveloped film, Nicholas made his move. He offered to use his influence with the Base Photo Tech and have everybody's films developed, free of charge. Unwittingly the cadets, Andy, and Kyle, handed over their rolls of film to Nicholas, not knowing that while he supplied them all with developed photos, he kept the negatives and made contact sheets. The two bottles of rum supplied by The Phantom, plus an additional bottle Andy gave Nicholas (supposedly to ensure that certain photos of himself, The Gunner and Kyle, did not fall into the wrong hands) assured easy access to the CFB Comox Photo Laboratory.
What few of the cadets and none of the officers knew was that Nicholas was a gifted amateur photographer and had, thanks to his frequent trips to Base, developed a rapport with the Base Photo Tech who, when the lab was not busy, allowed the young cadet free reign to develop his photos, some of which the Base Tech sent to The Sentinel, the CAF magazine, under his own by-line. When Nicholas approached the Photo Tech about using the lab, he readily agreed. It was high summer and the flights from the East carried few, if any VIPs. Parliament was in recess so there were no sleazy, junketing politicians off on some specious fact finding trip to the Orient, or generals going out to inspect the troops attached to the UN. The war in Vietnam was over, and there were no troops at the front anywhere. The three bottles of Pussers, placed in the hands of the right AirOps chappy, would ensure first class accommodations for the Photo Tech, his wife, and his three kids when next they flew off on leave. He gave Nicholas a key to the lab and told him not to break anything.
At first Nicholas worked alone. Developing and enlarging the photographs was a piece of cake. The lab was equipped with state of the art enlargers and other equipment. His problem was deciding which pictures he would use. There were quite a few and many of them were minor works of art. His indecision was solved when he began to take Andre along with him to the lab. Surprisingly, the young French-Canadian had a discerning eye for colour, contrast, background and lighting. He might not know photography but he knew what he liked. He also giggled and became very excited the first time he saw the collection of photographs.
Andre was not unaccustomed to nudity. After all, he lived in the Band Barracks with 37 other boys. Bandsmen were just like other cadets. They had few inhibitions and shyness was hardly an issue after the first shock of seeing the other boys naked, semi-naked, excited or limp wore off. Andre was so used to seeing his fellow Bandsmen naked that he hardly paid them a second thought, except for Fozzy, who was as furry as a teddy bear and almost as androgynous. What Andre was not accustomed to was seeing photographic images of 14 senior cadets, plus two officers, AND The Gunner, all naked, and all in the full flush of their youth and manhood.
At first, as he leafed through the pile of photographs, Andre had little or no reaction to what he was seeing. The pictures of Nicholas were hardly a good substitute for the original model, who was standing beside him. Greg naked was not something to set a young French-Canadian boy's heart to going pitty-pat and Two Strokes was hardly an advertisement for gay erotica. The snaps of The Gunner, Kyle and Andy, while interesting and certainly worthy of a long second look, merely proved that distant gods had much the same equipment as anybody else. The pictures of Chris and Ray drew a smile and a soft sigh, but really nothing he saw caused Andre's petite souris to expand much.
What did set Andre's little mouse to tingling were the photos of Tyler and Val. His breathing grew heavier and his eyes widened when he saw Stuart and Steve, and his souris began twitching when he beheld the image of Rob who, with his black, curly hair, infectious smile and toned, well-muscled body, rivalled Harry as an example of classic male beauty. Harry, in all his glory produced a sharp intake of breath and a muttered, "Mon Dieu!" But it was a photograph of The Phantom, naked, his hair a gossamer web of gold from the rays of the rising sun beyond Harwood Island, his emerald eyes sparkling and a captivating smile on his face, that caused Andre's petite souris to become a huge rat. Then, when he turned over the photograph of The Phantom his eyes all but fell out of his head. The next picture in the pile was a colour snap of the Twins, two golden Adonises, wearing only their tighty-whiteys (a picture taken the morning of the Captain's Anniversary Parade, which Nicholas had forgotten was still in his camera). Andre could scarcely believe the beauty of the two boys. He could feel the beginnings of a very large wet spot forming in his Jockeys.
