Date: Sun, 18 May 2003 18:32:14 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Phantom of Aurora: Chapter 6

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 your 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 6


A look flashed between the Twins and they stared at Chris, who was
beginning to sweat and wring his hands nervously. "I mean it," he said
slowly. Chris matched their gaze and shrugged slowly. "I would like to
experience everything." He swallowed hard. "I want to get fucked."

The Twins again exchanged a glance. Cory nodded. A message had been
passed. Todd reached out his hand and ran his fingers down the contours of
Chris's smooth face. "What you are asking is a big step, Chris," Todd said
with a soft smile. "Are you sure that you would not rather wait for someone
. . . special?"

Chris shook his head. "There is no one more special than you and Cory." He
took Todd's hand and gently kissed his fingers. "We have been through so
much together, you, Cory and I. You have taught me so much and I want you
to teach me more." Again he shook his head. "I want you to be the first."
He glanced at Cory. "And you as well, Cory."

"Todd will be with you first, Chris," Cory said. He held out his arms and
drew the trembling boy to him. He embraced him and then kissed him
tenderly. "The first time is so special that only two people can be
there. We love you, Chris, and we will not cheapen our friendship or our
love for you." He released Chris and backed away. "Todd will help you
undress. Enjoy the moment, Chris."

Cory unlocked the door and left the small office, returning within minutes
with a pile of blankets in his arms. These he laid on the deck, blanket
upon blanket, forming a comfortable barrier against the scarred,
splintered, wooden deck. When he was finished, he kissed first his brother,
then Chris. "I will see you both, later." With a slight, loving wave of his
hand, he was gone.

******

With slow, deliberate, almost ceremonial motions Todd began his act of
worship. He motioned for Chris to sit on the desk, bent down and unlaced
the boy's boots. As he removed first Chris's boots, then his grey woollen
socks he saw that the slight, fine-featured boy was trembling. "Don't be
afraid, Chris," he murmured as he pulled Chris from the desk. He reached
down and unbuckled the brass buckle of Chris's belt, then pushed down the
zipper of the boy's bell- bottoms. Chris was panting with nervousness and
eager with desire. The deep pink head of his erect penis peeked shyly from
the slit in the boxer shorts he was wearing.

Todd continued to undress Chris and gently pushed down Chris's
underpants. He saw a delicate, clear drop of precum marring the smooth
lines of Chris's curving glans. He knelt down, pushing Chris's boxers down
to his ankles and leaned forward. Chris gasped as Todd's mouth, his warm,
wet mouth, engulfed the head of his dick. His knees bent as a small wave of
ecstasy coursed through his body as Todd sucked delicately on his erect
member. He thrust his hips forward, trying to put as much of his quivering
penis into Todd's mouth as possible.

Smiling inwardly Todd continued to suck on Chris. At the same time he ran
his hands up and down the boy's legs, then across his firm, round
backside. Chris began to moan softly as orgasm approached. He growled and
rose up on his toes. He threw his head back and his eyes rolled
wildly. "Ugh . . . Todd . . . AHHHHH . . ." he moaned loudly as his orgasm
overpowered his senses. He thrust rapidly as his penis pumped stream after
stream of his thick, warm semen into Todd's waiting mouth. When he could
give no more, Chris mewed softly and fell back against the desk, his legs
splayed, his penis softening rapidly. When he regained his breath, he
looked down at Todd, who was on his knees, looking up at Chris's flushed,
sweat-beaded face. "That was great, but I thought we were going to . . ."
he complained, a look of confusion on his face.

Todd grinned and stood up. He reached out and pulled Chris to his
feet. "You were too tense. You needed something to take the edge off," he
said slowly as he pushed Chris's gunshirt over his head. "When you make
love to another boy, the idea is to make love. Your first time should be a
wonderful, glorious, thing." He neatly folded Chris's clothing and then
began to strip. "It is very easy to get fucked. Dogs fuck. Men make love."
He cocked his head and grinned at Chris. "There is a difference, you know."

Chris slowly nodded his understanding, his anxiety of the unknown replaced
by hopeful anticipation and excitement. He returned Todd's grin. "Show me
the difference?" he asked with a growl.

******

Cory left Boatswain Stores and walked back to the Staff Barracks. Todd had
been right, of course. Chris's first time was supposed to be a wonderful
experience, an experience that could be shared by only two people. A
threesome was definitely not on the cards. Besides, Todd was the much
better lover, and preferred to be on top while Cory enjoyed being on the
bottom. Chris was about to experience the best and Cory knew that his
presence would have been an intrusion.

The heat of the day had hardly been lessened by the cool of the
evening. The air was muggy and the Gunroom, for all that every window was
thrown wide open, was oppressive. Harry and Jon, stripped to their briefs,
were going through the motions of a dispirited card game. Jon and Fred,
also in their white underpants, were griping their way through a game of
chess. Alfie was sound asleep, lying on the top of his bunk. From the look
on his face he was obviously having a very happy dream, confirmed by the
purple head of his erect penis, which poked boldly above the wide elastic
band of his blue-striped boxers. On the other side of the Gunroom Thumper
was curled into a ball under his covers, grunting and snuffling, apparently
unable to wait until Lights Out when he could repair to the heads. Two
Strokes was nowhere to be seen.

Not interested in watching Alfie have a wet dream or listen to Thumper
playing the skin flute, Cory returned to the stoop and sat down. He was
idly speculating on which of the galley hands - Ray or Sandro - would be
interested in a little private time with him when he heard Two Strokes'
complaining voice. He looked up and saw the skinny Regulating Petty Officer
coming down the path. Three cadets, each of whom was carrying a kit bag,
trailed him. "Where in hell is Todd?" demanded Two Strokes without a
preamble. "He's never around when he's wanted!"  Two Strokes, who was
marginally less obnoxious than Little Big Man, was not one of Cory's
favourite people. His remarks of the night before had only confirmed Cory's
low opinion of him. "The last I saw of him he was in Boatswain Stores with
Chris," replied Cory truthfully.

"Yeah, well, I have three lost little lambs for him." Two Strokes waved his
arm in the general direction of the three new cadets. "Goofy fucks missed
their flight and just now got here!" Cory regarded the three boys. One was
slim, with a vulpine face. The other two were taller than the first boy,
and heavier set. All three boys looked angry. "I don't have time to go
hunting up your brother!" snapped Two Strokes. "They're gunners so they're
on your slop chit. You can log them in!" With that he wheeled and stomped
into the Gunroom.

Dumfounded, the three new cadets stared after Two Strokes. "What's biting
his ass?" asked the tall, thin cadet.

The imp in Cory rose to the fore. "Don't mind Two Strokes," he said with a
slight, leering grin. He held out his hand for the travel orders each cadet
carried. "He hasn't been laid in a year and he's horny," he said as he
leafed through the first set of orders. He did not see the look that passed
between two of the three cadets. "So, you're here for your Gunnery III
Course?" The three cadets nodded. "Which one is Leading Gunner Ryan?" The
thin cadet raised his hand. Cory nodded. "Leading Gunner Peters?" The
second cadet, who had a stocky build and a round, smooth face, raised his
hand. Cory looked at the third, and final cadet and smiled. Now this cadet
was something special, he mused. He looked at the file he was
holding. "Then you're Leading Gunner Berkeley?" he asked, using the proper
English pronunciation of "Bark-lee" of the cadet's name, rather than the
common North American pronunciation of "Burk-lee". The cadet nodded,
secretly pleased that somebody other than his family knew how to pronounce
his name.

The third cadet, who stood just short of six feet tall, was stunning. He
had a smooth, square-jawed face and a ready smile. While Leading Gunner
Peters was as tall, Berkeley was well proportioned with a broad, smoothly
muscled chest and a handsome smile that revealed perfect white teeth. He
held out his hand. "My friends call me Kevin." He jerked his head toward
the other two cadets. "The skinny one is Billy." Billy nodded and gave
Kevin a sour look. "The chubby one is Chad," Kevin finished with a
snicker. Chad's face mirrored Billy's.

Cory grinned and stood up. He shook Kevin's hand and then reached out to
shake the hands of the other two boys. "Officially I'm Petty Officer
Arundel. My friends call me Cory." He dusted off the seat of his shorts and
nodded toward the line of barracks. "My brother is also here. His name is
Todd. He's the Senior Gunner after the Cadet Chief Gunner." He began to
lead the cadets up the path. "We'll get you settled in Barracks 8 tonight
and tomorrow you can do your In Routine. If you're hungry, you can drop by
the Mess Hall. There are always sandwiches and growlies left out."

"We're sorry about being late," apologized Kevin as he hefted his kit bag.

"The bus from Kingston broke down and we were hours late for our flight
from Montreal," continued Billy. "We were put on an Air Canada flight to
Vancouver."  Kevin snorted. "And, of course, when we got there, nobody knew
a thing about us! We ended up taking the ferry over to Esquimalt and then a
van up from NADEN."  Cory nodded his understanding. Training officers back
in the home units were constantly overbooking courses. Harried Movement
Officers were constantly scrambling with itinerant cadets scratching at
their doors looking for transportation somewhere. All things considered the
three cadets were lucky that they had not been required to walk to AURORA.

As they approached the Gunners Barracks Chad turned to Cory. "You called
Petty Officer Home 'Two Strokes'." His eyes suddenly widened. "Say, I heard
a story about a cadet who was here last year and who got lucky at the
banyan but he . . ."

"The very same," interrupted Cory with an evil chuckle. "He has never been
the same since." He indicated the barracks. "Well, guys, here is home for
the next little while. Enjoy it and revel in the knowledge that Petty
Officer Home sleeps in the Gunroom."

"Why is that?" asked Billy.

Kevin snickered. "He sleepwalks and likes to play drop the soap in the
shower!"

Billy's jaw dropped. "He . . . he . . . does?"

Cory, who never inadvertently said anything unkind about anybody laughed
and shook his head. "No, he doesn't. Kevin is only pulling your pisser. A
guy is safe in the arms of Jesus when it comes to Two Strokes." Chad looked
disappointed. Cory ignored him. "Now then, in you go. You will find fresh
linen in the sea chest at the end of whatever empty bunk you can find.
After you've settled in the rest of the night is your own. Just remember,
gentlemen, the day starts at Zero Six Dark with callisthenics at 0620." He
chuckled as the three boys groaned their displeasure at the thought of
having to crawl out of their fart sacks at 0600 and then jump up and down
for half an hour. "Sorry, but everybody does it," apologized Cory. "Even
the instructors. And besides, your bodies are still used to Ontario time so
it will feel like 0900 when you get up."

Mollified to a degree the cadets nodded. "When do we meet the Senior
Gunner?" asked Kevin.

"Oh, you'll see him tomorrow morning," replied Cory airily. "He is a little
busy this evening helping out the Seamanship Instructor." He stifled a
wicked smile.

"Todd is very good at helping out when one of the other instructors has a
problem."

******

Chris trembled as a shiver of delight passed through his body. He and Todd
were lying close together, their hard penises rubbing against each other,
and every time the tip of Todd's erection crossed the sensitive underside
of his penis Chris moaned softly. He could feel Todd's warm hands as they
explored his body, the soft fingers caressing his chest, slowly massaging
his stomach, fingering the solid length of his erection, gently probing the
soft skin between his legs and rubbing gently across his rosebud anus.

Todd was making slow, passionate love to Chris. Twice now Todd had brought
Chris to the brink, giving him such excruciating pleasure that he thrashed
and groaned beneath him, moaning, begging to squirt, to shoot, to BLOW!
Twice now Todd had backed away, determined to give Chris so much raw
pleasure that tonight would live in his memory forever. He was masterfully
introducing Chris to the joys of the physical expression of love, slowly
building the boy's confidence and trust in him, slowly drawing him upward
to the pinnacle of lust and transcending any pleasure he had felt before.

