Phantom 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).

The Phantom of Aurora: Chapter 20

Todd yelped as Cory's fingers squeezed and rubbed the tender head of his still spasming dick, teasing a small drop of his seed from the now closed slit. Breathing heavily, Todd rolled away from his brother and cupped his genitals protectively. Ever since they had discovered puberty, two months past their 13th birthday (a day that will live in infamy), sex with Cory had been less an act of physical pleasure than adventure in sensual delights. Tonight had been no different. At about the same time that The Gunner's car drove out of the parking lot they left the sofa and had fallen into the bed, taking full advantage of The Gunner's invitation.

For Cory being with Todd was the most pleasurable experience he could imagine. Despite their reputation they were not as promiscuous as some believed, and were content to enjoy each other whenever they had the opportunity and during the course of the evening they had enjoyed each other to the utmost. Cory, always a quick study, had perfected The Phantom's technique and taken Todd across the river. Todd had attempted to reciprocate but Cory, perversely, would have none of it. Tonight, he proclaimed loudly, was Todd's night. Cory was determined to bring as much pleasure to his brother as he possibly could and Todd, although surprised, was happy to comply with his brother's wishes.

For two hours they made deeply passionate love to each other. Cory, after taking Todd to the heights twice, two mind boggling experiences in themselves, had finally rolled on his back, pulled his legs to his chest and presented his smooth, pink, rosebud to his brother, allowing Todd to return measure for measure the pleasures Cory had visited on him.

Forgetting that they were not in their rooms at home (where they lived on the third floor in splendid, if somewhat Spartan isolation), Cory gave vent to Todd's ministrations with loudly exclaimed enthusiasm, so much so that Todd was afraid that they would wake the occupants of the neighbouring room, until he remembered that he and Cory, along with Harry and Greg (both of whom could sleep through a Naval bombardment), were the occupants of the neighbouring room.

After withdrawing from Cory, Todd was physically and emotionally drained. The old excitement of being together in the same bed had returned and Cory's ejaculation, which came seconds after Todd's, was stupendous. It did not, however, prevent him from terrorizing Todd's sensitive glans, so much so that Todd, after yelping loudly and cupping himself protectively, jumped out of the bed and retired to the relative safety of the sofa, where he watched while Cory attempted to tease and tantalize him by lying with his legs spread open, a wicked grin on his face, and waving his soft genitals seductively.

Todd, his legs weak from his exertions, tottered to the bed, kissed Cory and told him it was time to leave. Cory, very reluctantly, and pouting as he always did when Todd brought their lovemaking to an end, climbed out of bed and began dressing.

After dressing they carefully tidied the room and made the bed they had been using, not wanting to cause any embarrassment to The Gunner. They carefully locked the door behind them, went to their own room, and to bed.

For the Twins Saturday had been a wonderful day. Their time with The Phantom the night before had been at once illuminating and exhilarating, Phantom being, much to their mutual delight, a wonderful and consummate lover. Their only regret was that he would not be with them again. As much as they had enjoyed being with their friend they would not, if their plotting and machinations bore fruit, make any attempt to repeat their session with him, just as they had not, since Chris had found Jon, enjoyed his company again.

Cory and Todd both realized that they had no one to blame but themselves for this state of affairs. As they showered after their session with The Phantom they began plotting to find a way to bring him and The Gunner together. Once they had determined what they were going to do they slept on their ideas and, on the bus coming down from AURORA, finalized their plans.

Satisfied that they had a plan of action the Twins, like all the other cadets, then focused on the accommodation that would be provided for them when they arrived in Victoria. Being in a sense, veterans, all of the senior cadets had, at one time or another endured what the powers that were decreed were proper "alternate accommodations for cadets." These ranged from "H" huts at Camp Borden (four bunks, two bench lockers), long wooden barracks built during WW II to house the thousands of recruits that had joined the Colours, to squad tents at CFB Trenton (double bunks, one blanket and flies). They had all shuddered when they saw the notation at the bottom of the Orders announcing the parade, which advised them that appropriate motel accommodation would be provided.

Their visions of one-room shacks on cinder block foundations with outdoor facilities, were pleasantly dissipated when the buses pulled to a stop in front the Admiralty Court Motel, a substantial, U-shaped, two-storied brick structure that boasted a large swimming pool in the centre of the U, a restaurant that served "home-style" meals, a large play area for toddlers, a bar (off-limits to cadets) and an outdoor hot tub (which the cadets were sternly warned not to go into without their swimming trunks on).

The cadets were further surprised to find that their rooms were clean and spacious, accommodating four cadets in two queen-size beds, and that each room had its own en-suite bathroom. The proprietors of the motel catered to tourists with children and the grounds and hallways were spotless.

Upon arrival the cadets were allowed, within reason, to choose whom they would bunk with. Not surprisingly, like more or less stuck with like, and senior cadets with senior cadets. The Twins were more than happy to share their room with Harry and Greg. Their room, on the second deck, rear, and overlooking the parking lot, was next to that shared by Andy, Kyle, and the Gunner.

Across the hall were Mike, Phillip, called The Assistant, Mal, and Anson, (a small concession, allowed only because he was The Assistant's brother). Ray and Sandro shared a room with Rob and Ryan while Two Strokes, Jon, Fred and Thumper, as Regulating Staff, were more or less expected to maintain their own mess. Tyler and Val, Nicholas and Sylvain, as befitted their rank and station, occupied the corner room directly opposite that shared by the two officers and The Gunner and all but two of the cadets were very pleased with their rooms and roommates.

The two exceptions were Matt and Chris. Matt, as the junior Petty Officer (albeit only Acting), had been detailed to supervise the Cadet Quarters in The Barracks at CFB Esquimalt and he was not looking forward to trying to sleep in the same room with fifty rambunctious Sea Puppies and General Training Cadets. Chris was more than put out because he could not share a room with Jon. Being a Boatswain, he more or less had to share with Stuart and Steve and Willy.

Once they had unpacked their gear and settled into their rooms the cadets were given the balance of the day off. Those with money went downtown to shop and generally behave as tourists. Those who were broke shucked their uniforms and put on their swimsuits. It made no difference that the clouds were gathering above them and threatening rain. The pool was heated and most of the rooms on the lower level of the motel were occupied by tourists, including a few nubile teenage girls who did not object to lounging beside the pool in their bikinis and being worshiped from afar by some very fine specimens of Canadian teenaged males. To mollify those cadets who loudly proclaimed that they had been exiled in the Barracks, a shuttle bus brought them back to the motel, where they quickly joined their friends.

Matt, relieved that his responsibility as Petty Officer of the Mess and de facto Keeper of the Sea Puppies (who only paid attention to Harry, anyway) ended the moment he stepped off the bus, was more than happy to be able to spend the day with the Twins, whose plans had been upset when they learned that their parents would not be arriving until the following day due to a conflict in their father's schedule. After treating Matt to lunch in the motel restaurant all three boys went up to the Twins' room where they changed into swimming trunks, which pleased Cory no end.

Matt was aware of the Twins' sexual orientation and figured that sooner or later they would dream up some way to find out what he had under his Fruit of the Looms so he decided to get everything out in the open, so to speak. He deliberately stripped off and delayed putting on his trunks, walking naked into the bathroom to pee and pretending to examine the view of the parking lot behind the motel, thus giving both Twins ample opportunity to see what they could see. The Twins were delighted, though a little surprised, in that Matt was almost a carbon copy of them. His penis was about 3-inches long and perfectly circumcised, a slim, creamy-white shaft with a pale-rose coloured helmet rising from a nicely proportioned deep blond bush of pubic hair. His testicles, which were encased in a smooth-skinned, low-hanging scrotum, were almost exactly the same size as Cory's.

Matt took his time in putting on his trunks and twice gave himself a good feel, just to make to sure that the Twins knew that he knew what they were looking at. As he had suspected, once their curiosity had been satisfied, Cory and Todd paid more attention to the faded bruises on his behind than they did the shape of his penis or the hang of his testicles. They tried to prise out of Matt the details of what had led to his being beaten but Matt refused to discuss the subject at all, and threatened to hitch a ride back to The Barracks if they questioned him any further.

Rather than antagonize Matt further the Twins agreed to his suggestion that they go for a swim and they all went down to the pool where they lounged about, teasing the Sea Puppies and, after seeing Harry getting the eye from several of the female tourists in residence, loudly began discussing The Pride of the Fleet, much to the amusement and unfeigned interest of at least two of the girls. Harry was so enraged he chased the three boys around the pool and, when they jumped in the water to escape him, he set his Sea Puppies on them.

The Sea Puppies, eager to defend The Pride of the Fleet and Harry's honour, immediately cornered all three boys and would have removed their swimming trunks forcibly had not Harry extracted an abject apology from all them. They were permitted to leave the pool and sit on the sidelines where the Twins watched Matt preen and flex for the benefit of the girls who lounged nearby.

Matt, aware that he was the object of more than one lascivious stare and muttered comment behind raised hand on the part of some of the girls, was 15, drop dead handsome, and vain enough to know it. He was also boy enough to resent the feminine giggles that ensued when he unconsciously sat on a lounge chair with his legs spread, his upper deck fittings clearly outlined under the thin inner lining of his trunks. His muttered comments about dumb females being only interested in the size of a guy's dick got him short shrift and no sympathy from the Twins. Cory did not help matters when he told Matt that he deserved what he got because he was good looking and straight. Todd opined that Matt should be thankful that it was only some girls looking up the leg of his drawers.

