Date: Wed, 6 Aug 2003 19:34:29 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 26

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.