Chris was panting and breathing in great, loud gasps as his penis throbbed,
aching for release. He felt Todd's lips as they began yet another downward
journey, stopping briefly to suckle his hard, tender nipples, to kiss and
fondle his navel, to nip playfully at his thick copse of dark pubic
hair. He sucked in his breath and, groaning loudly, raised his hips as
Todd's wet tongue once again traced the length of his erect penis, pausing
briefly to cleanse his precum-coated blood-infused helmet. As his mind
raced, barely able to tolerate the rapid jolts of inexplicable desire that
seared his brain, Chris felt Todd's mouth move past his tight, body-hugging
testicles. He felt Todd's strong hands slowly push his legs apart. He felt
Todd's tongue as it caressed his perineum and then . . . His eyes flew open
as Todd began to suck gently on his anus. He growled and pulled his legs
back, raising his hips and presenting his brownish-pink rosebud to his
lover's sucking lips and hard, probing tongue.

Spreading Chris's butt cheeks Todd slowly rimmed the boy's hot
rosebud. Chris bucked and low squeals of delight punctuated the harsh gasps
of heavy breathing that filled the room. Todd continued to suck and probe
Chris's opening until his anus dilated slightly. Chris was almost ready.

With a quick motion Todd swept the neatly folded uniforms from the desk
into his arms and used them to form a pillow under Chris's flushed body. He
fumbled with the tube of Vaseline and liberally coated Chris's anus. He
inserted his lubricant-covered finger into Chris's body, stimulating the
nerve endings that lined his warm, moist rectum. Chris groaned as Todd's
finger moved in and out of his body and he growled his frustration as the
finger was removed. Through slitted eyes he watched as Todd applied a thick
coating of the cold lubricant to his rampant hardon.

Todd skittered forward on his knees and placed the curving head of his
penis against Chris's opening. Then he pushed forward until his rosy red
glans was inside of Chris, who groaned and shuddered as a lightning bolt of
pain flashed through him. Todd waited until Chris's tender rectum became
used to the hard intruder, then pushed forward until half of his six-inches
of hard flesh were firmly encased by Chris's wetness. Chris, experiencing
feelings he never knew existed, pushed back and grunted as the full length
of Todd's heated erection slid into him. He could feel the soft, curly
hairs that crowned the base of Todd's cock brushing against his butt
cheeks, could feel Todd's low-hanging balls as they rested against his
body.

With deliberate slowness Todd withdrew until just the head of his penis was
in Chris. Then he pushed forward until the curving head rubbed against the
sensitive gland hiding deep inside the boy. Chris yelped and his eyes flew
open as a raging hot knife of glory slashed upward from his groin. He could
feel his dick throbbing with delight. Todd continued his slow thrusting and
with each deep, inward thrust his penis caressed Chris's prostate, which
caused the young sailor to whimper and buck upward, low growls of
penultimate lust rising from his throat. Todd leaned down and hugged Chris
close. Their lips met and as Todd continued to thrust gently they kissed; a
deep, open-mouth, intensely passionate kiss that so stimulated Chris that
he thrust his hips upward to meet his lover's thrust.

Chris could feel the dome of pleasure building deep within his crotch. Each
thrust of Todd's penis pushed him closer and closer and . . . He abruptly
pulled away from Todd's lips and buried his face in his lover's neck. He
could feel the explosion that overwhelmed him and he clutched Todd fiercely
as his penis jerked wildly. A wave of exquisite wonder crashed over him as
the slit of his helmet opened and expelled a huge gout of semen. His penis
continued to pump and pump as Chris, every nerve ending in his body
crackling and snapping, reacted to the stimulus of Todd's thrusting organ.

As Chris growled and moaned with his ejaculation the muscles of his rectum
clenched and unclenched, driving Todd over the brink. He thrust rapidly,
stiffened, and pushed his penis as deep into Chris as he could. As his
penis throbbed and his warm fluid filled the groaning boy's body he thrust
back his head. A low, keening moan escaped Todd's lips and he collapsed on
top of Chris.  They could not utter a sound other than their moans of sated
pleasure. Their harsh breathing filled the small office as their hearts
thumped wildly. Chris clasped Todd to his chest and his legs encased his
waist. He had experienced the ultimate of pleasures and refused to let the
slim, golden boy leave his body. He could feel Todd's penis softening and
flexed the muscles of his rectum, which sent ripples of excruciating
sensitivity racing through Todd's penis. He tried to withdraw, unable to
tolerate the harsh pleasure that threatened to overpower him. Chris's low,
growling voice stopped him. "No," he whispered harshly. "Don't leave me!"
he all but shouted.

Todd's lips again found Chris's and once again he began the long, slow
thrusting that would bring them both to the edge of Nirvana and beyond.

******

Cory's chin rested on his chest and his hands were cupped protectively in
his crotch. He was snoring softly, sound asleep as he sat on the stoop of
the Staff Barracks waiting for Todd and Chris to return. He did not hear
the soft footsteps on the gravel path as the two boys made their way from
Boatswain Stores. Todd stopped and pulled gently at Chris's hand. "It would
appear that the welcoming committee is waiting," he whispered.

Chris smiled and gave Todd a quick kiss on the lips. "He'll want a full
report," he said with a grin.

Todd returned the kiss. He drew back and winked at Chris. "A gentleman
never kisses and tells. Cory will have to draw his own conclusions when you
and he are together."

Chris looked confused. "I don't understand." A quick look of disappointment
crossed his face. "Are you saying that tonight . . .?"

Todd quickly placed both hands on Chris's shoulders. "I am saying that you
and Cory will be together and you will then know even greater pleasure. We
will be together again, Chris. Tonight was wonderful and oh, so very
special. I will cherish the memory of what we had, just as you will cherish
the memory of the first time you make love to another boy."

"Which isn't going to happen if you two magpies don't shut up and let a man
sleep!" Cory rubbed the sleep from his eyes and snickered. "I won't ask how
your evening went. From the looks of you both tonight was a resounding
success."  Chris hurried up the steps, paused briefly to kiss the top of
Cory's golden head, and went inside. "It was wonderful, Cory," he murmured
over his shoulder. "It was fucking wonderful!"

Cory giggled and looked at his brother as he settled himself onto the
stoop.  "Well?" he asked, arching one eyebrow.

Todd grinned enigmatically. "I will only say that if Chris is as, um
. . . exuberant in the giving as he is in the receiving you will be well
pleased."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Todd leaned forward and kissed the tip of Cory's
nose. "Chris has been made love to. Now he is ready to make love." He
slipped his hand down the front of Cory's boxers. "He has a long way to go
to beat you, though."  Cory was undecided if he should be insulted or
flattered. Todd's fingers squeezing his penis made up his mind.

"Chris was good, then?" He gently pulled Todd's hand from his underpants
and gave him a look. "Don't you get enough?"

"Not when it comes from you," replied Todd with a grin. "I can never get
enough of you."

"Flatterer!" Cory stood up and held out his hand. "Come along my insatiable
Lothario. It is long past my bedtime." He helped Todd to his feet and
hugged him. "I am glad that you made Chris happy."

"So am I," returned Todd as Cory released him. He yawned mightily. "God,
I'm tired!"

"I don't doubt that," replied Cory as he pushed his brother toward the
door.

"You have just enough time to have a shower. Alfie is Duty Petty Officer
and he'll be around in about ten minutes."

Todd smiled. Alfie was so predictable when he had the Duty. He would sign
the Log, have a dump, and ten minutes after the start of his watch begin
his Rounds. He never varied his routine.

"There's still enough time to make my favourite brother happy," offered
Todd. He reached down and tweaked the head of Cory's dick.

"Well, since you put it that way, I might just have a shower with you." He
pressed his hand against the rising bulge in the front of Todd's work-dress
trousers. "Yes, I might just have a shower," he said with a giggle as he
passed into the barracks.

******

The Phantom spent a miserable night in his room. He was bored and
frustrated and went to bed early. He jerked off twice, once in the shower
and again in bed. He could not sleep and thought of giving Jeff Jensen a
call, taking him up on his offer of a Coke, or something. In the end he
decided against telephoning. Jeff would have to make the first move.

In the morning he awoke, still frustrated, and grumpy. He had breakfast
with his parents and then went downtown to do the shopping for the
Twins. They had given him a list of everything they needed.

He was just leaving the Menswear shop when he heard a car horn blare and
Jeff's battered Ford convertible pulled to the curb. Jeff had his usual
shit-eating grin on his face and his arm loosely around the shoulders of a
stunning blonde. In the back seat Robbie glowered. The blonde, whose name
was Melissa was, by any yardstick, a looker. She had a good set of lungs,
which filled her bikini bra and her tight, white shorts showed her bikini
line. Her hand rested on Jeff's leg, her fingers idly twirling and curling
his dark leg-hair. Jeff was wearing dark blue running shorts and a white
tank top, the tight garments accentuating his perfect body, and
basket. Robbie was dressed in his soccer gear and had a face on him like a
Forty-shilling teapot. Every so often he would look daggers at Melissa,
obviously jealous and obviously hating the thought of her touching his
Jeff. The Phantom wanted to tell the kid he had nothing to worry
about. Melissa, unlike most of the Vestals who hung off Jeff's body,
planned to keep her virginity a little while longer, a fact that she made
known to every boy she came into contact with. She was also leaving in
September for Victoria to attend the university there.

Jeff was all football jock, showing off and crowing his masculinity to the
world. "What are you buying there, sport?" he asked in a
hail-fellow-well-met tone.

The Phantom held up the heavy bag. "Underpants," he replied blandly.

Melissa giggled and even Robbie smiled, briefly. Then he glared at Jeff,
his eyes full of hurt.

Jeff coloured. He wasn't at all sure that he should be discussing a guy's
underwear in front of a girl. "Hey, Phantom, we're going to round up the
gang and head up island for a swim," announced Jeff. He thrust his thumb
back at his younger brother. "I just got to drop the Squirt off, then we're
history.  Why don't you skip work and come with us?"

The Phantom wondered what "gang" Jeff was talking about - he had never been
a part of the Jeff Jensen Fan Club. He also wondered where "The Squirt" had
come from. Jeff was being so determinedly hetero it was bordering on
disgusting.

"I have a name," snarled 'The Squirt'. "Let's go, Jeff, I don't want to be
late for practice."

"Keep your pants on, Robbie," snapped Jeff. "I'm talking here."

Judging from the look of pure hatred that Robbie flashed at Melissa, and
then at his brother, The Phantom thought that "Squirt" was planning to keep
his pants firmly attached to his ass for the next month. "No, thanks," he
said to Jeff. "I have to work. There is too much to do between now and next
Sunday."

"Well, your loss," replied Jeff indifferently. He waved his hand and they
drove off, Melissa waggling her fingers in good-bye. Robbie sat stone-faced
in the back of the car.

******

The Phantom returned home and prepared for work. He masturbated in the
shower, dressed, and then begged a lift from his father, who threw his
son's bicycle in the back of the pickup truck that was his pride and
joy. As they drove through town toward the base they chattered on about
nothing at all, as fathers and sons do. The Phantom reminded his father
about the Commanding Officer's Anniversary Parade. His father nodded and
looked nostalgic as the whitewashed buildings of AURORA came into view. The
old man missed the old days when he was a part of the military. They
stopped briefly to watch the cadets drilling and for a brief moment The
Phantom understood what his father was feeling. He gave his dad's hand a
small pat as they drove on.

As they passed through the entrance to AURORA The Phantom could not help
but think that the place never really changed all that much. On one side of
the parade square the Bugle Band was blaring away, playing for the Drill
classes marching back and forth. On the other side the gun crews were
busily stripping down their field pieces, practicing for a gun run.