Matt stomped off in a high dudgeon and went into the restaurant where he sat in a booth and pouted until the Twins came in and sat beside him. They poked and tickled him, and gave his bum a pat or thirty, flattering him to a fair-thee-well. Matt at first squirmed and blushed at their antics, then said, fuck it, and gave each of them a good feel. Then they had a Coke and watched as the pool and the surrounding area emptied as the sky opened and the rain came down.

Tyler, rather than have 70 cadets loitering about with nothing to do, quickly called Andy who arranged for some buses to take those interested down to the Base where there was a gym and an indoor pool, although without nubile teenage girls in bikinis at poolside checking out their packages.

Sandro, who lived in Saanich, near Beaver Lake, sought and received permission from Andy to go home for the night. After speaking with his father, he also asked permission for some of the cadets to visit his home for the day. Andy had no objection so long as the cadets were back in their rooms or in The Barracks no later than 2230, their official bedtime. Using all his guile and charm Andy managed to swindle Base Transport into giving him another bus, which in addition to taking the cadets out to Beaver Lake would pick them up with time to spare. The only flies in the ointment were that he had to accompany them and, since they were travelling in a DND vehicle, they all had to wear their uniforms.

Sandro's mother was not quite prepared for the horde of young boys, all dressed in blue bell-bottomed trousers, starched, white gunshirts, white caps and polished boots, that descended on her peaceful home. Being a good Russian mother, however, with only one son to her name, she quickly rallied her neighbours and before too long every table in the house was piled high with Russian delicacies. The neighbours came, as did all of Sandro's relatives who lived within a hundred miles of the house.

Harry was ecstatic with all the kissing that went on. The Twins almost fainted when Sandro's Uncle Alexei, a tall, wheat-blond, wickedly handsome Russian male came into the house and bussed them soundly on the cheeks and lips in the Russian manner.

Over the course of the evening Tyler was flattered on his good looks and the fact that he was soon to go to Royal Roads. Val was declared a Latin lover and bussed and hugged by sundry aunts and female cousins. Ray was slipped a drink of very potent vodka and turned beet red, much to the amusement of Sandro's male cousins, who had been sipping the liquid fire almost from the moment they were weaned. Harry, although of Prussian/Austrian extraction, lived in a part of Manitoba that was, as he put it, infested with Ukrainians, whose language he spoke and was at least understandable by most of the older guests. He chattered away, happily mangling verbs and tenses.

Andy, as an Amerikanski, was engaged in a deep discussion by one of the neighbours who had served in the Navy (Andy was too much of a gentleman to ask which Navy). Andre, who never travelled anywhere without his drumsticks (he slept with them, actually) demonstrated the skill and precision that had made him "Sticks" in the Bugle Band. The Twins were told how lucky they were to have their younger brother with them, which set them to giggling when they realized that their "younger brother" was Matt, who, having blond hair, blue eyes, and the same colouring as The Twins, did bear a passing resemblance to them.

Uncle Alexei brought out his balalaika and played the ancient, heart-wrenching songs of his motherland, which caused a great outpouring of Russian-Jewish angst for friends and family left behind, for the steppes and shtetls of the homeland. All in all a good time was had by all.

As the cadets were leaving Sandro's father asked each cadet in turn to return in September to celebrate Sandro's Bris and to join his family as he was Bar Mitzvahed. Uncle Alexei, who was standing beside his brother, snorted contemptuously and announced that he would never subject himself to the dictates of myths and fairy tales as demanded by the Talmud. This resulted in such a magnificent outpouring of Russian outrage on the part of Sandro's father and three of the neighbours that Uncle Alexei, defeated, retired to the kitchen where his sister-in-law upbraided him for always being under her feet.

The cadets thought the whole thing a hoot and would not allow Sandro to apologize. He told them that it was a good thing that Uncle Alexei was a Jew in name only, having bribed his way out of Russia into Israel. He had then fled to Canada rather than obey the rulings of the Rabbinical Council on all Jews following the Law of Abraham. Which was a good thing, said Sandro, for if Uncle Alexei had followed the Law he would have ended up being named for the Russian species of gerbils!

When they returned to the motel Harry, who had had a glass or three of vodka over the mark, insisted on bidding Matt goodnight by kissing him soundly. He then proceeded to work his way down the bus, bidding everyone a slobbering good night until Greg dragged him up to their room where he put the big moose to bed. Knowing that Andy had gone off to the Esquimalt Wardroom to join Kyle and Dave Eddy in a medicinal drink, the Twins changed and broke into The Gunner's room. After their talk with The Gunner, and taking advantage of his offer to use his bed, they returned to their own room. Harry was on one side of the bed he shared with Greg, muttering and grumbling in his sleep. Greg was curled up on the other side of the bed, a good prim foot away from Harry.

The Twins quickly undressed down to their boxers and went to bed, positioning themselves in their favourite sleeping position: face-to-face, as close as possible. They necked and cuddled a little then, with Cory's hand down the front of Todd's boxers, and Todd's hand down the front of Cory's boxers, they drifted off to sleep.

Sometime during the night Greg, who had also had one over the mark, rolled over and spooned his body against Harry's, his arm around his bed mate's firm, slim waist.

"Well, I certainly hope you're satisfied," said The Gunner as he turned off the logging road and back onto the highway.

The Phantom grinned and rubbed his crotch, which was still warm from their recent lovemaking. "You sure know to make a guy feel good."

"I'm happy for you," replied The Gunner, returning The Phantom's grin. "Too bad that's all you're going to get until we get back to Comox."

The Phantom slumped in his seat. "Hell and sheeit, Gunner, why did you have to go and remind me."

"Because I want to you understand that life is not going to be all sweetness and light. If you are old enough to have sex with me, then you are old enough to understand why we can't, under any circumstances, sleep together in Victoria, or even be alone together."

A sad look crossed The Phantom's face. Then he brightened. "I wonder what the Twins are doing tonight?"

"Phantom!"

"You're jealous!" The Phantom giggled and kissed The Gunner on the cheek. "You're jealous that I got it on with the Twins."

The Gunner scowled and hesitated just a moment too long before answering. "I am not jealous. And you're one to talk. I saw the look in your eyes when I kissed Harry."

"You did that deliberately, just to piss me off," countered The Phantom. "I didn't know that you really wanted me when I slept with the Twins. Besides, it was only sex."

The Gunner slumped his shoulders and grinned weakly. "I know that. I suppose that I am a little jealous. They're so damned handsome."

"Yes, they are," agreed The Phantom as memories of the glorious tan and gold bodies of the Twins flashed through his mind, the wonderful, golden-haired Twins . . . He gently rested his hand on The Gunner's bare knee. "Sleeping with The Twins - who would jump you in a New York minute, by the way, if you'd let them - was an experience. I love them, but not the way I love you. I do not want to spend the rest of my life with the Twins. I do want to spend the rest of my life with you."

They passed the outskirts of Ladysmith and were halfway to Duncan before The Gunner spoke. "It's not so much jealousy that's bothering me, Phantom. I'm totally in love with you and I want to be with you, always. But what is bothering me is that I'm a lot older than you are and I'm afraid that one day somebody, not necessarily one of the Twins, but somebody as good looking and as young will come along . . ."

"That won't happen," said The Phantom emphatically. "No matter what happens, I love you, and I will always love you. The fact that you are way older than me doesn't mean jack!"

"Maybe so, but you're going to be tempted," replied The Gunner, choosing to ignore The Phantom's comment about his being way older than he.

"Will I now?" returned The Phantom with a snort.

Nodding slowly, The Gunner continued. "Phantom, you are so young. You hang around with people your own age and it stands to reason that you are going to be attracted to guys your own age."

"So? Except for The Twins I haven't slept with anybody." This was technically true. He had not slept with anybody. He had had sex with other guys, but so had The Gunner had sex with other guys.

"I am not talking about The Twins. We are going to be separated for long periods of time. I might not see you for months on end. When I'm not around you're going to get horny. You can't help getting horny. You're at the age when your hormones are raging and your dick has a mind of its own. Sooner or later lying in bed and thinking about me while you're beating off is not going to cut it. You will be hornier than hell and you will want to get laid. You will go looking for it, and I won't blame you a bit."

"Well that's damned decent of you," flared The Phantom. "As if you'd say no to some stud muffin twitchin' his ass at you after you've been bouncing around the ocean for three months!"

The Gunner burst out laughing. "Stud muffin?"

"You know what I mean!" The Phantom glared at him. "You can't tell me that you won't get just as horny as I will. Will you be satisfied with beating off thinking about me?"

"Did I ever tell you that your eyes sparkle and snap when you get mad?"

"No, and answer my question," returned the Phantom angrily.

"Okay, here goes. I might get horny, but there's no guarantee I'll do anything about it. I don't jump into bed with just anyone; I don't go to the bars, or the baths. A guy has to have a certain appeal for me before I'll sleep with him. I guess that's part of the reason I was still a virgin at the age of 21."

"Get outta here!"