Somewhat shakily Andre put aside the picture of the Twins only to be confronted with another so wonderful in its sheer sensuality that Andre le Grand Rat, formerly Andre le petite souris, spasmed. What did the boy in was a photograph of the Twins in all their magnificence; naked, framed by the rays of the setting sun, striding across the white, sandy beach of Harwood Island. Andre squealed loudly. Much to Nicholas's disgust his young friend and lover's souris underwent a spontaneous orgasmic explosion of such cataclysmic pleasure that Andre was left exhausted, glassy-eyed, and totally useless for the next hour and a half. Fortunately, his recovery was quick and while he never again experienced such a spontaneous orgasm he was, from time to time, stimulated by one of the photos, much to Nicholas's delight later on in the Flag Locker.
Both boys, in collaboration, made excellent progress. At first Nicholas was only going to prepare enough photos to embarrass the cadets in Kyle's whaler. The photos of the boys, however, had captivated Andre. He had known most of them for the last three years but had not, for an equal length of time, seen any of them wearing anything racier than their bathing suits, much less naked. While he had been present poolside in Victoria, when the cadets were busily ripping each other's bathing suit off, he had been much too busy protecting that which women did not need to see that he saw nothing!
Nicholas, somewhat sarcastically, said that perhaps he should make up an album of all the AURORA studs that made Andre's little mouse go all tingly. Andre replied that there was only one AURORA stud that he was interested in and that he hoped that the stud enjoyed his visit with Madame de Poing et ses cinq filles when next he repaired to the Flag Locker. Nicholas took the hint and handed Andre the contact sheets and a magnifying glass. "Then choose the ones you want!"
Surprisingly, the photos that Andre selected for his "personal" album were not the cock and ball shots that Nicholas expected the boy to select. Not surprisingly Andre chose the two photos of the Twins, and Nicholas could not fault Andre's taste when he selected the shot of Phantom. There was something about The Phantom that sent a small shiver through Nicholas. No, he did not blame Andre at all.
What did surprise Nicholas was that Andre had chosen perhaps a dozen snaps of him, photos showing him in a variety of postures, photos that captured the sensuous Nicholas as opposed to the erotic Nicholas. The more Nicholas looked at the photos of himself, relaxing, playing beach ball, emerging from the water after a swim, the more he realized that Andre's eye was looking for beauty, not erotica. The little fuck was good!
All of which gave Nicholas the idea that together he and Andre could fashion an album for each cadet. They would try to divine which photos would be particularly appealing to each boy, each relying on his knowledge of the individual cadets to guide their choices, which worked up to a point. Nicholas, for all his expertise and knowledge, was jaded. He lived with most of the cadets who had participated in the sailing trip. Seeing a picture of Harry, for instance, was hardly titillating. Harry nude in a photograph was still the same as Harry nude in the Gunroom, only in sunlit living colour. As he explained to Andre, seeing another guy's dick every day and at all hours of the night tended to make a guy jaded after a while.
Andre's reply was that he'd seen Nicholas's dick hard, soft, and in between, and it never got boring and he certainly was not in the least jaded. He also pointed out that the photographs were the closest he was ever going to come to seeing some of the most beautiful boys in his world naked, as most of them would be leaving the Sea Cadets within months. He wasn't jaded at all and he wanted a few photos please, Nicholas. He wanted a very real souvenir of this wonderful summer and he wanted to be able in later years to look at the pictures and see the boys in all their splendour and glory. Please, Nicholas?
Agreeing to make up the albums was easier than making the things. Nicholas's first problem was albums, a problem easily solved by the Base Photo Tech. During the height of the Vietnam War there were constant "fact finding" junkets to Saigon and Comox was the jumping off point for the assorted politicians, generals, odds, sods, and boffins who had managed to snag a seat on the weekly flights outbound to the Orient. The Base Photo Tech haunted the departures lounge and the tarmac, snapping away. When the dignitaries returned they found waiting for them souvenir albums of their short visit to Comox. It also proved that they were doing more than sitting on their bums back in Ottawa and feeding at the public trough.