His father stopped the truck in front of the Mess Hall and The Phantom got
out. As the pickup drove off The Phantom stopped a moment to watch the
unfolding panorama on the parade square. Cory and Todd were out there, as
was Brian. He glanced longingly in their direction and then went into the
galley.

Ray and Sandro were glad to see him. Ray seemed tired but smiled
warmly. Sandro was chattering away, practicing his English.  Everything was
normal, almost boringly so. Chef was his usual self: grumpy.

After lunch the Twins drifted by to pick up their new clothes. "I guess I'm
a little conservative when it comes to undies," apologized The Phantom, as
the Twins examined the white and plain coloured boxers and T-shirts. "But I
did get some pinstripes for Cory to wear to church. And I got you these."
He held up two sets of Royal Stuart tartan boxers. "You guys can't quit
cold turkey."

"Phantom, those are great!" said Todd, laughing as he examined The
Phantom's purchases.

"Wait 'til the guys see us in these," enthused Cory. "Tyler will cream his
jockeys."

"If he does it better not be with help from you," warned Todd menacingly.

"Hey, I'm straight," returned Cory with a false smile. After a moment's
hesitation he added, "For now, anyway." Then he winked at The Phantom.  The
Phantom, who was wondering how long this straight routine would last,
smiled broadly. Cory would always be Cory.

"Did you get the shorts?" asked Todd.

The Phantom nodded and handed him the largest pair of blue gym shorts he
could find. "Who the hell are these for?" he asked. The shorts were much
too large to fit either of the Twins.

"Harry," replied Todd simply.

"You heard what happened at PT yesterday?" asked Cory.

The Phantom nodded. He had heard, from just about everybody, including the
ship's cat, who had been on PT Parade, and had listened as the cadets
laughed about Harry flashing Kyle and Dirty Dave the Deacon. He had also
listened to the awed expressions whenever the size and girth of Harry's
genitals were mentioned.  "We're going to give those shorts to Harry,"
continued Cory. "He has got some great upper deck fittings but we have cut
down on the temptation factor. These will do the trick just fine." He
looked thoughtful. "Now, if we can just convince him that he must wear a
jock . . ."

Todd groaned. "Cory!"

"Well we must," insisted Cory. "You saw him waving his dick all over
Creation this morning. It was a sight!" He waggled his eyebrows at The
Phantom, who blushed. "Look at Phantom," he crowed. "He's blushing."

"You'll be hurting in a minute," threatened Todd. "Not everybody is
mesmerized by the sight, or the size of Harry's parts!"

"It's all right, Todd. Cory is just being himself," said The Phantom,
secretly wishing that he had been there to see Harry's well-endowed
parts. "It's difficult to change overnight, Todd."

"See, Phantom understands," said Cory with a self-righteous sniff.

"I wish I did," replied Todd, shaking his head.

******

Shortly before 1500 the Executive Officer returned from Esquimalt. He
arrived riding in the cab of the workhorse of the DND transport fleet, a
huge deuce-and-a-half, which was filled to the gunwales with white
uniforms, gym gear, and two sets of Chiefs uniforms. A work party was
hastily organized and the truck unloaded. When everything was safely stored
Number One announced that he was taking three days leave, which left The
Gunner holding the can. In an uncharacteristic display of his displeasure,
The Gunner grumbled and stomped gracelessly to the Headquarters Building
where he began to work on Routine Orders. Greg, the Ship's Writer, who was
a tall, dark haired young man with a quick and easy smile, helped him. Greg
was new to the ship, having come on board only the day before. The Twins
drifted in and weaseled their way into another reprieve. "It's so hot in
the barracks, Guns," whined Cory dramatically, at the same time giving Greg
the once over.

"Yes, it is," confirmed Todd, poking Cory in the ribs. "It's ever so hot
and everybody has to take more showers just to help cool off, and you know
how they're always going on about us using too much water."

"Yes, you can go swimming," said The Gunner firmly. He knew exactly what
the Twins were whining about and just to let them know that he was wise to
their tricks he added, "And for your sins you can report to Clothing Stores
at 1800 and help them get their act together."

Both Twins groaned. They didn't mind working in Stores. At least the place
was clean. They did mind having to work with Little Big Man's cronies, Rob
and David.

The Gunner, who knew what had transpired outside the galley the day before,
reassured them. "Both Rob and David have been spoken to. They will give you
no trouble." He signed the piece of paper Greg put in front of him. "As for
Little Big Man, he's suffering from ill health. He just doesn't know it
yet. One more incident and he's on his way home." He smiled grimly.

The Twins nodded their thanks.

At that moment Greg dropped the file folder he was holding and bent over to
pick it up, the white drill fabric of his bells stretching across a
perfectly formed butt. His briefs lines were clearly visible. Cory
gulped. He was an ass man, and a sucker for a well formed behind. Even
Todd, who was normally much less obvious than Cory, cast an admiring glance
Greg's way. Their ogling was not lost on The Gunner. He gave the pair of
them the eye and nodded towards the door. They smiled weakly and fled the
office.

Greg leaned over The Gunner and put yet another piece of paper in front of
him. Greg's scent, a mixture of talcum, starch, and clean teenage boy
assailed his nostrils. "Jesus," he thought, fighting to control the
tingling that seemed to have replaced his dick. "I have got to get out of
this place."

He signed off everything Greg put in front of him and then went over to his
office and changed into his swimming gear. He led the long line of
chattering Sea Puppies past the galley and on to the beach where the Chief
PTI and The Assistant took over. As he watched the New Entries being put
through their swimming tests the Twins strolled up and spread out their
towels beside him, Cory placing his towel as close as he dared.

The Gunner sat with his arms around his knees, knowing full well that Cory
was surreptitiously casting glances his way. He tried not to notice that
Cory had boned up and that the tip of his smooth, pink, helmet was peeking
past the edge of his swimming shorts. To make matters worse the 38 New
Entry Cadets were laughing and splashing, roiling the calm water. In front
of him the 13 and 14-year-old boys cavorted, showing off their smooth,
hairless, pink and brown bodies, every one of them clad in a tight,
brief-like swimming suit, which tightened their butts into perfect, taut
little orbs, and compressed their little boy parts into compact bumps
between their hairless legs. He continued to supervise the boys, answering
their questions, trying to appear and act as normal as possible, thankful
that his baggy shorts hid his semi hard penis. He groaned silently. "I just
have to get of out this place."

After Swim Parade The Gunner returned to his office, changed, and checked
in with Clothing Stores. Rob and David were getting themselves organized so
he left them alone. He was a great believer in not fixing anything that
wasn't broken. Both cadets were very competent and needed little, if any,
supervision. He warned them that the Twins would be coming in to give them
a hand and that there was to be no nonsense. Finally, he climbed into his
Land Rover and drove along the roadway, only to see The Phantom plodding
along, pushing his bicycle. He pulled alongside the boy and stopped. "Got a
problem, Phantom?" he asked through the open passenger side window.

The Phantom smiled shyly and nodded. "Just a flat tire. I'll fix it when I
get home."

"You planning on walking into town?"

The Phantom nodded.

"Not on my watch. Chuck your bike in the back and get in. I'll drive you
home."

The Phantom could not believe his luck. He hastily stowed his bike in the
large, open back of the Rover and climbed into the vehicle, sitting beside
the man he loved, separated only by a large, square, brown leather
briefcase. He quickly told The Gunner where he lived and they set off,
chatting idly. The Phantom was thankful that he was wearing loose fitting
sweat pants. The baggy cloth hid his boner, which stretched thickly along
the inside of his leg. As much as he wanted to he dared not touch himself
and sat contentedly, drinking in the scents of the man, tobacco, sweat, a
faint hint of a pleasant aftershave, the special sweetness that was unique
to every man and boy.

Barely ten minutes later they pulled into the driveway of The Phantom's
house. The Phantom quickly slid out of the car, adjusting himself as he did
so. He thanked The Gunner and retrieved his bicycle.

The Phantom watched as The Gunner slowly drove away and then put his bike
in the garage. He all but floated into the house, up the stairs, and into
his room where he lay on his bed, fully clothed, gently stroking just his
most tender spot, savouring The Gunner's odour that still lingered in his
nostrils. Before he knew it his balls tightened and his dick swelled. He
groaned as his orgasm overwhelmed him, his pee slit expanding and ejecting
stream after stream of his seed into his shorts.

He lay, massaging his cooling semen into his flesh, revelling in the
delicious afterglow; his eyes closed, his mind and body at rest, and
drifted off to sleep.

******

The next morning, after Divisions, the musicians and buglers, directed by
Harry and Sylvain, lined up in a ragged queue outside of Clothing Stores,
waiting to be issued new Class II uniforms. Rob, assisted by David and
Ryan, had it all figured out. The Temporary Loan Cards were ready; the neat
piles of uniforms were ready. Unfortunately the cadets were not. Andre, the
first boy in line, had not a clue what his clothing sizes were.

"Well, fuck, look in your pants," instructed Rob. "There's a tag inside
with an 'N' size on it. Just look."

Andre unzipped and opened his pants wide, revealing his black, white-banded
Jockeys. "There you go," he grinned. "Take a look."

Rob glared at him. "You look, you French twit! I am not looking in there!
God only knows what I'd see!" Andre glanced down and told Rob the
size. David took a neatly folded pair of white drill bell-bottom trousers
from one of the pre-sorted piles behind the counter and handed them to Rob,
who placed them on the counter. "What's your jumper size?" he asked.

Andre shrugged. If he didn't know what size pants he wore how did they
expect him to know his jumper size?

Rob sighed heavily. Why he had ever allowed himself to be talked into
becoming a Storekeeper he'd never know. He should have put in for pecker
checker. At least everybody knew that size! "Go and look in your jumper,"
he said patiently. "And tell those jerks outside to make sure they know
what size pants they wear.

Several minutes later the Matron walked by on her way to the Sick Bay and
almost fainted at the sight of sixty-odd boys, their uniform trousers
unzipped and spread wide, gazing intently at their crotches.

******

Once the initial confusion was settled, each cadet was issued with a new
pair of bell-bottoms, a new jumper, a large square of black rayon material,
a pair of beige-white gaiters and, as an afterthought, a new RCSCC cap
tally. The grumbling that ensued when the cadets learned that the new
uniforms had to fitted and washed, then ironed, was loud and long. Nor were
they pleased that the rayon cloth had to be folded and ironed into silks,
the new tallys bent on caps, and the gaiters washed and bleached to white
perfection.

Tyler spoke to Val, who spoke to Harry, who yelled at the Twins, who
muttered and grumbled at the Gunroom crowd. Operation Warm Fuzzy would
commence at 1600 and continue through the Dogs and First Watch and the
senior hands, who would help out as much as possible, would visit each
barracks.

The Twins, in addition to having to finish their extra duties, were also
Middle Watchmen and they complained loudly about all the extra work they
could hardly be expected to do three things at once! Harry told them it was
penance for their sins and to get on with the grunt.

The Phantom reported for work and carried on in his usual, efficient
way. He was still in a daze after being driven home by The Gunner the night
before, so much so that he nearly fouled up his tire repair as he spent
much of the morning fantasizing that he was in bed with him. He was rudely
awakened at lunch when Alfie, who had been loading his plate with salad,
suddenly vomited all over the fresh vegetables and fell to the deck
writhing in pain.

Doc was hastily summoned. He shooed the curious boys surrounding the
moaning Alfie and made a quick, competent, examination. His diagnosis was
appendicitis and he ordered Fred to find The Gunner and have him bring his
car around. Alfie was wrapped in a warm woollen blanket and cradled in the
Matron's heavy arms, then driven by The Gunner to St. Joseph's Hospital in
Comox where the Doc's diagnosis was confirmed. Alfie underwent emergency
surgery.  He would spend a week in hospital and then be sent home.