"It's true. I never had what you would call sex until I was 21. I was on a course in England. I was doing the Higher Gunnery Course in Whale Island and my Term Lieutenant asked me to accompany him and act as his steward when he was invited to Scotland for the shooting in August of 1972." He shrugged. "We had an affair which lasted until I left England."

"Were you in love with him?"

The Gunner laughed ruefully. "No. I was just another conquest so far as he was concerned." He saw The Phantom cocking an eyebrow. "He had places to go, and so did I. After him, there were a few one night stands, nothing earth shaking at all."

"That's it?"

The Gunner nodded. "Phantom, I was in the Navy, remember? I had to be so very discreet and so did the men I was with. We couldn't take the chance that we would be discovered. To be honest what we had was nothing more or less than raw sex. We were fuck buddies. I liked them, and they appealed to me." A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "There weren't many, and from about August of '73 until I went to Saigon in February of '75 there was no one at all."

The Phantom laughed. "Come on Gunner, you must have had opportunities."

"Yes, I did," admitted The Gunner. "But, as I said, a man has to appeal to me. No one did so I didn't!" He chuckled and then said, "In Saigon I made up for lost time. There were Australians, and a few New Zealanders. I spent a lot of time with an American from the Embassy. That ended when I came home in April of '75."

"So you had some fuck buddies," growled The Phantom sharply. "It's no big deal, believe me!"

"No big deal," agreed The Gunner. "But the point I'm trying to make is that you will meet other men, men you will find appealing, men you'll want to be with." He squared his shoulders. "Phantom, I am not afraid of those men, just as I am not afraid of losing you to the Twins." His voice grew quiet. "I am afraid that you will meet some boy your own age, and, well, I don't want to lose you."

The Phantom crossed his arms and stared out of the window, not seeing the passing scenery. "You can't think too much of me if that's the way you're thinking," he complained presently. "Just because I might meet some guy and we become fuck buddies does not mean I'm going to shack up with him."

"I know that. But Phantom, I love you so much."

"And I love you. And yes, I just might meet a guy that I'll want to fuck around with. But that's all it's ever going to be. Just fucking around, nothing more and nothing less. If you want to do it, go ahead."

"It's nice to have your permission," muttered The Gunner.

"Humph!" The Phantom turned his back and returned to staring out the window.

"Are you going to pout all the way to Victoria?" asked The Gunner presently.

"Yes."

"I love you my Phantom."

"You have a funny way of showing it," replied The Phantom with an angry toss of his head.

"I'd show you now, but we can't. How about tomorrow night at my place?"

"I'll think about it. I might be busy tomorrow night. I'm a pretty popular guy."

"I can believe that."

"Particular, too."

"Really?"

"Yes, really? After all, it took the Twins two years before I let them get me. I wonder what they're doing tonight? The Phantom ostentatiously studied his fingernails, a picture of studied indifference.

"I was sort of hoping they'd help us get your new uniform ready for the parade tomorrow."

"What parade?" The Phantom gave The Gunner a sideways glance, his curiosity piqued.

"The British Columbia Day Parade. I have a very good buddy who is one of the Public Information Officers for CFB Esquimalt and he is going to take you to the parade. He has arranged for you to sit in the VIP section. I thought perhaps you would like to wear your dress whites. They're in the back."

The Phantom squirmed a bit. "Number Elevens?" His vanity mode was kicking in.

"Yes."

"With gold buttons?"

"And crowns. From Spink and Son Ltd., By Appointment, etcetera. Nothing but the best for you, Phantom, seeing as how you are the Chief Steward of the Roay Canadian Sea Cadets."

The Phantom inched a little closer to The Gunner. "In the VIP section?"

"In the VIP section," repeated The Gunner. "In a seat beside the Lieutenant Governor if I know my friend. If you play your cards right you might get invited to the reception afterward."

The Phantom inched a little closer and his eyes cast an oblique glance at The Gunner. "Dress whites? Just like Tyler and Val's?"

"And a new cap, white shoes, the whole nine yards. You'd look some sharp."

"Yeah, I would," agreed The Phantom with no pretence at modesty. He cast a sly glance at The Gunner. "I'm not going to sleep with you just because you give me a new uniform."

"Nobody asked you to sleep with me." The Gunner grinned a small, wicked grin.

"Mind you, there's nothing to prevent you from visiting my room, in case you need help putting on your new uniform."

"I'll think about it," replied The Phantom stubbornly. "And just who is this 'buddy' of yours?"

"He's a buddy, a pal, a friend. If I had a brother I'd want him to be that brother. I love him and he loves me, and before you start yelling he's straight and no, we have not slept together."

The Phantom's nostrils flared as he rose to the bait. "I will have you know that I was not about to start yelling and . . ." He slumped back against his seat and glared malevolently at The Gunner. "You're a bastard, you know?"

"I am so," returned The Gunner with a laugh. "But a bastard who loves you."

Glenn Stuart Britnell stood 5 feet 2 inches tall and weighed in at a slim, compact, 125 pounds. That is, he would have stood 5 feet 2 inches had he not been lying on his tightly made bunk in his room on the fourth floor of The Barracks. He had a well-formed, oval face, liberally sprinkled with freckles, and pink, fresh lips almost always formed in a smile. That is his lips would have been formed in a smile if they had not been drawn back over his contorted mouth, baring his perfect white teeth. He had hazel eyes that were frank and open, and alive with life, except today, when they were rolled back in their sockets. He had bright red hair, flecked with gold, which he normally kept short and well groomed. Today it flew wildly as his head jerked back and forth.

His well muscled, chiselled body, as slim as a girl's, was naked, and flushed. The tapering fingers of his right hand were rubbing wildly on his light tan and pink erection, savaging the underside of the crimson-hued head of his circumcised penis. With his left hand he kneaded and pulled at the wrinkled skin of his hair covered scrotal sac. Oblivious to the bands crashing and banging as they marched back and forth on the parade square directly across the road from The Barracks, Glenn Stuart Britnell was masturbating.

Totally oblivious to the noises assaulting his Sunday peace and quiet Glenn continued to rub his jerking penis, feeling the waves of pleasure radiating outward from his crotch. He had not beat off or had sex of any kind in a month. As his balls began their retreat into his crotch he began to make low growling noises in his throat. His hand moved faster and faster and finally his dick pulsed and stream after stream of his watery semen squirted outward to form a pool in his navel. He continued to grunt and rub, determined to extract every drop of his seed from his depleted balls. His body jerked and arched as his fingers passed over his cockhead, and his face contorted in the agony and the ecstasy of the aftermath of a wonderful Sunday afternoon wank!

As his body came down from his high Glenn lay idly on his bunk, his fingers slowly massaging his cooling semen into the soft skin of his stomach. Not soon enough he would be out of this shit pit, away from his two roommates, who never seemed to be anywhere but in the room, away from the grind and muck he'd been forced to endure every day for the past month as he slaved away in the Small Boat Unit of CFB Esquimalt, gathering information that would, in a few short days, terminate a drug smuggling ring operating out of the Dockyard.

Glenn Stuart Britnell, actually Master Corporal Britnell, was a cop, and had been from the day he when he had been deep selected in HMCS CORNWALLIS, where he was undergoing his Recruit Training. He had never been a beat MP. He was an undercover genius, possessed with the face, body, and personality that allowed him to fit in with any crowd. His steel-trap mind enabled him to absorb details and his photographic memory was invaluable.

As he lay on his bunk, enjoying the feelings that still seeped through him, he heard a gunner's whistle sound out on the parade square. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. 1530. The cadets, and there were so often Sea Cadets out there, would be gone by 1600. Hearing the whistle brought back memories. Memories of the parade square at CORNWALLIS where he had run his scrawny ass ragged; memories of the parade square at HMCS STADACONA, in Halifax.

Reaching under his bunk Glenn retrieved his briefs and wiped his drying semen from his body. He rolled out of bed and wandered over to the window. Forty feet below and across the road was the Lower Parade Square, filled with a colourful kaleidoscope of cadets dressed in sports gear, distinguishable as cadets only by their distinctive round caps. Glenn watched as a tall figure dressed in baggy shorts and a white T-shirt approached two cadets, both of them wearing Drum Major sashes and holding Maces in their gloved hands. Glenn's hazel eyes narrowed, then widened. Below his window was the man who was, unknowingly, responsible for his career, the man who had, seven years before, saved his skinny ass and shown him his true self.

Glenn smiled at the memories that came flooding back, memories that caused him to unconsciously reach down and feel the semen-slicked glans of his soft penis. He watched as the man who had first shown him the path carefully corrected the minor mistakes the cadets had made. Glenn grinned and then hurried from his room, showered, and threw on some clothes.

As he hurried down the stairs to the main lobby Glenn replayed in his mind that night so long ago when he had been 18-years-old, fresh from the farm and fresh out of CORNWALLIS, waiting for final approval by his soon to be masters in Ottawa to begin his MP training in CFB Borden. While he was waiting he had been assigned to the Halifax Dockyard Manning Pool, a catchall of all types awaiting their draft chits to other stations, or for their ships.