With the war and the junkets over, the Base Photo Tech found himself with a large supply of imitation leather album covers, each emblazoned with the Air Force crest, and an even larger supply of inserts for the albums. He had more or less resigned himself to having on hand a fifty-year supply when Nicholas approached him. The Photo Tech was more than delighted to help out a young Sea Cadet - for a price. Much to his dismay Nicholas learned that while Pusser rum was an expedient and very useful method of exchange, cash was better. In return for the better part of his cash reserve Nicholas was given the key to the Photo Lab Stores, and the result of his near bankruptcy and hard work, neatly boxed individual photo albums for each of the participants in the sailing trip, were stacked in the back of the van.
Cory was intrigued with the news of the albums. When, he asked, would he be able to see one?
"You can see it as soon as I finish eating," replied Nicholas as he speared a French fry.
Andre, who was finished being fed and watered, offered to get the album from the van and hurried off, returning within a few minutes with a large box. Cory saw that his name was printed on the box in large, block letters. "You made up a special album for each guy?" he asked as he opened the box and pulled out the album. "It must have been a lot of work."
Nicholas shrugged. "I had Andre helping me, and the equipment at Base is top of the line, so it wasn't that difficult." He grinned wickedly. "Which reminds me. I need you and Todd tomorrow morning, early," he said to Cory. "Phantom is going to help as well."
For some reason Andre began giggling. Cory gave him a look, wondering what was so funny. "Why do you need us? And how early is early?" he asked Nicholas.
"Because I need you to help me," replied Nicholas enigmatically. He reached over and gave the back of Andre's head a cuff. "Stop giggling, you little Frog horny toad!" He returned to Cory. "I told you that the lab equipment is top of the line," he began, enthusiasm warming his voice. "Well, let me tell you, Cory, I made some of the best damned enlargements you have ever seen. They are so big that we are going to . . ." He stopped abruptly, and his eyes slid over to Sean.
Nicholas did not dislike Sean. He did not particularly care for him, either. He had sailed with Sean Anders two years before in HMCS ORIOLE, a 90-foot, ketch-rigged sailing yacht, and the oldest commissioned ship in the Navy. Sean had proven to be a competent, sober, and knowledgeable sailor. He had also proven to be a prig, who disapproved of any word, action or deed that remotely approached homosexuality. It was not that Sean voiced his disapproval loudly or obnoxiously. It was not what he said, but what he did not say and the look that came over his face whenever the other crewmembers started chucking shit or playing queer. Sean said nothing and showed no emotion but his disapproval was written in his eyes. Which made what subsequently happened to Sean seem like poetic justice when a line had snapped, catching him smartly on his left ass cheek. He had yelped and, Nicholas swore, leaped ten feet above the polished teak deck of the sailing yacht, crashed down and lay sprawled, the blood from the gash on his butt staining the wood a deep red. Still, 36 stitches and a tot of rum later, Sean was at his post, as stubbornly oblivious to the discomfort he obviously felt as he had been while the Pecker Checker crocheted his rump.
For several pregnant seconds Nicholas mentally debated what to do next. Sean was deserving of his respect. The question, however, was could he be trusted? The albums, while hardly erotic (there wasn't a boner to be seen in the lot), would certainly raise eyebrows in certain quarters. He did not doubt that Sean was homophobic, which was perhaps a harsh judgement. However, Iron Ass was a prude and Nicholas did not feel comfortable discussing the albums or his plans with him present. He would keep his mouth firmly closed until he and Cory were alone. Fortunately Sean sensed the need to excuse himself from the table and walked off in search of a toilet.
"Where is he going?" asked Andre.
"He needs to pee," replied Cory as he opened the album.
"Then why did he not say that he had to pee?" asked Andre, unfamiliar with the conventions.
Cory sniffed. "The boy fancies himself a gentleman of the old school." He stuck his nose in the air. "One does not ever discuss one's bodily functions," he said in a high-pitched nasal twang, "Such as pissing like a race horse." He gave Andre an affectionate grin.
Andre giggled. "He is like my Tante Lorette. She pretends that little boys do not have penises. She will not change a boy baby's diaper for fear that she will have to touch his penis."
"Silly old bitch," growled Nicholas. "What would she do if she did touch it and the kid got a hardon? I know my little brother did every time I changed his diaper."