The pall that had settled over the Gunroom was dispelled when The Gunner
put in an appearance and told the assembled cadets that Alfie was out of
danger. After ordering Alfie's gear to be packed up he agreed to help with
Operation Warm Fuzzy.

After dinner The Gunner drove the Master at Arms, the Cadet Chief Gunner
and Thumper into town where they visited Alfie who, while still a bit
groggy, was alert and smiling. He showed them his incision. Thumper looked
at it and snorted. "What's the big deal?" he sniped. "My circumcision scar
is bigger than that!"

Alfie laughed so hard he ripped a stitch, which earned his visitors a stern
lecture from the Charge Nurse. Much chastened and humbled they returned to
AURORA to commence Operation Warm Fuzzy.

******

In the absence of the Executive Officer many of his duties fell to The
Gunner, including the role of Duty Officer, which meant he would be on Duty
until 0800 the next morning. He hoped the bunk in the Guard House was
comfortable.

At 1800 he began his first set of rounds, visiting the New Entry barracks
first. Here he found the cadets in various stages of undress, some in
briefs and socks, others clothed, some wearing nothing but a towel as they
came from, or went to, the showers. At one end of the long mess table Jon
and Stuart were patiently ironing cap tallies. At the other, in a cloud of
steam and spray starch, Nicholas was demonstrating the best way to iron
bell-bottoms.

"I hope you know how to tie a tally," The Gunner said to Stuart, who
assured him that he did, indeed, know how to tie a cap tally. "No butterfly
bows," warned The Gunner.

He turned to face a small, fair boy, clad only in a new, white jumper and
thin, white briefs.  In the boy's hand was the square of rayon
fabric. "Please, sir, what do I do with this?" the boy asked.

The Gunner realized that no one knew how to make a proper silk so he called
the boys together and demonstrated folding the 50 inch by 12 inch fabric
into one long, inch wide silk. When the large piece of cloth was one long
strip, he ironed it and then pinned it together. He draped it around the
young cadet's neck, then told him to zip up his jumper.

The cadet, whose name was Peter Weiss, fumbled with the stiff zipper so The
Gunner reached down and helped him zip up. A small jolt of electricity
passed through The Gunner as he fitted the zipper together. Quite by
accident he had brushed the back of his left hand against the soft, warm,
little penis hidden under Peter's thin briefs. He could not have helped
himself. The tight fitting jumper extended halfway down the cadet's smooth
thighs, ending just below the little bulge in his underpants.

As he removed the silk and fitted Peter's lanyard around his neck The
Gunner felt beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. He replaced the
silk and looped it through the lanyard, his hands shaking slightly as they
brushed against the smooth, warm flesh of Peter's bare chest. After the
lanyard and silk had been fitted and tied loosely with the tapes sewn into
the jumper, he adjusted the length slightly. He checked the width of the
tape that hung below the tied tapes, and demonstrated, using three fingers,
exactly how wide the "Duff Bag" should be.

"What's this?" asked Peter in a soft, high-pitched voice, as he fingered
the almost square piece of cloth held in place by the jumper tapes.

"That, my son, is your Duff Bag." Seeing the quizzical look on Peter's face
The Gunner continued. "I imagine that in the long ago times a sailor would
keep a piece of something sweet in there, to hide it from his
messmates. Duff is anything sweet, usually dessert." He smiled
warmly. Peter smiled softly back. "Now all you have to do is sew the silk
together and you'll be all set," said The Gunner, breathing a silent sigh
of relief now that this particular ordeal was over.

"Don't worry, Gunner," said Jon. "We'll look after young Peter. We have a
dhobey parade in a little while so everything will be nice and tiddly, but
I'll show him how to sew up his silk before we go over to the laundry."  He
smiled a crooked smile.

The Gunner groaned inwardly. Another slim, handsome boy to worry about! "I
just got to get out of this fucking place! And why do three quarters of
them have to be blonds?"

******

The Gunner continued on his rounds, visiting each of the barracks in
turn. Each barracks was essentially a mirror of the other, a whirling
hurly-burly of half-naked cadets who were busily putting their uniforms in
order, ironing, sewing, and polishing boots. He wondered why, after walking
through all the barracks, the cadets thought it necessary to strip down to
their underwear the moment they entered their sleeping quarters. He noticed
that boxer shorts, plain colours, stripes and tartans, particularly among
the older boys, were making inroads against the ubiquitous tighty-whiteys
that the majority of the cadets wore. He also noticed with pleasure that
there was a senior cadet in each barracks, offering help where and when
needed.

He continued his rounds and entered the Staff Barracks, inspecting the
Petty Officers Mess first. The room was deserted except for Little Big Man,
who was primly attired in blue, issue gym shorts and a white T-shirt. He
was sitting on his bunk industriously polishing his boots. He barely
acknowledged The Gunner's presence, smiling thinly and without a hint of
warmth as The Gunner passed on into the Gunroom.

The Gunroom denizens were as busy as the other cadets. They were also, for
the most part, just as underdressed as their juniors in the other
barracks. He noticed that high fashion, at least in underwear had made its
way to AURORA, the Twins surprisingly leading the cadet haute monde. They
were each wearing a pair of vibrant red and gold tartan boxers. "Are you
two expecting Bonnie Prince Charlie to call?" The Gunner asked them, and
then moved on to where Harry was sitting.

The Twins grinned, bowed low and, as The Gunner turned to sit down Cory
stuck out his tongue.

"I saw that, Cory!" said The Gunner as he sat beside Harry and watched the
vibrant activity all around him.

The Gunroom was as a scene of organized chaos. Two Strokes, a steaming iron
in hand, was busily forming the pieces of black rayon fabric into
silks. Val and Tyler were standing on the bench, bare-chested, wearing
their new straight-leg white trousers. Chris and Fred were busily folding
up the unfinished hem of Val's white trousers, while the Twins were
attending to Tyler. Harry, never the trendsetter, was all but naked,
wearing a pair of threadbare, slightly rump-sprung tighty whiteys. The
Gunner, who had heard about Harry flashing the PT parade, could not fail to
notice that the cotton fabric covered a lot of pink flesh. Unaware of The
Gunner's casual inspection, Harry was industriously sewing the freshly
ironed silk ends together, forming them into a loop. Nearby Thumper was
carefully putting large stitches in a pair of new white bell-bottomed
trousers, adjusting the hem as he sewed.

As The Gunner watched the activity Cory finished pinning the hem of Tyler's
trousers and told him to hop down and strip. Tyler did as he was told and
unbuttoned his trousers, stepped out of them and handed them to Todd. Val
quickly followed suit. Both boys stood there, wearing nothing but tight,
white briefs.

Cory and Todd were momentarily awestruck. Chris, on his knee and with his
nose barely inches from Val's compact, well-formed basket, felt his heart
skip a beat. Two Strokes, and Fred, together with Thumper and Harry, paused
to frankly admire the two senior cadets.

By any definition the Master at Arms was a superbly handsome, magnificently
proportioned young man. His broad, chiselled face was set with two
sparkling, steel blue eyes, a narrow, aristocratic nose, and thin,
wonderfully formed lips.  His narrow eyebrows perfectly matched in colour
his curly, copper-coloured hair. Tyler had a broad, hairless chest, with
two pink nipples in light brown, barely perceptible aureoles set in tightly
defined abs. His chest flowed and tapered gradually to form his slightly
formed waist and his perfect peach-like butt arced down to form his
well-muscled thighs, creating fine calves and ankles. His legs, from just
above his ankles to just under the curve of his behind, were faintly dusted
with light copper hair, which disappeared under the elastic band of his
briefs.

Under the thin fabric of his briefs it was readily apparent that God had
blessed Tyler. Clearly outlined, faintly pink under the cotton fabric of
his underpants his five-inch, soft, thick; cleanly circumcised, perfectly
proportioned penis lay tight against his thigh. At the base of this wonder
his large testicles rested snugly. Small tendrils of dark red hair curled
deliciously from under the tight elastic leg bands of his underpants.

While Tyler's smooth, tanned pinkness gave evidence of his English
heritage, Val's light olive skin and smouldering brown eyes proclaimed his
Sicilian ancestry. He was as tall as Tyler, though not as smoothly
formed. His chest was firmly defined and his arms and legs, though thinner
than Tyler's, were muscular. His smooth oval face and thin nose gave hint
of a Norman forebear. His hazel eyes were framed with long, dark lashes and
browed with thick brown hair, which matched precisely the short, neatly
combed hair on his head. His skin had tanned to a delicious darkness that
his white briefs contrasted to perfection.

Unlike the other Senior Cadets, Val had a small patch of dark, curly hair
that covered the centre of his chest. Where Tyler had a deliciously defined
treasure trail of bright red, coarse hair leading to his small slash of a
navel, Val boasted a small, almost invisible curling trace peeking from the
band his briefs and rising in delicate swirls that circled his navel, not
quite an inny, not yet an outy, a cute button nestling in the soft hair
surrounding it.

The Cadet Chief Gunner was wearing a pair of briefs so old and worn that it
was apparent that while he was not as generously endowed as Tyler, his
soft, circumcised penis was well made and well proportioned. His light
olive, slender shaft, which ended in a pale pink, neatly defined helmet,
hung down over his small, smooth-skinned testicles, which rested snugly
against the base of his penis, growing from a dark brown bush - clearly
outlined under the fabric - which peeked out in long, straight strands from
the leg bands of his underpants. In another age he would have been a
Raphael St. George, or his lithe, muscular form part of a frescoed panel in
the Sistine Chapel.

Each of the other boys, in his own way, was stunned at the male beauty
standing before them. Two Strokes, who never joined in the homoerotic
bantering that was part of Mess life, would have suffered torture and death
before admitting to the feelings that flashed through him. Chris, Fred and
the Twins stared in open admiration of the visions before them. Even Harry,
who was himself a handsome youth, felt a pang of jealousy.

The Gunner was just as stunned by the beauty of Val and Tyler, but managed
to recover quickly. Glancing at Val and Tyler's near nakedness, he snorted
and then smiled broadly. "You guys are really not helping my
reputation. Everywhere I go today I end up in a room full of boys in their
underwear."

The Gunner's laughing remark broke the sexual tension. The cadets chuckled
and quickly returned to what they had been doing.

"We're just getting fitted for our new duds," explained Tyler, relieved
that he was no longer the object of everybody's close scrutiny. Our tailors
assure us that they are the best."

Todd and Cory grinned. Todd held up Tyler's trousers, then sat down and
began to sew. Cory took Val's trousers and joined Todd. The Gunner watched
as they carefully stitched and smoothed the stiff drill. The Gunner looked
at Cory and Todd as they expertly hemmed Tyler and Val's trousers. "You
should wash those trousers when the Twins are finished," he advised Tyler,
trying hard not to notice the way Val's genitals swung gently as he walked
about the Gunroom. "That way the thread will be the same colour as the rest
of the pants." He leaned over and watched Harry sewing the black silks. He
picked up one of Harry's finished product and scrutinized it
carefully. "Nice job, Harry. Do you darn socks?"

Harry grimaced and motioned for Two Strokes to come over. He draped a
length of cloth around Two Strokes' neck, measuring by eye the correct
length, then pinned the ends together. "Got to make sure he has a good Duff
Bag," he said as he used three fingers to measure the bottom part of the
silk. He made a minor adjustment, and then removed the cloth from Two
Strokes' neck. He trimmed the cloth then began sewing, his needle, tiny in
his huge hand, making small, precise stitches.

"Harry," said The Gunner in true amazement. "You are truly a Renaissance
man. You wax philosophical, you toss the Mace with a grace I have not seen
this side of the Royal Marines School of Music, and you can sew. If you
tell me you can also cook, why, you would be the man of every girl's
dreams."