It had been a Saturday night and he had been sitting, alone, in his barracks room in A Block, HMCS STADACONA, reading over and over the letter he had received only the day before. The letter was from home, and it told him in stark terms that the girl he had planned to marry not only did not love him, but that she was also going to be married. She had met another boy and was, well, she was "that way" and couldn't wait. She hoped that Glenn understood.

Try as he might Glenn could not understand. They had been going together since they were 11. She had always told him that she loved him, and he was convinced that he loved her. She had accepted his ring, which he had given to her the day before he left for CORNWALLIS. He loved her so much that he had never laid so much as a finger on her. He only beat off when his case of blue balls gave him no other option. He was saving himself for her, for when they were married, which would happen as soon as he received his first posting.

Glenn stood on the wide steps leading to The Barracks and snorted derisively. God he had been a jerk back then, believing every word that she had told him, never thinking that every word she told him was a lie and that within four months of his leaving her she would have found another so-called true love and got herself knocked up!

Glenn now had a reputation as a stone cold, ruthless investigator, who would stop at nothing to prove his case. The 25-year-old Glenn was a far cry from the 18-year-old romantic he had been. He had been so crushed that he had left his room in A Block, blindly hurrying through the cold, winter rain mixed with snow that seemed to be the only precipitation that fell on Halifax from October to March, across Gottingen Street and into the North End Tavern, which stood opposite the main gate of STADACONA. He ordered a jug of beer and a double rye, straight up. One boilermaker led to another and at some point during the evening Glenn had left the tavern and travelled south, hitting every bar and haunt on Gottingen Street. Eventually - he no longer remembered how - he had ended up in the bar of the Lord Nelson Hotel, where he sat drinking rye shooters, totally wasted.

The bar had been busy. Some sort of a reunion dinner was being held, and Glenn knew some of the patrons. One of the diners, a tall guy, about six feet with close cut light brown hair, he knew because he saw the guy every morning, an Able Seaman gunner, part of the Parade Staff. He had deep hazel, almost jade green eyes and Glenn remembered how those eyes had bored into him after he had fucked up on parade. He also remembered the verbal ass reaming the AB had given him.

Glenn had another drink, then another. The bartender, who had been around since the VE-Day Riots, knew a drunken matelot when he saw one and had thrown Glenn out. Outside the hotel Glenn had taken exception to something an Australian sailor, a huge and hulking brute who was almost as drunk as he was, had said or done - he could not remember just what. What Glenn did remember was lying on the sidewalk, his nose broken, and bleeding all over someone's Number One blue uniform.

The next thing Glenn remembered was waking up the next morning, feeling like death. His head was pounding and his nose, Jesus, his nose, was all swollen under a protective plaster. He was in bed, somebody's bed. He quickly checked and saw that he was wearing his briefs. "Well," he had thought at the time, "I guess I didn't get laid." Glenn had had no idea whose bed he was in, how long he had been in the bed, or how he had come to be in the bed.

Shortly after he woke up the man came into the room. Glenn asked him what had happened and The Gunner told him. He had found Glenn, drunk, lying on the sidewalk in front of the Lord Nelson Hotel, bleeding from what was obviously a broken nose, with the Creature from the Outback looming over him, hell bent on ripping off various and sundry important body parts.

Glenn moaned and The Gunner continued, telling the suffering boy how he had had managed to calm the Aussie down and hustle Glenn into a cab. Since he could not take Glenn back to STADACONA - coming back on board drunk was a chargeable offence, good for at least ten days in the George's Island cells - The Gunner had taken Glenn to his apartment, stripped him down to his briefs, cleaned him up and put a plaster on his nose.

A loud, despairing moan had escaped Glenn's lips. His whole career was down the tubes, over before it had even started, if anyone found out. Drunk, beaten up, a broken nose. Jesus, Jesus, he was fucked! He could kiss his MP career goodbye. He had been drunk and disorderly, he had been in a fight . . . his career was gone and his fiancé was gone. Everything he thought he wanted was gone. He lost it and burst into tears, not understanding why his whole fucking life seemed to be going so fucking wrong.

The Gunner, surprised at the flood of tears, had taken Glenn into his arms and listened patiently while the young man poured out his story between great heaving gasps. For the first time in a long time Glenn was a little boy again, held in warm and protecting arms. The arms held him close and Glenn, overcome, had made the first move, initiating something in him that he had only suspected existed. They had kissed.

Glenn stayed for three days. Thinking about it now brought a smile to Glenn's lips. Today what he and Stephen Winslow had done would be dismissed as little more than two boys playing - Stevie was only 20 - and neither of them had really explored their sexuality. They had fondled each other's body, they had humped themselves into oblivion and they had discovered the joys of oral sex. They had pleasured each other in every way possible but one, and for some reason they both held back. They both seemed to understand that they were too young, and much too new to what they were doing, to make the ultimate commitment. Their relationship was a fleeting thing and they both knew it. It had not been the time to give, or receive, the ultimate gift.

At the end of the three days The Gunner had handed Glenn a piece of paper, a Leave Pass dated the day before his monster drunk. The Gunner smiled as he told Glenn that it was too bad that the piece of wood he'd been chopping had flown up and hit him in the nose. Glenn, mystified, had asked where that had happened and been told that they had been down in the Annapolis Valley, camping. Chucking, The Gunner had then observed that the blow Glenn had received to his head must have also affected his memory.

The next morning Glenn had returned to STADACONA, much the worse for wear, much wiser in the ways of the Navy and the world, and much wiser about himself. The Gunner had countersigned Glenn's Report of Injury form and driven him to the RCN Hospital where his nose was re-broken and set. Two days after his discharge from hospital Glenn was on his way to CFB Borden, Ontario, carrying with him memories of three days of heaven with a man he barely knew but would never forget.

Because of the nature of his job (and the fact that he was living with the Chief Investigator for Special Branch CID), Glenn was privy to bits and pieces of seemingly unrelated information, much of it trivial, but all of it kept in that part of his brain that stored little known information about well known people or events. Seeing the cadets had caused him to remember a letter he had seen. Seeing The Gunner with the cadets led him to the decision that the contents of the letter, while unimportant and having no direct bearing on the investigation he would soon be a part of, could have implications that would adversely affect his friend. Glenn knew that while the letter had been dismissed as sour grapes and destroyed, the author of the letter, and his son, was still very much around. One letter could very well lead to another letter, and another.

For Glenn it was time to return a small measure of the kindness shown to him so many years ago.

Glenn waited patiently until the cadets were dismissed before he crossed the street to stand at the railing separating the road from the sunken parade square. He saw The Gunner approaching the steep steps and waved. The Gunner saw Glenn waving and hurried over. As he climbed the stairs leading to the street he broke into a warm smile. He greeted Glenn warmly, giving him a hug, as old friends often do, and looked the handsome young investigator up and down. "Glenn, you haven't changed a bit," he enthused. "You still look 18."

"In my line of work, looking young helps," replied Glenn. He returned The Gunner's hug and cast a critical eye at his first lover. "You seem to have aged, my friend," he said jokingly.

"Up yours, Glenn."

Glenn laughed and punched The Gunner's shoulder. "Captain Maslen would not be amused if you did."

"Rick? How is he?" The Gunner remembered the good Captain. He had been the star running back for the University of Saskatchewan until his knee did him in and he had taken his degree and entered the Army.

"He's good. Still wearing those green issue drawers of his, still leaves the bathroom in a mess and still won't let me cook." Glenn laughed heartily. He and his Captain had been together for almost four years.

"What brings you to Victoria?" asked The Gunner as they sat on the grass, their backs to the parade square.

"Some work." Glenn could not tell his old friend what he'd been doing.

The Gunner understood. He knew what Glenn did for a living. "You going home anytime soon?"

Glenn laughed and nodded happily. "White Knuckle Air out of Vancouver on Wednesday. The holiday fucked up all the schedules."

"Home to fireside and slippers."

Glenn shook his head, and then looked around. The cadets were all at the other end of the parade square, skylarking and playing grab ass, waiting for their buses to pick them up. "Stevie, I will be in Ottawa for two, maybe three days to pick up some documents and attend some briefings "

"And then?" asked The Gunner. He knew that Glenn was deep undercover and that the documents he was picking up were more than likely a complete new identity. Glenn hesitated before answering. Once again his experienced eyes scanned the area. He dared not say too much but . . . A man always remembered his first lover and Stevie Winslow had been kind to him and held him when he needed holding . . . He lowered his voice and, as his eyes constantly scanned the area he said, "I am going on a case, something big." He remembered the letter and continued. "It is so big that it's going to set DND on its ass. I shouldn't be telling you anything about it, but before I left Ottawa I saw a letter. The only reason I saw the letter was that it was signed by one of the people we're investigating."

Four feet directly below the railing where The Gunner and Glenn were sitting, six sets of ears perked up. The Twins, Harry, Greg, Ray and The Phantom had just sat back to enjoy the western sun when The Gunner and his friend had parked themselves directly over their heads.

The Gunner, never thinking to look back and down, frowned slightly. "What sort of a letter?

"Stevie, Special Branch CID has known for a long time that an outfit called the Aryan Brotherhood has had members in the Forces," Glenn went on quietly. "What Special Branch does not know is how far up the chain of command this shit goes. We know who the lower ranking members are; we do not know who the higher ups are. Somebody is protecting these bastards." Glenn laughed bitterly. "We move heaven and earth to root out the gays, but a guy wearing a white sheet just gets to keep on trucking."