"Boy babies like having their penises rubbed," advised Cory - hardly an authority on the subject - as he grinned at Andre, who collapsed, giggling. Cory could not help adding, "A lot of big boys, too." He glanced at the pictures in the album and his eyes widened. "Holy shit!"
"What?" asked Nicholas rising to see what Cory was holy shitting about. Cory held up the album, showing the photo of The Phantom, a slim young Neptune leaping out of the calm waters off Texada the first night. "He is very beautiful," said Andre, craning his neck for a better look at the photograph. He ducked his head and shyly slipped his hand into Nicholas's. "Almost as beautiful as my Nicholas."
Cory gave Nicholas an approving glance and then looked at the photo of The Phantom again. "Well, Phantom does have a nice set of tackle." Then he winked wickedly at Andre and leaned over to whisper in the boy's ear. "And so does your Nicholas!"
Andre turned beet red and squirmed in embarrassment. Then he breathed, "Nicholas is very beautiful, Coree."
Cory laughed delightedly. He looked at Nicholas, who also had started to colour. "You two should rent a room!"
Nicholas joined Andre in squirming. "Too late for that," he muttered. "Andre goes home Thursday." He shrugged resignedly. "Also, I'm broke and couldn't pay for a room even if we could sneak ashore!"
Cory leafed idly through the binder, frankly admiring the photographs. He glanced conspiratorially at Nicholas. "Who said anything about going ashore?" Then he closed the album and reached into his trouser pocket. He slid a small wad of bank notes across the table toward Nicholas.
Nicholas gave Cory the fish eye. "What's this, then?" he asked almost aggressively.
"Money," replied Cory simply. "You lashed out for the albums. No one expects you to pay the shot so there's 30 bucks." He held up his hand, stifling any protest from Nicholas. "I borrowed it from Phantom. Just don't tell him I gave you the money."
"Why? I didn't expect anyone to pay me for the albums," said Nicholas. "I cannot take your money, not after you borrowed it in the first place." He slid the wad of bills back toward Cory.
Cory immediately slid the money back. "Nicholas, you have to understand Phantom. He's queer for the guys he calls 'his' cadets. If he finds out you spent all your money and did not go to him he will get all bent out of shape. This way you get 30 bucks, I get to pay my share of the expenses and when Phantom finds out that you spent money, you will not have to explain to him why you cannot accept his money when he offers to pay the whole shot." He shook his head. "Which he will. So just take the money." Then he grinned. "What he doesn't know will not hurt him." He screwed up his face and grunted. "Now all I have to do is talk him out of the key for Cabin 5 in the Wardroom, unless, of course, you would like to ask him. Then you would have some explaining to do." He seemed to think a moment. "No, let me ask him . . ."
"He already knows about Andre and me, Cory," said Nicholas softly. "He also knows that we are more than casual lovers."
"He does? When did you tell him? And what do you mean that you and Andre are more than casual lovers? What have you done?"
Nicholas squeezed Andre's hand and looked directly at Cory. There was a fire in Nicholas's eyes that brooked no opposition. "Andre and I have committed to each other. There is no other boy I want to be with."
"And Nicholas is the boy I wish to be with forever," put in Andre. He smiled a smile that was so charmingly brilliant that Cory did not doubt that both boys would be together until their dying day.
Nicholas returned Andre's smile. "We love each other, Cory. We will always love each other."
Cory pretended to pout. "You told Phantom before you told me?"
Nicholas grinned. "Shit, Cory, we saw him before we saw you and to be honest, for some reason he seemed the best person to tell. We trust him and he won't spread our business all over the ship. He is good people."
Cory thought a dirty thought, remembering the night that he and Todd had spent with The Phantom. "I take it that he was happy for you."
"He kissed me on both cheeks and patted my derriere!" crowed Andre.
"Which is more that some people I can mention would do!" said Nicholas as his eyes slid over and he watched Sean returning from the bogs.
Cory saw Nicholas's look. "You don't like Sean, do you?" he asked.