"I can cook, and I don't need a girl," growled Harry. He flashed The Gunner
a wicked grin. "All I need is a sheep."

The Gunner choked with laughter. "Harry, if I didn't know any better I'd
swear you were related to those two skates." He waved towards the Twins.

Cory groaned loudly and pretended to shudder at the thought of Harry being
related to them in any degree. Todd made a horrified face and then laughed
aloud. "Please, Guns, don't gift him on us," he moaned as he rolled his
eyes. "We have enough trouble with the relatives we have."

The Gunner laughed again and then called to Tyler. "Well, Chief, it looks
like you're O.K. in the pants department. How are the jackets?"

Both Tyler and Val disappeared into their cabin and emerged buttoning their
starched, white, high-collared jackets. When they were finished The Gunner
motioned them to turn and watched as they revolved slowly. He studied the
two teenagers with critical detachment. The tunics fit both cadets to
perfection, the sleeves exactly right, the bottom of each jacket just
covering their smooth, round, brief covered bums. "A very good fit," he
said, nodding his approval. "Now all you need are your buttons and crowns."

Val and Tyler exchanged an uneasy look as they unbuttoned their
jackets. "We have a bit of a problem, there, Gunner," said Val as he
removed his jacket and placed it on the table.

"What sort of a problem?"

"Well," began Tyler, colouring slightly. "We don't know how to put the
buttons on. We don't have a manual."

"Which is not a problem," replied The Gunner. "I know how to fit them. Get
me your buttons and the crowns. I'll also need a small ruler, a pencil, and
a pair of scissors, manicure type if any of you have them." Harry passed
over a superb pair of embroidery scissors. The Gunner glanced at them, and
then at Harry, who smiled enigmatically.

Val returned from his cabin with two small envelopes, which he emptied on
the table in front of The Gunner, who examined first the gold coloured
buttons, then the crowns. He sighed, and then spoke softly. "Well, the
buttons are fine, just right, in fact. Unfortunately they've given you the
wrong crowns. These are King's Crowns. You want Queen's."

"What is the difference?" asked Chris sitting down beside Harry. "Who would
know the difference, anyway? A crown is a crown!"

"I would," said Val.

"As would I." Tyler picked up one of the small brass crowns backed with
crimson cloth. "He studied the small artefact. "We could not possibly wear
these because we are not entitled to wear them."

The Gunner nodded his head sagely. "Which explains, Tyler, "why you beat
out 23 other Cadets for Master at Arms and you, Val, triumphed over 116
other senior Chiefs."

Both cadets beamed. They knew of course that they had been selected over
quite a few others, and not a few senior, cadets. They did not know the
numbers. The Gunner turned to Chris. "The difference, Chris," said The
Gunner, "is that the King's crown is modeled after the Imperial State
Crown. Her Majesty's is modeled after St. Edward's Crown. The crown is
changed at the beginning of every new Reign. When the old King died in 1952
his Crown . . ." he held up a miniature Imperial State Crown . . . "was
replaced by this." He picked up the miniature of St. Edward's Crown. "Sort
of like changing your cap tally when you leave one ship and sign aboard
another one."

"So what do we do?" asked Tyler.

"Never fear, Gunner fix." The Gunner reached into the pocket of his
trousers and withdrew a ring of keys. He handed them to Chris. "In my desk
there is a large cash box. Inside there are two jewellers' boxes. Would you
fetch them, please?"  "Sure, Gunner," said Chris. He took the keys and
hurried from the Gunroom, smiling happily, his faux pas over the crowns
forgotten in his realization of the trust that The Gunner had just shown in
him.

The Gunner watched the smiling boy leave. "Sometimes," he thought
pensively, "It takes so little to make them happy." He hid a frown,
wondering if there was an attraction for him behind Chris's happy smile. He
certainly hoped not. He had all he could handle with the Twins and The
Phantom. He turned to Val and Tyler. "While we are waiting for young
Christopher to return, watch and learn as I make for thee a grommet."

He smoothed the wide sleeve of one of the jackets. "First you find the
centreline. Then you measure 3 inches from the bottom edge of the cuff."
With an expert eye The Gunner made the measurement and marked the centre of
the sleeve of the jacket with the pencil, marring the white drill with a
small dot of carbon. Using the scissors he carefully pushed the point
through the fabric and made a small, round, ragged hole. He then borrowed a
needle and white thread from Harry and began lining the edges of the hole
with neat, almost dainty stitches. Five minutes later he held up the sleeve
and showed the small, perfectly formed and reinforced grommet. "That
gentlemen, is a grommet."

The Gunner next fitted one of the gold buttons into the grommet and dogged
it in place with a small metal toggle. "Now comes the hard part." He began
measuring again, placing a loose button on either side of the fitted
one. "Each button has to be two inches centred on either side of the centre
button." His measurements complete he again pierced the fabric. "See, easy
as pie." He hand the jacket to Val, who promptly handed it back.

"Gunner, I can't sew worth a shit," confessed Val, blushing.

"And my mother did all my sewing." confessed Tyler.

The Gunner pretended disgust. "When I was your age I could sew so well I
could build you a new pair of pants and a jumper. Jesus, what is my Navy
coming to?" He picked up the jacket and began forming another grommet. "I
guess I have to do everything myself," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

Fortunately for Val and Tyler's egos Chris entered the mess and placed two
oblong, navy blue and gold leather boxes on the table. "These what you
want?" he asked The Gunner as he returned the keys.

"Exactly." The Gunner handed one box to Tyler, one to Val. "You can wear
these."  Tyler opened his box and saw that it contained, nestled tightly in
thick, tufted satin, six gold buttons and two gold and crimson Queen's
Crowns. Val read aloud the inscription written in black lettering on the
cream satin lining the top of the lid. "Garrard & Company. Goldsmiths and
Crown Jewellers to HM the Queen and HM The Queen Mother." He whistled
loudly.

The box in Tyler's hand bore the same inscription. He examined the contents
closely and his eyes widened. "Holy fuck, Gunner," he ejaculated profanely.
"These things are real gold!"

Ignoring Tyler's oath The Gunner replied quietly. "They had better be or
there is a three-ringer who's going to be mighty pissed of."

"May I ask where you got them?" asked Tyler. He sensed that the gold
insignia meant a great deal to the man sitting and sewing diligently.

"No big deal." The Gunner shrugged. "When I graduated Whale Island my Term
Lieutenant shocked the shit out of me by giving me one set. When we
switched over to the green uniform the Command Chief Gunnery Instructor
gave me the other. He said even though I wouldn't be able to wear them I
should keep them to remind me of what a Chief should look like when I got
up there."

Tyler sat down beside The Gunner. "We couldn't possibly wear these. I mean
they are your history."

The Gunner was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. Tyler and Val were wearing
only their briefs. He could feel the maleness their bodies exuded, and he
tried desperately not to look at the smooth bulges hidden by the cotton. He
concentrated on forming a new grommet. "They're not doing me any good
mouldering away in some drawer. You wear them. In fact, keep them. One day,
when another cadet or sailor comes along who you think deserves them, pass
them on." He pricked his finger and swore under his breath. Then he had an
idea. He looked up at Val. "Tell you what, I'll trade you for a sip of that
white lightning you keep hidden under your clean undies in your locker."

Val's jaw dropped. "How did . . . how did you know?"

"Easy. Who do you think inspects this hole before the Captain does?" The
Gunner grinned and pointed his thumb at his chest. "Me does." He laughed
uproariously a Val's discomfiture. "Don't worry. I shall never tell. Nor
will I tell about the bottle of Johnny Walker Black that Tyler keeps hidden
under his dirty socks and underpants in his laundry bag. Or . . ." He
thought a moment. "Ah, yes, the bottle of brandy in Two Strokes' kit bag,
wrapped in two gunshirts, or the jug of black rum that Thumper keeps in his
kit bag." He stared down at the Twins who sat with hunched shoulders,
busily sewing. "And, lest we forget, the two forty-pounders of vodka that a
certain set of fraternal twins keep hidden in their sea chests, in shoe
boxes, under their civvy clothes. Did I get them all?" he asked no one in
particular. He heard Harry snuffling and coughing as he plied his needle in
a silk. The Gunner looked at him. "I have not forgotten you, Harry me
lad. I also have not forgotten the bottle of Mother's Ruin you have hidden
away in your locker. It's no wonder you never wear your jock, not when
you've got it wrapped around a bottle of gin!"

Val sat down, stunned. "However did you find them?"

"Easy, I looked." The Gunner looked at the assembled cadets. "Guys, as long
as you're discreet, I personally do not give a fuck. You are all
trusted. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here."

Shaking his head Val stood up and went to get the grappa. He placed the
bottle and a clean glass on the table.

The Gunner held the bottle up and studied it. "Must have been a good
party. By my eye measurement this was full a week ago."

"We sort of had to celebrate Cory's victory," explained Tyler, a sheepish
look on his face. "We had a small party."

"From the state of a certain moose-like Drum Major this morning and the
fact that this bottle has a serious evaporation problem, it seems to me
that you had a large party," opined The Gunner. "Never mind. Little git
deserved a drink after hitting that homer." He waved the bottle at
Val. "So, then, boychick! Where are the glasses?" Glasses and mugs appeared
as if by magic. "One short - very short - snort apiece, and cut it with
water," ordered The Gunner.

The cadets crowded around Val who poured each of them a small drink. He
poured The Gunner and Tyler an even larger drink. Drinks in hand the cadets
returned to their work. Val and Tyler sat and watched as The Gunner's
needle worked its way around the next grommet.

"Where did you learn to sew?" asked Harry, casting an admiring glance at
The Gunner's stitching.

"An old Chief taught all of us new recruits when we were in
CORNWALLIS. Back in the dawn of time we didn't have anyone else to do our
sewing. It was either learn or walk around with your ass hanging out if you
ripped your pants. Where did you learn, Harry?"

"You'd laugh if I told you."

"No, I wouldn't," said The Gunner as he finished the grommet. "Almost every
sailor knows how to sew. We had to learn." He smiled tightly. "No Moms at
sea, Harry." Harry nodded and picked up the other jacket. He began sewing a
grommet. His needle slowly forming neat, exact stitches.

"I learned from the old Chief," continued The Gunner, his voice tinged with
nostalgia. "He was a fine old duck. He joined the RN in 1913 as a boy
seaman, went through the First War, came out here and joined the RCN, went
through the Second War, then Korea. After that he looked after the young
recruits. He was a father figure, if you know what I mean. He scolded us
when we needed it, and gave us a shoulder to cry on when we needed one. He
taught us a lot about looking after ourselves, and each other." He put down
the jacket he was working on. His eyes clouded as he remembered. "Looking
back, now, we were awfully young. I was just past 17 when I joined the
RCN. Most of the other guys were 18 and a bit. We were all homesick and
lonesome, very much like the young cadets who come here for the first
time. The old Chief, he was just there for us. He took us all under his
wing, yelled at us, praised us, and, like I said, listened to our
problems. At Christmas he had all the guys who couldn't get home, and, well
. . . the guys who had no homes to go to, over to his house. His wife and
daughters cooked up a bang-up dinner. They were great cooks. Between the
Chief, his Missus, and his daughters, they turned out some pretty good
matelots." He picked up the jacket and began sewing again. "I see Operation
Warm Fuzzy is up and running," he said casually, referring to the presence
of the senior cadets in the barracks earlier.

Tyler nodded. "There will be no little cadets crying themselves to sleep if
we can help it," he said sipping his drink. "And we made sure that there's
a senior cadet in every barracks tonight, just in case."

The Gunner returned Tyler's nod. "You're learning." He jerked his head
towards the Twins. "Are they behaving?"

"As good as gold," said Val sitting opposite The Gunner. "They claim
they're on the straight and narrow. They haven't groped or grabbed anybody
all day."