"You can't possibly suspect me, can you?" asked The Gunner warily. He had taken great care to preserve his secret life. Very few people knew that he was gay and he planned on keeping it that way.

Glenn chuckled at his friend's obvious discomfiture. While he and Rick Maslen did know that Leading Seaman Stephen Matthew Winslow was gay, Special Branch did not and both men were in a position to ensure that The Gunner remained a certified heterosexual, at least so far as the Navy was concerned. "You have nothing to worry about, Stevie," Glenn assured The Gunner with a smile. He sobered and continued on. "Special Branch knows, because I know, that you are not a racist or involved in any way with this so-called Brotherhood . . ." His lips curled into a sneer. Then his gentle laughter broke the sombre mood. "I happen to know that the last time you wore a white sheet was when you had horse races in the Lord Nelson Hotel after some wedding. Pissed off the management right royally."

"Don't remind me," replied The Gunner, matching Glenn's laughter. "Well then, if you know that I am not involved what would your investigation have to do with me?"

"Not you. Your cadets."

The Gunner arched an eyebrow. "My cadets are not racists, Glenn," he said stiffly.

Glenn, who had known The Gunner long enough to know that the man was capable of great loyalty, was not surprised at The Gunner's reaction. "Stevie, before you get all huffy and start quoting Kipling and defending the honour of your boys, let me assure you that racism has absolutely nothing to do with what I'm going to tell you."

"Okay, spill," replied The Gunner, mollified by Glenn's words. He remembered Glenn's job when he asked, "Are you at least able to give me a little information, tell me something that will not compromise your position?"

Glenn nodded. "One of your cadets wrote home from AURORA claiming that the place was a nest of queers and faggots. His father, a Sergeant, wrote SIU complaining that his son was in danger of losing his morals and his soul. He demanded an investigation and wanted all the degenerates turfed. Because the writer of the letter was under investigation, and on our slop chit, SIU forwarded it to Special Branch. The letter was quite incoherent for the most part, but Rick got the gist of it."

The Gunner did not have to be told who had written the letter from AURORA. Nodding slowly as Glenn described the complaints, The Gunner groaned and replied, "Paul Greene, the little bastard! I suppose he named names?"

Glenn nodded and thought a moment. "There were two names mentioned. Twins? Yeah, Twins. They are the head degenerates, according to young Greene."

Directly below the two men six mouths dropped open and four heads turned to stare at the Twins.

The Gunner's face was tight and there was an angry glint in his eye. "They are nothing of the kind!" he growled, his anger palpable. "They are 17-years old and probably the best two cadets I have. Sure, they fuck around, but so does everybody else." It was all The Gunner could do not to lash out and give vent to the white-hot anger he felt. How dare that little bastard? He stood up abruptly and stared at the all but empty parade square, his hands gripping the railing that surrounded the parade square so tightly that his knuckles were white. "The best Mace tosser in the Cadets, no, in Canada, goes around kissing everybody at the drop of a hat. My Chief Steward just last week had to take two of the younger kids into his bed because they needed some good old fashioned cuddling during one fuck of a thunderstorm." The Gunner saw the look on Glenn's face, a look of shock and surprise at the fury he was generating. It was not Glenn's fault. He had not written the damned letter.

The Gunner took a deep breath and cooled down considerably. He gave Glenn a quick nudge with his elbow. "Fuck Glenn, they're all just kids, doing what kids do. Nobody's getting their rocks off in AURORA." The Gunner thought a moment, relaxed, and grinned. "Well, nobody except Thumper, but he's special, so it's okay."

"Who?"

"An 'in' joke."

Glenn shrugged, pursed his lips and then shook his head. "Not to worry, Stevie. Your boys are safe. Rick shit-canned the letter and doubled the surveillance on the father." He fixed The Gunner a steely glare. "That Greene kid, though, is your problem. My Dad would have taken a strap to him."

"Mine too, and won't Rick get into trouble?"

"For what? Do you really think that little bits and pieces of paper don't up and conveniently disappear from time to time? Rick's no dummy. He knows what he's doing. Besides, there's no risk to anyone. No risk at all."

"No risk?"

"An unsolicited, unsubstantiated letter from the father of an obviously disgruntled kid, telling obvious tales about other kids?" Glenn waved his hand dismissively. "We don't waste our time on such crap. The letter went into the burn bag. Even if the accusations were true, we wouldn't do anything. Cadets are cadets and not subject to our investigations. They are not a part of the military, so we couldn't touch 'em even if we wanted to. So we don't, and won't." He placed a reassuring hand on The Gunner's shoulder. "I'm the agent in place out here and I do not investigate gays, of any age, period!"

Feeling relieved The Gunner nodded his thanks. He gestured toward the hulking barracks block. "Walk me over to Ankle Biter Alley," he said. "My Snotties Nurse is a Petty Officer who is a little young and the Sea Puppies are making his life hell. Rumour has it they're going to tie him naked to the flag pole tonight."

"Won't be the first time that's happened," returned Glenn.

"True, but then I really don't want it to happen. The kid has had enough trouble in his life."

Glenn looked at The Gunner and nodded slowly. "I remember a kid like that."

The Gunner returned the nod. "This kid deserves a break, Glenn. So far he's managed to avoid being fucked up by his father and his brother. He's young, and he's scared, I think, and I can't let him go home thinking that no one cares about him, or what happens to him."

Glenn scratched the side of his nose. "Why am I getting the feeling that this has something to do with the Greene family?"

The Gunner ducked his head. "Because my Snotties Nurse is Matt Greene, the letter writer's younger brother." He saw the look of doubt creeping across Glenn's face and continued. "Matt is not like his brother. He has a good heart and he doesn't go around hating people. He's just a sweet, good natured kid who likes everybody and who would like everybody to like him." A faraway look came into The Gunner's eyes. "Glenn, the boy was beaten badly because of his friendship with a Jew. God knows how many beatings he's had to endure because he won't be a part of whatever it is his father and brother are involved in. A boy like Matt, he needs someone to keep an eye out for him."

"Are you making yourself his rabbi, then?" asked Glenn.

"For as long as he needs me, yes," replied The Gunner earnestly.

Glenn thought a moment. "I'll speak with Rick."

"I appreciate it, Glenn."

Glenn waved away The Gunner's thanks. "I owe you, Stevie. I'll do what I can. It's too bad you can't do something about his brother."

As they crossed the road, heading for The Barracks, the Gunner replied with a note of despair in his voice. "Paul Greene is a lost cause. He believes and I can't stop him from writing letters home."

Harry did not hear Corporal Britnell's reply. His nostrils flared as he stood up, his handsome face suffused with anger. He grimly surveyed his friends. "The Gunner might not be able to stop that little fuck from writing letters," he growled, all but breathing fire, "but I damned well intend to try!"

When he returned to the motel The Gunner retired to his room and gathered Andy, Kyle and Dave Eddy for a Council of War. He told the officers as much of what Glenn had told him as he could, and they all agreed that there was not much they could do about the situation. They could not tamper with the mail, which was illegal. They did not dare say a word to the cadets for fear that the boys would take matters into their own hands. They agreed that they had to tell Tyler and Val. Beyond that, their hands were more or less tied.

Across the hall the senior cadets gathered for their own Council of War. Harry was livid at yet another betrayal of them by Little Big Man. The Twins, strangely enough, given that they had been named in the letter, were quite calm. "Harry, shut up and sit down," ordered Tyler. "There is no point in us going off half-cocked and losing our temper! What we have to figure out is what to do about that little bastard."

"I can, and will, stop his mail," said Greg venomously. He punched the arm of the chair that he was sitting in. "Little prick bastard!" Greg was in charge of the Cadet Post Office and could make certain that anything Little Big Man put in the Royal Post bag would end up in the Dead Letter Office.

"As I see it, Tyler, it is not us that we have to worry about," said Cory quietly. He was not at all surprised at Little Big Man's letter writing, or in being named in the letters.

Tyler thought a moment. "It's the officers?"

Todd and Cory nodded in unison. "And you, Tyler," murmured Todd. Like Cory he realized that it had been only a matter of time before Little Big Man's letters home would catalogue their real and imagined sins.

"Me?" Tyler's face registered his surprise.

"Yes, you. As of the 1st of September you are a Naval Cadet at Royal Roads." Todd stood up and began pacing. "That makes you a member of the Canadian Armed Forces, subject to Forces discipline." He scanned the room looking at each of the other cadets in turn. "Dave and Kyle are officers in the Naval Reserve. Andy is planning on joining the US Marines. Do I have to spell it out for you guys?" Cory lowered his eyes and whispered, "A hint, a word and . . ." He looked up at his brother earnestly. "We have to make sure that Little Big Man does not make trouble for Tyler, or for the officers."

"How could he make trouble for them?" asked Greg, not understanding the implications of Todd's words. "Tyler is the best fucking Master at Arms I have ever served under, and he sure as fuck hasn't done anything wrong."

"And neither have the officers. Dave and Kyle are A-One, and Andy has always been straight with us," said Nicholas with a heretofore unseen passion.

"They don't have to do anything wrong," replied Tyler patiently. "All Little Big Man has to do is write a letter about our trip to Texada and Harwood Islands."