Nicholas shook his head. "I don't trust him when it comes to gays. He's a good seaman, and to some people he is a good cadet, and he has balls, and not the kind I saw every morning when he stripped off for his shower." Nicholas leaned back in his chair and continued. "We were in ORIOLE, and a line snapped and hit Sean on the ass. He had a hell of a cut on his left butt cheek. I thought he would bleed to death but we had a Sick Bay Tiffy on board and he sewed up Sean's ass."
"What does that have to do with Sean having balls?" asked Cory, interested, but impatient.
"Cory, Sean would not let the Tiffy give him anything for pain. He was due to go on watch and he would not allow anything to cloud his judgement. He lay on the mess table and just grit his teeth while the Tiffy sewed his bum together. The Sailing Master made him take a tot of rum - which Sean did not want to do because you know he doesn't drink."
Cory nodded.
"Well, after that Sean lay down for about an hour and then he was up. He was in pain, hell, you could see it on his face and he could hardly walk but he stood his watch, and his next watch. And that, Cory, is balls. I respect him, but I do not trust him."
"Perhaps you don't know him as well as I do," replied Cory softly.
"Perhaps," returned Nicholas just as softly. "But until he proves otherwise to me, he is cold, arrogant, a prig and a prude."
Cory could well understand Nicholas's opinion of Sean, who had been doing his damnedest for three years to bottle up his emotions and divert any hint that he might be gay. He sighed inwardly, knowing that Nicholas was wrong about Sean. But he could not, and would not, say anything. Cory had to respect Sean's confidence. But then, if Sean . . .
Sean slid into his seat. He looked at Cory, who seemed downcast. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No, nothing at all," replied Cory with a sly smile.
Cory deliberately turned and looked out into the harbour. He shaded his eyes, staring at the sailboats, the album seemingly forgotten. "There are some beautiful boats out there," he sighed, pretending to be just a little envious of the sailors spending their day with the snap of the stays and crack of sails in a wind. He turned suddenly. "Say, you and Nicholas were in ORIOLE together, weren't you?"
Sean nodded. "The summer before last," he said wistfully. "It was a wonderful trip."
"I would hardly call getting smacked in the ass with a loose rope's end wonderful," opined Nicholas. He knew that Cory was up to something. Why else would he mention the ORIOLE?"
"Really?" asked Cory, pretending innocence. "Did it hurt?"
"It hurt like buggery!" replied Sean, grimacing at the memory of the accident. "And left a nasty scar!"
"Yeah? Can I see it?" asked Cory, his voice enthusiastic.
"Certainly not!" A stern look came over Sean's face. "I am not in the habit of exposing my . . . buttocks in public!"
"How about in private?" Cory grinned and waggled his eyebrows.
Nicholas, now sure that Cory was up to something other than having fun at Sean's expense, interposed. "I hear the ORIOLE was in New York for the Bicentennial Tall Ships. Now that I would have liked to have seen."
Relieved to hear the change of subject, Sean assumed a casual manner and quickly replied, "I put my name in for the cruise, not that I expected to be selected. The Permanent Force only needs cadets for the cruises nobody else wants."
Nicholas nodded in agreement. "It would have been a great cruise. New York! And 100 tall ships! What a sight to see!" He smiled regretfully. "Sort of makes our little expedition pale in significance."
Cory smiled a Machiavellian smile. Nicholas had unwittingly given him the opening he was looking for. "We didn't go to New York and I admit that Powell River is hardly the metropolitan centre of the West, but we did enjoy ourselves and we got some great pictures." He slowly slid the album across the table. "Here, take a look. You might see something interesting."
Nicholas paled and Andre giggled nervously.
Sean, unaware of what Cory was up to, fell into the trap. He opened the album and began flipping the pages. The first photos were innocuous, of the type that would innocently fill any cadet's album. There were shots of the shore as the whalers left AURORA: Chef, huge in his wrinkled cooks whites, a worried look on his face; Father, a cloud of pipe smoke hovering over his head, looking relieved, and Number One, smiling and looking as always, calm; a group shot of cadets on shore; photos of the waterfront of Comox, filled with waving tourists. Sean tried not to look too bored.