"That will last about a week," said Harry dubiously.

"Oh, ye of little faith." replied The Gunner.

The Twins walked up and handed the hemmed trousers to Tyler and Val. "Here
you go," said Todd. "All tickety-boo."

Tyler nodded his thanks. "It's getting late and I want to do a walk about
before I tackle my dhobey." He grinned at The Gunner. "The next time you go
looking for a drink I promise that my laundry bag will contain only clean
undies."

The Gunner chuckled and reached for two gold crowns. He began to position
one on Tyler's jacket. "I appreciate that Tyler, I really do. Skids marks
do nothing for me!"

Tyler groaned and looked at the Twins. "You have Mids. Try to keep out of
trouble." He motioned for Val to follow him. "It might be a good idea if we
put on some clothes."

Val looked at The Gunner as he expertly fit the small crown into the
grommets he had made. "We owe you, big time, Gunner," he said.

"I'm just carrying on a tradition." He looked at the Twins, who were
dressing, putting on their uniforms. He smiled fondly. "I'm Officer of the
Day. I'll keep an eye on them."

"Or they'll keep an eye on you," replied Val with a grin. "I always sleep
with one eye open when I have the watch with them!"

Harry smiled at the look on The Gunner's face. He watched the two Chiefs
disappear into their Mess. "I always sleep with both eyes open!" he said
with a loud chuckle.

The Gunner laughed and then pointed with his chin at the small pile of
complete silks that lay on the table in front of Harry. "So, Harry, who
taught you how to sew?"

Harry picked up the embroidery scissors. He looked embarrassed. "You won't
laugh?" he asked.

"No, I promise."

Harry grinned. "My old Granny. She taught all of us how to sew and do
needlepoint."

"Needlepoint?" The Gunner almost forgot his promise, unable to picture the
ham-handed Harry doing delicate embroidery.

Harry nodded firmly. "You ever live on a farm, in winter? The snow is up to
your ass and half the time you can't get out. All you do is feed the stock
and sit around drinking or smoking, or beating off."

"Harry! You have been hanging around the Twins too long."

Harry laughed boisterously. "They wish!" He looked seriously at The
Gunner. "Honest, Gunner my old Granny taught me and my brothers to sew, and
my mother taught us how to cook."

"You're lucky, then," replied The Gunner sadly. "I never knew my
Granny. She was dead by the time I was born." He lapsed into silence as he
finished fitting the buttons and crowns into the jackets. For the first
time in a long while he thought of the family he had never really had.

As the other cadets finished their immediate tasks they dressed and drifted
away. The Gunner finished his sewing and asked Harry to make sure the
Chiefs got their jackets. He stood up. "I'll see you around, Harry. Duty
calls."

Harry nodded his agreement. He sensed that The Gunner, who always seemed so
independent and self-reliant, was missing something in his life. He looked
at The Gunner. "If you ever find yourself on King's Highway 6, about 150
miles north of Winnipeg you'll see a mailbox that looks like an old Russian
church. Turn in. The door's always open."

The Gunner was touched by Harry's sincerity. "I might just do that, Harry."

******

Much later, as he sat in the privacy of the Duty Officer's cabin in the
Guard House, The Gunner picked up the handset of the telephone on the desk
and punched in the code for an outside line, then dialled the area code and
number he wanted. He waited, listening to the ringing of the telephone far
away. After a while he slowly replaced the handset, then lay down on the
cot.

******

Under a full moon The Phantom pedaled his bike furiously as he sped along
the road leading to AURORA. His father had gone back on duty, and would be
working the graveyard shift for the next four days. The Phantom could now,
in safety, come and go as he pleased.

He was particularly anxious about Ray. Always quiet, Ray had become even
quieter all evening as they prepared the sandwiches that were always left
out for the Duty Watch. Ray had seemed distracted for most of the day. Only
this afternoon he had almost dropped a tray of fresh-baked pies, which
would have caused no end of grief.

The Phantom had a very good idea of what Ray's problem was. He smiled a
small, sly smile. Tonight. Tonight Ray's problems would be solved.

He glided to a halt in front of the shack, dismounted and put his bike
away. He proceeded immediately to the beach leading to AURORA. He was
exercising more than his usual caution. The full moon made concealment
difficult and he knew from reading Routine Orders that the Twins, and The
Gunner, were on duty. This threatened danger and discovery.

The Gunner was a meticulous, careful man, who believed in doing his
duty. The Twins, for all their tomfoolery and nonsense, never fucked around
on duty. With The Gunner being on duty with them they would no doubt be
doubly attentive to detail. Still, he had to chance it. He needed release
just as much as Ray and Brian needed release. He needed to give them as
much pleasure as he could.

Using more caution than usual, and stopping every so often to listen and
observe, The Phantom moved towards the buildings. He was about to sprint
for the Mess Hall when he heard voices. He peered cautiously over the lip
of the roadway and parted the small stand of sea grass that effectively hid
him from view. He waited patiently as two cadets walked by, each carrying a
large tray. He smiled thinly as he watched Todd and Ryan returning from a
raid on the sandwiches and coffee Chef always left out for the Duty Watch.

He watched the two cadets disappear into the Guard House and then, using
what little shadow there was, he slipped past the Mess Hall and into the
Cooks Barracks. He stripped back the cloth hiding his watch face and looked
at the time. Almost 0130. He had taken much longer than he had
anticipated. Covering the watch face, he walked deeper into the barracks,
and went directly to Ray's bunk.

Ray lay quietly in his bunk, hardly daring to breathe as the door to the
mess creaked open. He heard the soft movement, and then felt the hand
caressing his rising cock. He began to breathe heavily as the coverlet was
pulled down to his knees. Soft lips brushed against his and he felt the
velvet tongue outline his lips.

The Phantom slowly pulled down the young cook's briefs, not stopping until
they encased the boy's knees. Ray's cock was inflamed with desire, and
pulsing steadily.

The Phantom licked and kissed Ray's neck. Then he moved down, sucking and
nipping at the boy's hard, stiff nipples, tracing a line down his stomach,
stopping to tongue Ray's navel, then following the soft treasure trail and
burying his nose his Ray's rough pubes. Without touching Ray's heated boner
his tongue traced a trail around, under and up again, licking and sucking
the soft flesh of Ray's groin. He lowered his head and took Ray's balls in
his mouth, rolling them with his tongue, luxuriating in the soft, hairless
feel of them.

Ray began squirming as the unknown visitor sucked gently on his dick, his
warm, wet tongue swirling around the head. He raised his body, overcome
with ecstasy, and then began to kick and scissor his legs, forcing his
underpants further down until they were entangled around his ankles. With
one foot he forced the garment off his body. He lay naked as the tongue and
mouth sent savage jolts of pleasure rocketing through his body.

The Phantom released Ray's balls and was just about to kiss the base of the
pleasure trail that led from Ray's balls to his tight, clean smelling love
hole when he heard a thump on the steps leading into the barracks. Someone
had tripped as he was about to enter the building. Dropping quickly he
rolled under the bunk, partially hidden by the coverlet hanging over the
edge of the bed. He buried his head in his arms, trying hard not to
breathe. He heard a rustling and the mattress directly above his head
moved. "Jesus, Ray!" he thought frantically, "Lie still!"

He heard a harsh whisper as the far door creaked open and a shaft of red
light penetrated the darkness. "Jesus, David, guys are trying to sleep in
here," the voice whispered harshly. "For fuck sakes try to be quiet!" The
Phantom recognized Cory's voice.

"I couldn't help it," David whined. "The bottom step is loose. This place
is a death trap."

"Well log it when we get back. Now shut up and let's get this over with."

The red beam moved back and forth as Cory and David walked the length of
the barracks. Satisfied that everything was all correct they opened, and
quietly closed, the door leading to the outside. The Phantom heard the
click of the door closing and waited, getting his breathing under
control. A close call, but they had seen nothing. He raised his head and
was surprised to see that the coverlet extended from end to end of the
bed. He crawled out from under the bunk and saw that Ray had somehow pulled
the cover over his naked body.

The Phantom stood up and gently pulled the cover down and over Ray's
erection, which had formed a tent in the cloth. Ray was rock hard, and The
Phantom quickly resumed where he had left off, slowly licking and nipping
between Ray's legs.

Ray spread his legs as wide as he could as the saliva-drenched tongue began
its short journey. He gasped loudly when the tongue began slowly massaging
his tender opening. He raised his legs, offering as much room as he could
to the hands that spread his cheeks. The tongue probed lightly, then slowly
entered and rolled around the screaming membranes. He bucked and wriggled
at the frightening feeling of absolute ecstasy overpowering him.

As The Phantom sucked and tongued the clean tasting hole, Ray's body jerked
and squirmed. When the tongue entered his passage Ray knew that he was
going to shoot. He could feel his balls contracting into his body as they
boiled and roiled. Sensing that Ray was getting close The Phantom withdrew
his face and while he continued to kiss and lick Ray's throbbing boner he
fished in his pocket for the tube of Vaseline.  He quickly lubed his middle
finger on his left hand and inserted it gently but firmly in Ray's now
distended hole. He quickly placed his mouth over Ray's erection, enveloping
the flaming mushroom and plunging downward until his nose was buried in Ray
rough bush.  He began sucking hard in a pivoting movement, his tongue
working the hot, taut skin of Ray's penis. He rotated his finger as he
stroked it rapidly in and out of Ray's hole, brushing against his
magnificently sensitive prostate.

Ray's heart almost stopped as the finger cross his prostate and the mouth
began sucking savagely on his cock. Each time the finger crossed his
prostate a huge wave of incredible pleasure coursed through him, matched by
an almost unbearable ecstasy that had replaced all sense of his entire
lower body. As his dick pulsed and his pee slit gaped open his balls pumped
a massive jet into the eager mouth. Ray tried to sit up, his eyes bulging,
his heart beating so hard and fast it threatened to break through his
chest. His hips jerked as another wave of cum ripped through his dick. Then
another.

He felt the mouth swallowing his unbelievable load and he almost strangled
as his body convulsed with each ejaculation. He lost all sense of time and
space as his body stiffened and the last of his cum spurted. He collapsed,
writhing, as the mouth continued to suck on his shrinking dick, and the
tide of pleasure began to slowly ebb away.

The Phantom slowly sucked his way up Ray's dick, cleaning it with his
tongue. As his lips passed over Ray's still enlarged helmet the boy jerked
wildly, unable to stand this last assault. Reluctantly, The Phantom
withdrew his mouth. He stood up, then bent down and kissed Ray tenderly. He
gave Ray's semi hard dick a last feel, and ghosted away.

******

In the Guard House those members of the Duty Watch who were not taking a
deckhead survey were goofing off. Cory, who was seated at the
Quartermaster's desk, was idly leafing through a battered paperback copy of
'The Cruel Sea". He heard a muttered oath and looked over at Todd, David
and Ryan, who were playing a dispirited game of cards. He watched the
players for a few minutes, yawned cavernously, and returned to the book. He
was an omnivorous and catholic reader, and enjoyed the adventure novels of
Monsarrat and James London, any books of the genre that detailed life at
sea. He had read Monsarrat's epic before but still found it interesting. He
read a few more pages and then put the book aside. He had read countless
books on sailors enduring the dangers of the sea and the violence of the
enemy. He had read about Hornblower and Nelson, Captain Kidd and John Paul
Jones. He had read of heroic battles, full of thundering cannonades and
shattered bodies. Drake might sack Panama; Wolfe die heroically on the
Plains of Abraham, Ulysses sail around the world in search of the Golden
Fleece and not a one of them got laid!