"Or see the pictures," said The Phantom. "I got some shots of Andy and Kyle, and The Gunner. In living colour!" He was not worried as much about the officers as he was about The Gunner.

Tyler looked at Nicholas. "What about the pictures you sent to Base for processing?"

"I can crop them," Nicholas quickly assured Tyler. "When I get finished all you'll will see will be cadets, and damn few of them. Most of the pictures are just of bums and dicks, anyway, so it's not a problem. If none of us goes around exposing ourselves nobody will know who is who."

Val turned to Todd. "What about Matt?" he asked.

"He's okay." Todd returned to his seat beside Cory. "He has no love for his brother and he won't say a word about anything. In fact, if we took Little Big Man down to the Boat Shed for the blanket party he deserves, Matt would be first in line."

"As long as you're sure . . ." replied Val, not at all convinced that Matt could be trusted.

"They've seen the bruises on his ass, Val, and so have Steve and I," said Stuart. "His fuck of a father beat the shit out of him because he was friends with a Jewish guy.

"We know," said Harry. "Tyler, where's the jug?"

"Under my underwear in the dresser."

"I hope your drawers are clean."

"Just get the fucking bottle."

"If you want my opinion we should tie a rope around the little bastard and take him out on a YAG. He'd make a good fucking sea anchor." Harry poured a large drink of rum from Tyler's bottle. "Or maybe a fog dodger."

When the Councils of War concluded the participants scattered. Andy, Kyle, Dave and Sandro piled into the staff car Andy had at his disposal. Their game plan was to drop Sandro off at his home in Saanich and then they would carry on down to the Wardroom where Dave was staying, much against his better judgement and inclinations. Because there were 50 cadets staying in the Ankle Biters' Mess in The Barracks, an Escort Officer was required to be on Base in the event of an emergency. Dave, as the junior officer, was the designated Escort Officer and as a consequence was billeted in the Wardroom.

At first Dave had been more than pleased, a cabin in the Wardroom being considered quite a perk for a Sea Cadet Officer. Until, that is, he discovered that the cabins surrounding his were occupied by Naval Reserve Officer Cadets, all of whom treated the Wardroom as an annex to their college dorms and all of whom seemed to think that partying hearty, vomiting in the corridor and copulating in the stairwells with anything female (at least Dave hoped they were female humans - Saturday night was "Pig Of the Port Night" in the Wardroom and one never knew), were core components of their course requirements.

Dave's illusions had been quickly shattered and as far as he was concerned the officer cadets were nothing but a pain in the ass. His Sea Cadets were a hell of a lot smarter, cleaner, and much more mature than the sorry examples of Canada's last hope inhabiting the Wardroom cabins.

Dave, together with Andy and Kyle, was pleasantly surprised when Sandro's mother insisted that all three officers stay for dinner. Sandro's father grinned and brought out the vodka.

Tyler and Val went to an early supper while the other Chiefs went down to the pool and joined the other cadets congregated there.

The Gunner found that he had little difficulty in maintaining the fiction that he and The Phantom had concocted on their way down from Comox. When they had arrived at the Esquimalt parade square The Phantom had told everybody that, faced with a boring Sunday following a boring Saturday, he had hopped on the train and come down for the Parade. He told Ray that he had gone to the motel and met The Gunner, who had given him a lift down to the parade square. The Phantom did not see the amused look in the Twins' eyes.

As luck would have it no one questioned The Phantom's story. First of all they were much too busy trying to rehearse the Ceremony of the Flags, and secondly all the senior cadets went into a tizzy when The Gunner casually announced that he had acquired new Number 11 uniforms for all of them. The Phantom's accommodations were easily arranged. With Sandro sleeping at home his place in Ray's bed was available. This pleased The Phantom because he liked Ray and sleeping with him, even if nothing happened, sounded nice.

The new sleeping arrangements also pleased Ray for while he loved Sandro like a brother, sleeping with him was like sleeping with a corpse. Last year he and Sandro had shared a bed when they attended the Annual Cadet Regatta. Sandro, once he fell asleep, never moved a muscle and his breathing was so slow that Ray had awoken several times to check on him. Ray also found the idea of sleeping with The Phantom intriguing. He was aware of the identity of who was visiting him at night and the thought of sleeping with him was a turn on. Not that anything more than a quiet grope in the night was possible, not with Rob and Ryan sleeping in the next bed.

To maintain the fiction that The Phantom was just another cadet The Gunner, as casually as he could, brought out the packages he had stowed in the back of his car and carried them up to The Phantom's room. Since the door was open he knew that someone was inside. There was an unwritten rule that during the day, before Lights Out, room doors remained open if there were cadets inside. This allowed the officers and senior cadets to visit and stay with their charges without fear. An open door ensured that no suspicion of untoward conduct was visited on the officers or the cadets.

The Gunner found Rob just finishing changing into his swimsuit and heard the toilet flushing in the bathroom. He laid the packages on the bed The Phantom would sleep in later, chatted with Rob, and was assured by Ryan (he'd been in the bathroom, peeing) that his little problem was solved. The Gunner smiled affectionately at Ryan and winked. Ryan grinned and winked back.

After leaving the room The Gunner returned to poolside. He told The Phantom that his uniform was in his room and that he had asked the Twins to help him get his kit ready for tomorrow. Then he joined Tyler and Val in the restaurant. After supper he returned to his room and watched television. He could have gone into town and taken up Glenn's invitation to have a few beers in the Junior Ranks Mess but thought better of it, afraid that Glenn would want to recall, in more ways than one, the old days.

When The Gunner left them The Phantom and the Twins, trailed by Matt, went up top to check out the uniform. The Twins were anxious to find out if their machinations had borne fruit and, truth be told, The Phantom wanted to share with them his happiness and doubts. Unfortunately there was Matt. The Phantom was not about to say anything in front of him. Cory solved that problem neatly. When The Phantom came out of the bathroom, where he had changed into boxers and a T-shirt, Cory immediately reached over and pulled down the front of his boxers.

"Hey!" yelped The Phantom. "What the hell are you looking for?"

"Shrinkage," returned Cory. "Yep, about half its normal size."

"Fuck off," giggled The Phantom as he pushed Cory away.

Seeing the look on Matt's face Todd explained shrinkage to him. Matt rolled his eyes, shook his head, and announced that he was going down for Cokes, removing temptation. The Twins would just have to wonder about his shrinkage!

As soon as Matt left the room Cory turned to The Phantom. "Well?" he asked with a grin.

The Phantom blushed and collapsed on the other bed, his arms spread. "Cory, Todd, it was wonderful," he exclaimed. "He loves me, and we . . ."

"We know what you did," chuckled Todd. "How was it?"

"Todd!" said Cory with a grimace. "Talk about nose trouble!"

"Piss off, Cory, you want to know, too."

Cory stuck his nose in the air. "A lot you know. Phantom, get up and put on your pants. I have to measure your inseam." When his new trousers were on The Phantom stood on a chair while Cory knelt down and, as he began adjusting the length of the uniform trousers he looked up and stared into The Phantom's green eyes. Cory's eyes were twinkling with amusement as he asked quietly, "Was it good?"

The Phantom grinned widely, threw out his arms and nodded vigorously. "He loves me. He made love to me. And he was so, well, gentle, that . . ."

"We get the picture," chuckled Todd.

The Phantom jumped down from the chair, removed his trousers and handed them to Cory, who sat on the bed opposite, and began sewing the new hems of The Phantom's trousers. "It was wonderful, Todd. Friday night with you and Cory was great, but being with him . . ."

"That's because you're in love. It's always better when you do it with someone you love," said Todd, who was busy sewing a grommet in the sleeve of The Phantom's tunic.

"And how would you know, might I ask?" asked Cory dangerously as he plied his needle.

Todd grinned and kissed his brother. "Because last night I slept with the person I love more than any other in the world. That's how I know."

Mollified, Cory smiled and handed the hemmed trousers to The Phantom. "Here, you'll have to iron them yourself. We've got to get ready to go out to dinner with our folks."

"Thanks, Cory."

"So what else is going on? Did you two have your first fight?" asked Todd with a grin.

"How did you . . .?"

"One minute you're happier than a pig in a puddle. The next minute you get this look on your face. You've had a fight, haven't you?" Todd finished the grommet and started on another.

The Phantom nodded, and explained what had happened during the drive down from Nanaimo.

****** Cory, who had made himself comfortable on the bed, snickered softly when The Phantom finished his tale. "You're sure that The Gunner is okay with us being together, then?" he asked. His eyes slid down The Phantom's slim body and came to rest, his bright blue eyes studying the delicious mound in The Phantom's boxers. If The Gunner wasn't all hot and bothered about Phantom having a few special friends from time to time why, perhaps then . . .

Todd, who saw where Cory's gaze was riveted, knew exactly what his brother was thinking. He coughed loudly and shot Cory a dirty look. You are such a PIG!

Am Not! Cory's look shot back.

" . . . He said that I was young and that he understood that from time to time I might want to be with boys my own age," The Phantom was saying when the Twins returned to earth. "He also said that I might also have sex with them, but all it would be was sex. You know, just a release and . . ."

"He actually said that?" asked Cory hopefully.