The three other cadets watched Sean's face closely as he continued to leaf through the album. He was smiling politely, resigned to yet another cadet travelogue when suddenly his mouth dropped open. Before him was a photograph of the Twins poised to dive off the bow of a whaler. His eyes darted first at Todd's image, then at Cory's. He turned the page and yet another naked, magnificent male confronted him: Nicholas. Another turn of the page and another male, this time . . . Tyler! His eyes widened. Dear God, Tyler was a handsome young man, and that copper coloured hair . . . He could feel a definite trembling in his nether regions and quickly turned the page.
Sean looked at the next photograph, his eyes blinking rapidly, not quite believing . . . he had heard the rumours of THE WONDER OF IT, and knew that the Sea Puppies had held a contest to determine who would succeed to the title of it but . . . but . . . Sean's eyes widened ever larger and finally he gasped and his eyes bulged. Before him, in all glory, laud and honour was . . . THE PRIDE OF THE FLEET!
Cory, Nicholas and Andre looked at one another. "HARRY!" they said in unison.
It was indeed Harry, leaping upward during a game of beach volleyball, the Pride and the escorts brazenly displayed in mid-bounce. For some reason Cory felt a twinge of jealousy. Sean did not need to look at Harry's picture that long! Sean turned to the next page and his ruddy face became ruddier, and he mentally thanked God that he was wearing tighty-whiteys and hoped that no one would notice that there was a most pronounced lump in the front of his trousers. He looked at this picture again and the lump grew bigger. It was a picture of Cory, naked, relaxed, an easy smile on his face, sitting on a log, his legs spread, peeling potatoes.
What stunned Sean was the utter beauty of the boy in the photograph. He glanced again and saw that the golden sun of late afternoon had highlighted Cory's soft, almost glowing, circumcised penis as it hung down sweetly, the gilding of the sun's rays on Cory's smoothness contrasting the pale silvery white of the huge piece of driftwood that he was sitting on. Cory's scrotum, smooth and hairless, was low hanging and Sean noticed that his left testicle hung lower than his right. The overall effect of the photograph was breathtaking. Strangely, there was nothing erotic about the photograph. Sensuous, yes; sensual, obviously; a beautiful picture of an even more beautiful boy.
Trying to keep his breathing under control, Sean slowly closed the album. He pushed it slowly back across the table toward Cory. Suddenly, he was angry. How, he asked himself, could Cory do that to him? He had to have known what was in the album. Cory had to have known how he would react to seeing a picture of . . . "That was damned unfair, Cory," he said presently.
"Unfair?" replied Cory. "Why, Sean, whatever do you mean?" A slow smile began to form on his face. "It is only a picture, after all."
Without thinking, and before he could stop himself, Sean blurted out, "You know how I feel about you. You know I love you and you show me something that I will never see in the flesh! How could you Cory? How could you?" He looked and saw Nicholas and Andre staring at him, and the colour drained from his face. Nicholas was the first to recover. "Sean, it's no sin to be in love."
Sean bowed his head. "I am not ashamed of the way I feel." He brought his head up abruptly and looked directly at Nicholas. "Now you know. I love Cory." He laughed caustically. "Yes, Nicholas, Iron Ass Anders is in love!"
Andre slid his hand across the table and rested it on top of Sean's. "If you are in love with Coree, then why are you angry?"
Sean did not flinch at Andre's touch. He smiled warmly at the boy. "I'm not really angry, my friend. Frustrated, perhaps, but not angry." He turned to Nicholas. "I am in love with Cory, Yeoman. Completely, frustratingly, maddeningly, totally in love!" He stood up and pulled out his wallet. "I envy you your talent, Nicholas. That album is a work of art. This will pay for lunch." He placed a 20-dollar bill on the table. "Cory," he began with great dignity, "I am now out of the closet, at least to Nicholas and Andre. My feelings for you will not change. I am not asking you to sleep with me. I am asking you to let me be with you. Now, if you will all excuse me, I think I shall walk back to the ship."
For a long time Cory, a strange look on his face, watched Sean walking purposefully along the Esplanade until he disappeared into the cloud of blue smoke thrown out by a decrepit, rust-pitted car that struggled up from the docks.