Cory shook his head at the hypocrisy of literature. Sailors had been
sailing the world for thousands of years in little boats and big
ships. They discovered great lands and conquered huge cities, yet nowhere
was it written that any sailor, cooped up in a ship with a hundred - or
more - other men, had gotten his end wet! It did not matter if the book was
fact or fiction. Jolly Jack never snuck off to the bilges for a bit of
rumpy pumpy with one of the Powder Monkeys. Hornblower might lust after
Lady Wellesley but his end stayed firmly dry. So far as Cory knew the only
sailor who ever got lucky was Nelson, and he was branded an adulterer for
doing the horizontal mambo with Lady Hamilton!

Which led Cory to consider that in all the books about the Navy and sailors
that he had read, what little sex in the damned things was
heterosexual. The literary world maintained the myth that there were no
gays in any man's Navy, in any age or time and the closest any man ever got
to another man was when Nelson asked Hardy to kiss him! Which every
historian took pains to explain had actually been a corruption of "Kismet".

Cory snorted in disgust! In the old days ships sailed for weeks on end on
the open sea. Naval vessels were commissioned for three years service and
in wartime the crews rarely, if ever went ashore. And still nobody got
laid, or dropped his drawers in the cable deck. Nobody had a "winger" to
keep him company in the doldrums of the Middle Watch! Dear God, what
hypocrites there be!

The hypocrisy extended to this day and age. Cory knew that hidden in the
desk was a small stack of stroke books, ripped, torn, wrinkled and
slobbered over, full of pictures of naked women, all tits, ass and gungas -
not a decent dick to be seen! Boys were expected to drool and wank over
such magazines. That was expected and condoned. Yet if he dared to smuggle
one of the euphemistically called 'art books' that glorified the male
physique, there would be mass coronaries from Cape Scott to Signal
Hill. There were no gays in the Sea Cadets or the Navy. They were all
straight and they all jerked off to pictures of naked women!

Cory, for some strange reason, thought of a line from Lady Chatterley's
Lover: "His penis stirred, but did not rise."  He squirmed
uncomfortably. His penis was damn well stirring, and if he kept thinking
about sex and sailors it would sure as hell rise, and no danger! To take
his mind off of his nether portions he reached for the Manual Of
Seamanship, Volume I and began to read up on his signals recognition. As he
read he drummed his fingers against the top of the desk. The drumming
attracted Todd, who sidled over and asked his brother what he was up to.

"Just reading," replied Cory with a sour look. "I am that bored that I
think I'll memorize the semaphore alphabet!"

"You already know it," replied Todd. He gave Cory a small nudge and nodded
toward the door. When they were outside Todd reached into his jumper
brought out two small packets.

Cory looked at the packets and gave his brother a dirty look. "Cherry
Kool-Aid," he exclaimed. "You've been holding out on me!"

Todd laughed and shook his head. He could never understand why, but Cherry
Kool-Aid was the odds on favourite of all the powdered drink mixes. It was
also the most difficult to come by. Nobody could ever explain why. He
suspected that the cooks hid the packages and pigged out when no one was
looking. "I was not!" Todd said. "I was saving them for a special
occasion. I know how much you like this stuff."

"I do," admitted Cory grudgingly. He gave Todd a look. "And what special
occasion is tonight? And why two packages. I can only drink one at a time!"
Todd grimaced. "Really, I do you a favour and you ask questions!" He
grinned conspiratorially. "Now, it just might happen that if you wandered
over to the Mess Hall you might find that there is someone waiting for you
in the galley lounge. You do know the galley lounge?"

"Of course I do," snapped Cory. "The cooks hide in there when Chef is on a
tear. Or if they're goofing off!" A suspicious look crossed his face. "You
are not suggesting that some cook is . . ."

Todd did not allow Cory to finish his question. "The cooks are in their
bunks. All I am saying is that a certain Seamanship Instructor just might
have decided to wait in the lounge for a certain Chief Gunner to make an
appearance when he has his Stand Easy."

Cory's eyes widened. "Chris? Chris is in the galley lounge?"

Todd grinned. "He was a touch upset that you left when you did last
night. He was hoping that you and he might . . ."

"Finish what you started!" Cory laughed quietly. "He really doesn't owe me
anything, you know."

"I know," replied Todd with a shrug. "Still, he would like to be with
you. He mentioned that he cares for you and . . ."

"He's horny," groused Cory. He reached down and adjusted his rising
penis. "But then, so am I."

"Well then, what are you waiting for?"

Cory regarded his brother. "Aside from the fact that I do not need you to
set me up with Chris, I feel I should remind you that I am on duty," he
said frostily. "The Gunner might have a small objection to me taking
off. You are familiar with the phrase 'Absent From Place of Duty?' Perhaps
we can have Chef write out the Charge Sheet! He writes a fine hand!"

With considerable difficulty Todd resisted the urge to give his brother a
good thump on the head. "First of all, brother dear, I am not setting you
up for anything. Chris happened to mention that he would like to be with
you and I thought that since both of you have so little opportunity tonight
would be a good time."

Cory snorted his disbelief. "Chris just happened to mention . . ."

"Will you listen to me?" interjected Todd. Here he was, trying to set up a
good thing for Cory and all he wanted to do was to piss on his
parade. "Chris wants to be with you and, all right, we did talk about it
earlier tonight. Now, Number One is back and while The Gunner might give us
some slack, Number One will not. He'll be watching us like a hawk and
making damn sure that we do our punishment. Sneaking out to be with anyone
will be damned near impossible." He paused and took a breath. "There is
also the Commanding Officer's parade on Sunday. We will be practicing our
asses off - we had some new gunners come in, you know."

"I know!" snapped Cory. "I took them around, remember, while you were busy
giving Chris some extra instruction!"

Todd stifled a growl of exasperation and carried on. "Look, if you don't
want to meet Chris, fine. You can go back inside and read up on your
seamanship skills!"

"And leave him sitting in the Mess Hall with his dick in his hand?" asked
Cory crudely.

"Hardly. I told him that if you were not there by 0230 to go back to the
Gunroom."

"Aha!" crowed Cory triumphantly. "You did set this all up!"

"All right, damn it," retorted Todd angrily. "Chris wanted to experience
more and I thought that you would be the one who would give him that
experience."

Cory thought about what Todd had just told him and then grinned
wickedly. "So, you did not return the favour." He started to chuckle
evilly.

"No, I didn't!" Todd softened his tone. "You know I much prefer being on
top and well, he liked being on the bottom."

"I'll bet he did," said Cory with a giggle. "Having been there I know how
you can ring a guy's chimes."

"Cory!"

"Don't go all huffy, Todd. It's true. You are a very proficient lover." He
frowned again. "I admit that I would not mind being with Chris, with being
the first boy he makes love to, but . . ."

Todd instinctively knew what Cory was going to say next. "Cory, The Gunner
is sound asleep in the OOD's Cabin. The Russians are not about to come
swarming onto Goose Spit any time soon, and there are more than enough
ratings goofing around, or sleeping, to do any job that I think needs
doing."

"And who the hell are you when you're up and dressed?" sniped Cory.

"Had you bothered to read Routine Orders," began Todd with exaggerated
patience, "you would have known that I just happen to be the Duty Chief."
He gave Cory a stern look. "And as Duty Chief I am directing you to go over
the Mess Hall and make sure that there are no fire hazards." He saw Cory
open his mouth to protest and hurried on. "Check all the gas jets, make
sure that Chef or Sandro didn't leave one of the ovens on and while you're
over there take a Stand Easy." He looked at his watch. "It is now
0215. There is nothing for anybody to do until 0330. You would be
performing a perfectly legitimate duty and you are entitled to a Stand
Easy. If Chris just happens to be in the galley lounge I see no reason why
you can't spend your free time with him." He smiled slyly. "Unless, of
course, you'd rather I went over and did Rounds."

"I'll do my own Rounds, thank you!" returned Cory with heavy emphasis. He
stepped down and turned to look at Todd. "I'm doing this because I want to
do it, because it will please Chris and not because you decided to appoint
yourself my pimp!" With that he stomped off into the darkness.

******

Chris sat lazing on a sofa, nodding off, when he heard the door open
slowly. He looked up and saw Cory looking back at him. He smiled shyly and
said, "I half-expected you not to come." He was about to rise up out of his
chair when Cory's shook his head. He saw the serious look on Cory's face
and coloured. "You're angry with me, aren't you?"

Cory sat beside Chris and looked sternly into the young seaman's eyes. "I
am more angry with my brother than I am with you." He removed his cap and
placed it carefully on the deck. "I had thought to just do my Rounds and go
back to the Guard House. I changed my mind." His shoulder dropped
slightly. "Chris, if you want to be with me, fine. I want to be with you,
and not just because we might - might - have sex. But, dear Chris, please,
never again conspire with my brother. I will make my own arranges for any
trysts I might want to have."

Chris cringed at the softly spoken words. "I . . . I wanted us to be
together and Todd said that . . ." He looked suddenly frightened. "You're
not going to leave, are you?"

"So long as you understand what I am saying, no," replied Cory. "I would
like us to be together for a while. I only want you to understand that if
you want to be with me I would prefer that you talked to me, and not my
brother."

"Please, Cory, I felt bad that you didn't stay," said Chris with a worried
look on his face. "I like you, a lot, and I wanted you to be with us but
you left and, well, I do like Todd and all, but . . ." He grinned
mischievously. "I have to admit that I like you just a bit more."

Cory pulled away from Chris. "You what?"

"I like you a bit more than Todd," repeated Chris with a grin. "I always
did. Todd is nice, and he is really nice to be with, and I've always wanted
to be with him."

"But?"

"Well, no disrespect to your brother, but you appeal to me a lot more than
he does . . ." Chris saw the disbelieving look on Cory's face. "I mean, if
a guy wants a serious fu . . .um, if a guy wants someone to make love to
him, then Todd is the one he chooses." He reached over and took Cory's
hand. "And when a guy wants someone to hold, to cuddle with, to love, he
chooses you."  Cory gasped in surprise. He was about to accuse Chris of
spouting arrant nonsense when he saw the serious look on his face. "You
mean that?"

"I do," replied Chris with a nod of his head. "People think that because
you and Todd are twins that you're the same. You are not." He scratched his
chin, contemplating and choosing his words carefully. "You have a
. . . gentleness about you, Cory, that Todd doesn't have."

"I hope you haven't told him that!" exclaimed Cory when he had digested
Chris's words. Then he laughed. "He thinks that he is the last of the red
hot lovers!"

"He is," agreed Chris as he joined in Cory's laughter. "Last night with him
was so wonderful I can hardly believe what he made me feel. It was
wonderful!"

"You can tell him that," said Cory. "He's really a big egomaniac when it
comes to his sexual activities. Tell him he has a big dick and balls of
brass and he's happy as a clam for a week."

Chris doubled over with laughter. "Well, I can compliment him on his
technique, but Cory, he's the first boy I've actually had sex with! Up
until now all I've ever done is dream and fantasize. I used to wonder what
my first time would be like."

Cory nodded. "And now you know and from the way you are smiling you were
not disappointed."

"It was everything, and more, that I hoped it would be," agreed Chris, a
far away look in his eyes. "Of course, I think Todd had a lot to do with
it. As I said, he is the perfect guy to make love to one." He smiled a
small, serious smile. "Mind you, Cory, having been with the best I think
that perhaps I might compare the others with him."

"What others?" Chris was always going on about the Fort Henry Guard, and
Kyle, but Cory had always thought that Chris was only thinking wishfully.

"Well, there will be other guys, I hope." Chris unconsciously slipped his
hand down the front of his gym shorts and began to slowly rub the spongy,
pink head of his penis. "Kingston is a great town, and there are a lot of
guys, a lot of them from Queen's." He chuckled ruefully. "Not that I'm
about to jump in the sack with any of them."

"Why?" asked Cory. He watched as Chris continued to fondle himself and felt
a faint stirring in his boxers.