The Phantom nodded. "He said it's the nature of boys." He grinned self-consciously. "Then he said a few more things and we had the fight."

"I should have such a fight!" sniffed Cory. "The man adores you!"

"Then why would he say it would be all right for me to . . .?"

"He told you why," said Todd. "You're a young guy." He looked pointedly at The Phantom. "You are also a very desirable young guy. The Gunner knows that so he understands and wants you to be happy," Todd looked thoughtful and then said, "You also have to understand his point of view, Phantom. He's way older than you. You are this proven young stud and . . ."

"Stud?" The Phantom laughed delightfully.

"Yeah, stud. You're not bad looking, your parts are great . . ." He winked lasciviously. "And after the other night I do not have to look down the front of your boxers to know that!"

The Phantom blushed deeply and ducked his head. "You're pretty good, yourself," he murmured softly.

"I am, yes," agreed Todd with unabashed honesty. "But, Phantom, we are not talking about my parts. We are talking about The Gunner and you." He looked at The Phantom and smiled. "Do you like what you and The Gunner do together?"

"God, do I ever!" replied The Phantom honestly.

"Good." Todd's smile faded and his face took on a serious look. "The problem, as I see it, is that The Gunner is suffering from Old-timer's Syndrome."

"What in hell is that?" demanded Cory.

"It's when an older guy has a younger guy. The older guy worries that the younger guy will dump him for somebody his own age."

"As if you'd know," sneered Cory.

"I read a lot," shrugged Todd, a bland expression on his face. What Cory did not know would not hurt either of them, in more ways than one. He finished the lie. "You'd be surprised what you can learn when you read."

"I read, asshole . . ." began Cory. He did not believe for one minute that Todd had read any such thing!

"Uh, guys," interjected The Phantom.

"Oh, sorry." Todd handed the tunic to The Phantom. "All you can do is just keep on telling him how much you love him. Eventually he'll get the message."

"I guess. I'm not going to leave him, ever."

"Good. Did he give you any buttons to go with the jacket?" asked Todd.

"Yeah, they're here somewhere." The Phantom reached around and found an oblong wooden box. "Here they are. He said they came from England and . . . What the hell! It's a knife!"

The Twins looked at the contents of the box.

"It's not a knife, Phantom, it's a Midshipman's Dirk," said Cory knowledgeably.

"A what?"

"Midshipmen don't wear swords. They wear dirks." Cory pointed to the dirk. "Ergo, that is a Midshipman's dirk."

"The son of a bitch never gives up!" snapped The Phantom. "If he thinks by giving me this knife I'm going to join the Navy he's got another think coming!"

Todd reached over and made to take to take the box from The Phantom's hands. "If you feel that way about it, give it to me. I might decide to become an officer."

Cory sniffed disdainfully.

"Well, I might!" returned Todd tartly.

"Well you don't have to worry," said The Phantom. "I'm keeping it. It's the first thing he's ever given me."

Cory snickered. "Not the first thing . . ."

Todd and The Phantom glared at him. "I shall remember that, Cory, when a certain party drags his skinny ass back from Seattle," said Todd coldly.

"Who's going to Seattle?"

They turned and saw Matt, his hands full of cans of Cokes, standing in the doorway.

Sunday night passed quickly. The Phantom and The Gunner had no opportunity to be together at all, only managing a quick kiss and a hug when The Phantom went down the corridor to show off his newly tailored and pressed whites. They kissed and made up but as much as they both wanted to be together they knew they could not. The corridor was alive with cadets walking back and forth, wandering from room to room, borrowing kit, or just visiting.

When he left The Gunner's room The Phantom met the Twins and Matt coming out of the Twins' room. The Twins were resplendent in their best Number One blue uniforms, so much so that The Phantom drew in a sharp breath. Jesus, but they were good looking. He accompanied the Twins and Matt down to the main entry, laughing at Matt's complaint that he felt seedy beside the three of them, all dressed up as they were.

They had barely reached the main entry when Mrs. Arundel, a tall, statuesque woman with silver-blonde hair, arrived in a taxi to collect her sons. It was more than evident that The Twins favoured their mother. Mrs. Arundel was dressed in a knee length evening frock, and a hat, with discreet, but very real diamond clips in her ears, and a magnificent strand of pearls. She was charming and charmed by the other cadets, whom she pronounced a welcome change from her scruffy sons. She complimented The Phantom on the cut of his uniform and told him that he was positively handsome and was quite taken by Matt, who squirmed and blushed furiously, so much so that Cory asked him if he had to go to the bathroom. Mrs. Arundel promptly upbraided both The Twins for their lack of manners, which put Todd in a snit. After all, he hadn't said a word to Matt. The Twins then complained that they were hungry and could they leave, please.

Smiling fondly at her sons Mrs. Arundel swept them away, off to dinner at the Empress, again reminding them to mind their manners, because if they did not she would not give them the two envelopes she had for them in her purse.

The bus for The Barracks arrived soon after the Twins left and Matt, together with the other cadets billeted in the Barracks, left the motel. The Phantom went up top to his room and changed into his swimming trunks, then returned to the pool area where he joined Harry, Greg and Ray in the hot tub. Nearby, in deck chairs, lounged The Gunner, Tyler and Val, drinking beer.

The Phantom had never been in a hot tub before and he found it stimulating, so much so that he started to bone up, which was all he needed. He quickly left the tub and sat on the deck, chatting with Ray.

Around nine or so Rob came over and asked The Phantom if he and Ray were coming up to bed any time soon as he and Ryan were heading for their rack. The Phantom, seeing the look in Rob's eye, told him to leave him the key to the room. "We'll be at least an hour," said The Phantom. "The Gunner is going to treat us to a burger and Cokes."

"I am?"

"Sure. I left my money up top."

"Did I hear that somebody's buying hamburgers?" yelled Harry, climbing out of the tub.

"Thanks a bunch, Phantom," complained The Gunner.

"You're welcome," replied The Phantom with a grin.

As the cadets left the pool area Rob leaned over and whispered to Phantom. "I owe you, Phantom."

The Phantom pretended that he did know what Rob was talking about.

Around 2230, with half the cadets abed, The Gunner called it a night. "Okay guys, tomorrow's the big day. We all could use a good night's sleep."

The cadets trooped up top and dispersed to their rooms. As Harry and Greg passed their door, Ray and The Phantom bid them goodnight. Harry smiled and waved, unlocked the door to his room, and entered.

Greg locked the room door behind him, immediately stripped off his wet swimsuit and dug into his kit bag for his soap and fresh underwear. Harry turned on the television and as it warmed up he stripped off his swimming trunks. He threw them in the general direction of his kit bag.

"Jesus, Harry, be neat, will you." Greg kicked Harry's trunks over near their bed. "I'm getting tired of the Twins complaining about what pigs we are."

Harry looked around. He could see nothing wrong with the room, which was scrupulously neat on one side, where The Twins slept, and a complete shambles on the other, where he and Greg slept. "There is nothing wrong with this room," returned Harry blandly. If the Twins did not like living with him they could find another hole!

As naked as the day he'd been born Harry sat down on the edge of the queen-size bed, absorbed in the football game being broadcast, idly scratching himself and scowling at the television set.

Greg shook his head. Harry was incorrigible and there was nothing anyone could do about it. "Me for a shower. It will save time in the morning," he said, moving toward the bathroom.

"Take your time," murmured Harry, too involved in what he was watching to notice that Greg was nude.

"If you want to go first, it's okay, Harry," offered Greg.

Not looking up from the television set Harry waved Greg toward the bathroom. "Nah, you go ahead. I'll just watch this fucked up excuse for a football game."

Greg laughed and entered the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind him. He showered, brushed his teeth, wrapped himself in a clean towel, and went back into the bedroom, where he found Harry shaking his head sadly. "The Blue Bombers lost, I take it." Greg dropped his towel and stepped into his clean underpants.

Harry nodded and stood up. "Yeah, the bums! Lions won 44-11. You want to watch something?" he asked, nodding toward the television set. Then he scratched his balls and stretched.

Greg shook his head and pulled on his briefs. He climbed into the bed, fluffed one of the pillows and pulled the covers up to his chin. "Nah, turn it off. There's nothing on that thing that interests me."

Harry turned off the television set and went into the bathroom. He checked his reflection in the mirror and decided that he needed to shave. His beard was growing in quicker and darker every day. He returned to the bedroom for his razor and a clean pair of underpants. All he had were briefs. He would have preferred boxers, but with one thing and another he hadn't had time to do his laundry. Briefs would have to do.

When he was finished shaving and showering Harry pulled on his briefs, turned out the lights, and went to bed, laying beside Greg, feeling his warm back against Greg's.

Greg was not asleep. He had heard Harry return and, once the lights went out, felt him crawl into bed. He could feel Harry's warm butt barely touching his and he moved slightly, pushing his bum closer to Harry's. Greg had to admit that Harry's butt against his felt nice. He thought about their conversation when they had been in Powell River, and how they had slept beside each other on Texada Island, and again on Harwood Island. He remembered the kiss Harry had given him at his wet down and he remembered Stephen Tyler and . . . Greg rolled over and faced Harry's broad back. "Can I ask you something, Harry?" he asked quietly.

"You can ask. I might not answer," replied Harry. He rolled over and faced Greg, their faces scant inches apart. "What?"

"What's it like, you know . . ." Greg began with hesitation.

"To be queer?"

Greg pursed his lips and grunted. "Don't start that shit, Harry! Please don't." He put his hand on Harry's shoulder, feeling the muscles tighten slightly at his touch. "You are not queer, so don't start. Besides, that's not what I'm curious about."

"Have it your way," shrugged Harry. "What do you want to know?"

"Don't get mad, but what's it like, to be with another guy?"

Harry stared at Greg. "You've never been with another guy?"

"No, never!" Greg shook his head emphatically. "I mean, a couple of times a guy came on to me, but we never did anything." He sat up and pulled his knees close to his chest. "Harry, I don't know what I feel right now. I've been thinking about Stephen Tyler, and, well, about other things, too."

"Maybe you're just on heat," Harry chuckled.

"Harry, come on, I'm serious," replied Greg sternly. He hugged his knees and sighed. "I see the way the Twins look at each other, and I sense how much they love each other. Then I think about Stephen Tyler." He lay back down and put his hands behind his head. "We didn't do anything, really. We, um, we kissed a lot and we felt each other up, but we never took our clothes off and, like, well, we just didn't go all the way."

"Did you like it?" asked Harry softly.

Greg nodded. "When we were doing it, yeah. But deep down inside I really felt, I dunno, bad, but I didn't want to stop."

"Bad because you were doing it or bad because somewhere along the line someone told you that what you were doing was bad?"

"I, well, I guess because someone said it was bad, what we were doing." Harry snorted. "So you stopped it."

"Yeah. I made him stop."

"So now you're wondering what it might have been like if you'd kept on going?"

"Yes, I am," confirmed Greg. "Please, Harry, what's it like?"

In the darkened room Harry thought about Stefan and grinned happily. "Greg, when I was with Stefan, it was heaven. When we made love, Greg, I felt things I can't describe. It was like him and me were the only two people in the whole world. It was . . ." The darkness hid Harry's smile as he said, "Greg, I felt I was a part of him and that he was a part of me and Greg, I never want the feelings to go away." Thinking of Stefan, and their love making, had made Harry hard. He reached into his briefs and felt the tip of his dick as he adjusted himself. "Of course, that was with Stefan. I never felt that way when I was jerking off my brother, Nicky. That was just sex."

Greg was confused. Harry had just admitted to making love to Stefan, which everybody assumed had happened. Harry had on more than one occasion readily admitted beating off his brother. Harry had had sex with Stefan. Harry had had sex with his brother. Sex was sex as far as Greg was concerned, and said so.

Greg felt the bed move as Harry shook his head. "No, it isn't," he said forcefully. "Stefan and me made love. When I was with my brother Nicky we had sex."

Greg was even more confused. "Harry, you and Stefan made love. You had sex. You and Nicky jerked each other off. You had sex. What difference is there between the two?"

"The difference is that when two guys make love it means something. It means you have feelings for the guy that you don't have for anyone else. Deep, deep feelings." Harry propped himself on one elbow. "When you have sex with a guy, you drop your pants and he drops his. You beat each other off and then you pull your pants up and he pulls his pants up and you go out and try to beat the shit out of each other playing football. Then you go and have a Coke together. You're still friends, still the same two guys you were before the game. Sex is just two guys helping each other out when they need it. Once it's over, it's over."

"So, you just beat a guy off, he beats you off, just two friends together, huh?" snickered Greg.

Harry ignored Greg's snickering. "That's about it. It don't mean nothin', nothin' at all. He's horny, you're horny, and so it's your own hand or his." He lay back, staring at the darkness. "It's just two guys getting their rocks off. It's not like you're fuckin' each other up the ass. Now that is queer."

Greg, who was getting turned on and could feel the tip of his dick tingling, digested Harry's words. Harry's definition of what was making love and what was just sex, was intriguing. Masturbating another guy was just sex, and therefore permissible, because there was, bottom line, no emotional attachment to the act. "I think I understand, a little," said Greg, moving closer to Harry. He now understood that in Harry's mind fucking another guy for the sake of fucking, was queer, and not permissible. Making to love to Stefan, and going all the way with him, was love, and permissible. Stefan was the love of Harry's life, and always would be.

Harry put his arm out and pulled Greg to him. Greg nestled his head on Harry's wide shoulder. He snuggled close to Harry and put his arm across Harry's broad chest. "Harry, is kissing another guy queer?" asked Greg, feeling very warm and contented, and thinking about his wet down.

"Well, I sure don't think so. I mean, some guys would, but I don't. I'm a guy who happens to like kissing." Harry sighed and smiled. Greg was an okay guy and if he wanted to get his rocks off, that was okay. Harry felt Greg's fingers playing with his nipple, bringing it to hardness. "I figure, if it feels good, there's no harm in doing it," continued Harry. "When me and Nicky started fooling around together we tried kissing. He liked it, and I liked it. He's a good kisser, by the way. Better than a lot of the girls I've kissed."

Harry could feel Greg's hand moving down his stomach and then massaging his treasure trail. He was very horny, and could feel the dampness spreading across the top of his briefs. He reached over and rubbed his hand along Greg's hard stomach. Greg's hand moved again and slowly caressed Harry's thick, seven-inch hardon. It felt very warm, and jerked when he touched it. Harry moved his hand and felt Greg's slim, curving erection under the fabric of his briefs. Then he reached down and rubbed Greg's warm balls.

Greg groaned at Harry's touch. He raised his head and his lips touched Harry's. Harry responded and they kissed passionately. When their lips parted Harry kissed the tip of Greg's nose. "This don't mean nothin', Greg. It's just a guy thing."

Greg nodded and slipped his hand under the waistband of Harry's tight briefs. He felt the wide, spongy head of Harry's cock and his velvet-skinned balls. His lips brushed against Harry's again. "We're alone, we're horny," murmured Greg. "I want this, you want this. We both need it, Harry."

"Aren't you afraid you'll turn queer?" asked Harry. He pulled Greg closer to him and slipped his hand down the front of Greg's underpants, rubbing his palm across the top of Greg's slick mushroom. He fisted Greg's dick and began to pump his hand slowly.

"Umf," groaned Greg. "Shit, Harry, that feels sooo good." He slowly pumped Harry's thickened penis and began moving his hips up as Harry's hand pumped his dick. "It's . . . umf . . . just a . . . umf . . . fuck that feels good . . . guy thing!" Greg began breathing heavily as Harry's smooth hand massaged him toward ecstasy.

With each pass of Greg's hand over his leaking crown Harry thrust upward. His dick began to thicken and lengthen; his balls were slowly drawing upward. He was getting close. So close . . . Harry groaned a strangle warning. "Jesus, Greg, I'm gonna cum!"

Greg's pumped his hand faster, concentrating on the magic part of Harry's dick, his helmet and the shaft just under it. Harry felt himself rushing forward, approaching the crest. He desperately wanted to prolong the feelings raging through his body, but he could not hold back. He grunted loudly and thrust upward. Thick jets of semen began spurting in rapid succession from Harry's wickedly thick penis, coating Greg's wonderfully hot hand.

Harry's orgasmic thrusts and the warm cum oozing down the back of his hand was all Greg needed. "Umf . . . I'm . . . shit . . .cumming . . . umf . . ." he moaned as the first wave of glory rushed from his balls and smashed outward from his gaping slit. As the waves passed over him Greg bucked and thrust, forcing his body to eject every drop of his semen.

They lay together, bodies clasped close together, as they continued to hump each other's hand. Harry grimaced and winced as Greg's hand passed over his screaming mushroom. Greg jerked as Harry's hand passed over his sex-charged helmet. Almost immediately they both cupped each other's ball sac, avoiding momentarily their incredibly sensitive dickheads.

They turned on their sides, facing each other, faces together. Neither cadet removed his hand from the other's briefs. Greg continued to gently squeeze Harry's still hard boner. Harry stroked and rubbed Greg's slim, curving erection. For what seemed liked hours they lay there, one arm entwined around the other's body, kissing, their tongues searching and entwining.

For the second time Greg began groaning softly as he buried his head in Harry's shoulder. Once again Harry's breath came in harsh gasps. Greg, his second orgasm building, moaned and raised his head, kissing Harry deeply as he thrust his hips upward and his cockhead erupted, spewing more of his cum across Harry's hand. Within a second Harry ground his hips and his pee slit gaped opened. A fresh torrent of his thick, creamy semen crashed mightily outward, flooding his briefs and coating Greg's pumping hand.

When they were finally finished they lay quietly until their breathing returned to normal and their hearts started beating again. Wordlessly, Harry withdrew and got out of bed. Greg heard water running in the bathroom. When Harry returned he turned on the light, pulled down the bedclothes and smiled at Greg. He reached over and pulled down the front of Greg's briefs. With the warm, damp, towel he had brought from the bathroom, he cleaned Greg's now soft penis and testicles. When he was finished he handed the towel to Greg, then lay back down on the bed.

Greg grinned, pulled down the front of Harry's briefs, and cleaned him. Then he bent down and kissed the dark rose tip of Harry's dick. "The Pride of the Fleet," he murmured as he slowly sucked Harry's penis into the warm depths of his waiting mouth.