Chris shrugged. "Well, first I'd have to like the guy. Then I'd have to
like doing other things with him." He cocked his head and smiled. "I mean,
we're friends and we'd be friends without the sex."

"That goes without saying, Chris," replied Cory with a nod. "You can like a
guy, be friends with him, and never do anything at all. Take Phantom, for
instance. Now, I like him, he's a friend. I like being with him, but he's
straight, you know, so sex is out. He knows I'm gay and he doesn't care. He
likes me for being me, and isn't after my ring. That is very important. If
he wanted to sleep with me, well, I'd do it, because I like him, and he
likes me." He noticed that Chris had manhandled himself into a full-blown
erection. He tried not to look but Chris did own a fine looking
weapon. "Another thing is that Phantom would enjoy having sex with me and
would not be just wanting to get his rocks off. The friendship between us
is what really matters. Sex, if there ever was any, would be a mutual
bonus."

Chris nodded his understanding. "That's what I'd like when I leave here, to
find a friend who likes me, and wants to be with me, with sex as a bonus."

"Well, if you keep doing that you might attract more than what you bargain
for," replied Cory with a giggle, pointing to Chris's crotch.

Chris for the first time seemed to realize what he had been doing. He
hurriedly pulled his hand from his shorts and blushed deeply. "Ah, shit,
Cory, I . . ." He quickly adjusted his softening penis. "I didn't
. . . well I did, but not this way." He laughed suddenly. "Shit, I'm
getting as bad as Thumper!"

"You will never be as bad as Thumper," returned Cory with a grin. He
reached out and his hand stroked Chris's flushed cheek. "You're a good
friend, Chris."

Chris ducked his head and then reached up and took Cory's hand in his. "And
so are you, Cory. I'm sorry about tonight, about being here thinking you'd
come over for a quick hump." He started to rise. "I would still like to
make love to you." He grinned slightly. "Stupid of me to think so ill of
you." He looked into Cory's startling blues eyes. "We will be together
another time, yes?"

Cory did not at first reply. He stood up, backed a foot or so away and
slowly unbuckled his belt. "You know, I was ordered by the Duty Chief to do
a fire patrol of the galley. I've done that. The Duty Chief also told me
that I should take a Stand Easy and maybe spend some time with a friend."
He unzipped his bell-bottoms and slowly pushed them down, revealing his new
tartan boxers. He inserted his fingers in the wide elastic band of his
underwear and began to slip them down over his hips. "Now the Duty Chief
can be a right prat when he wants to be and I know he'd be very upset if I
didn't take my Stand Easy."

Chris grinned and reached out his with his hand to stroke Cory's rising
penis. "And a friend certainly wouldn't want you to spend your Stand Easy
all alone."

******

The Phantom drifted into the shadows between the barracks and squatted
down. His dick was pulsing and leaking massive amounts of precum and his
balls ached. He had never been affected this way before. He needed to
squirt or he'd explode. He unzipped his jeans, reached into his boxers and
pulled out his slick, sticky hardon. Even in the dim moonlight he could see
that his helmet had expanded and turned bright red. He crooked his
forefinger and fisted his boner just under his enraged crown and pumped
furiously. Within minutes he felt the pleasure overwhelm him and he shot a
massive stream of semen into the dirt.  He continued pumping, stifling his
cum cry, shooting stream after thick stream from his dick.  As his dick
softened and hung loosely from his jeans he regained control of his
breathing.  He delayed an extra moment, fingering his sensitive
mushroom. He then cleaned his softening penis as best he could and
reluctantly stuffed it back in his trousers. With the pressure gone he felt
relaxed, and much more alert. He stood up, a trifle rocky, and headed for
the Gunners Barracks.

******

Brian heard the Duty Watch noisily clump the length of the long barracks
mess room and when the door finally slammed shut he reached into his boxers
and felt his throbbing hardon, praying that he would not have to beat off,
as he had been doing for the preceding three nights. He also thanked God
that Dylan was snoring away and not humping his mattress noisily. He did
not need the extra stimulation!

Suddenly he heard the door open quietly and the soft footsteps. His dick
spasmed in anticipation as he waited patiently and presently felt the soft
breath against his ear. "Brian, I came back," the voice whispered.

Brian thought the voice sounded vaguely familiar, but really didn't
care. He kept his eyes tightly closed and grinned broadly, nodding his
head.  He was ready for whatever came next.

The Phantom smiled, pulled down the coverlet, and then fingered Brian's
erection through the fly of his boxers.  He ran his fingers along the
wrinkled skin of Brian's sac, and felt his tight balls bounce heavily.
Removing his hand The Phantom slipped his fingers between the elastic
waistband of the boxers and Brian's warm flesh. Brian raised his hips as
his shorts were pulled down, and then off. He spread his legs, waiting, his
iron hard cock bouncing gently as he breathed.

The Phantom coursed his tongue along Brian's hairy love trail, then rimmed
and sucked his puckered hole. Brian moaned at each stroke of The Phantom's
tongue, and his cock began to jerk wildly. He could feel the explosion
building in his balls, and, despite himself, he began to pump his hips.

Knowing that Brian was close The Phantom quickly lubed his finger with
Vaseline and inserted it. Brian stopped breathing as the finger entered
him, and then began to groan as the finger rapidly fucked him. With his
free hand The Phantom fisted the thick base of Brian's enraged dick, then
lowered his head. His mouth engulfed the crimson mushroom and he began
sucking fiercely.

Brian's brain, despite the massive sensory overload caused by the sucking
mouth, remembered what had happened the last time and he stopped
pumping. He slowly raised his hips as the deep pools of cum contained in
his balls boiled upward, exploding from his inflamed piss hole. The mouth
continued to suck greedily as his cock pulsed and trembled, and his load
flew out. His fists pounded the mattress as his cock continued to expel a
strong, almost never-ending jet of his sperm. Finally, it ended. Brian lay
exhausted, almost incoherent from the force of his eruption. He felt the
warm breath again, and heard the soft whisper. "I like the taste of your
cum. I'll visit again, tomorrow."

Brian reached around and pulled the wool-covered head close. He brushed his
lips against the woollen ski mask, searching for, and then found The
Phantom's soft lips. He kissed the lips long and passionately, their
tongues entangled, exchanging spit. Their mouths seemed made for each other
and they lay there, French kissing wildly. Brian felt a hand probing for,
and finding, his now soft penis. It squeezed gently and he started to
harden again.

The Phantom kissed Brian with passion and squeezed and rubbed his penis to
thick stiffness. Brian, his sensitive helmet screaming in painful pleasure,
was forced to jerk away. The wool covered face pulled away and Brian felt
the soft lips and moist tongue kissing and licking down his heated body. He
felt the lips and warm breath as his pubes were licked and nuzzled. The
lips moved downward and slowly sucked his hardened mushroom into the warm,
wet mouth. "Jesus," he whispered. "Jesus, man, I don't think I can."

But he could. He raised his hips as the mouth engulfed him again, sucking
gently. Brian's mind seemed to close down completely as, for the second
time in less than ten minutes, the incredible, intoxicating, all
encompassing tidal wave crashed over him. He could not help himself and he
thrust his dick deeper into the mouth. His body stiffened and his dick
exploded as yet again a thick river of thick juice poured from his enraged
slit.  With each pulse of his thickened dick he moaned deeply. He felt the
mouth withdraw. His balls had been sucked dry and his dick was limp. He had
never before blown two loads in succession. And such loads!

Brian relaxed, his body falling back against the mattress as he breathed
deeply, gulping air into his almost empty lungs. Through the haze of post
orgasmic joy he felt himself being slowly licked clean and he purred with
overwhelming pleasure. The mouth was on his, kissing him deeply and
passionately. He could taste the small traces of his own semen that
remained in the wet, hot mouth.  He groaned deeply as a hand gently
squeezed his genitals. Then the mouth and hand were withdrawn.

Brian lay, breathing harshly, fingering his shrunken dick as the footsteps
faded and the door opened, then closed with a soft thud. He sat up, and
pulled his cover over his flushed body, then lay down and cupped his
balls. Presently his harsh breathing softened, and he slept.

******

As he left the Gunners Barracks The Phantom saw that the moonlight was
beginning to fade under a thin cloud cover. He squatted down in the small
square between the barracks and collected his thoughts.  Once again he
listened intently. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. He had a huge
smile on his face as he wiped the inside of his mouth with his
tongue. "Jesus," he thought, "that Brian was some stud. Imagine cumming
twice in less than 10 minutes!" Then he remembered Jeff and Robbie. Hell
and sheeit, Jeff was a stud too, although not as big a stud as Brian, who
had produced a second load almost as large as his first.  Jeff had managed
. . .

"Never mind," he thought. "Time enough to check that aspect out. Maybe
soon. Maybe, at the end of the day, never."

The Phantom stood up and once again checked his watch. He had spent an hour
pleasuring two boys. Part of his mind told him it was time to
leave. Another part, ably supported by his throbbing erection, told him he
wanted more. He thought about staying but decided against it. Time was
passing and he decided to leave.

He avoided the well-travelled gravel pathway, moving along the dusty trace
at the rear of the barracks and the tree-lined shore. He took his time,
stopping at the corner of each barracks block to look and listen. He
skittered between the Cooks Barracks and the Mess Hall and began to
relax. The Mess Hall would be empty and there was very little light to
worry about. He noticed that the light in the deeply recessed door to the
loading area was glowing weakly, almost as weakly as the pale light
illuminating the window of the lounge.

The Phantom took two steps and started. What light in the lounge? He crept
closer to the open window and stopped, listening intently. There should be
no lights on at all and the only illumination should have come from the
small emergency light, which would have glowed red. Something was
definitely not right.

He crept low until he was directly under the window. He listened and almost
fainted when he heard a series of low moans. "Holy hell and sheeit!
Somebody's in there and somebody's doing . . ."

Before The Phantom could finish his thought a breathless voice cried
out. "I . . . ah shit . . . I'm going to . . ." A low squealing noise,
followed by a series of loud pants followed. Consumed with curiosity The
Phantom slowly rose up and peeked into the lounge. What he saw made his
eyes widen. He blinked twice and did a double take.

On the floor of the lounge were two naked boys. One, with dark hair, was
slowly pumping his hips back and forth between the raised butt of the
other. They were kissing and murmuring endearments. The boy on the bottom,
whose face was hidden as the boy on top continued to kiss him, had his legs
wrapped tightly around the dark-haired boy's waist and his arms gripped the
dark-haired boy's back. Finally the dark-haired boy raised his head,
revealing the golden-haired boy beneath him. He recognized the two boys!

The Phantom sat down abruptly, a tremor of shock coursing through his
body. Cory! And Chris! Cory and Chris fucking! He crabbed-crawled quickly
across the path and into the tree line. For a long time he stared at the
window. "Holy hell and fucking sheeit!"

The Phantom did not know if he should laugh or cry. He had no idea that
Cory and Chris were fuck buddies. So far as he knew neither of the Twins
fucked around with anybody. And certainly not Chris! But then, Chris was a
good looking guy and the more he thought about it the more The Phantom felt
the anger at Cory for letting Chris fuck him drain from his body. Cory was
his own man, and could sleep with anybody he liked. The Phantom did feel a
twinge of betrayal, which he quickly realized was unfair. He had gone to
great lengths to make everybody think that he was straight, and he could
not blame Cory for seeking comfort in another boy's arms. He had no one to
blame but himself!

He reached down and felt his rock-hard erection. Damn, Cory and Chris were
together and . . . His eyes widened. Todd was on duty. Chris and Cory were
in the lounge. That meant that the Staff Barracks would be half empty. He
thought some more, mentally ticking off the names of the boys who slept in
the Gunroom and trying to remember what, if anything he had heard of their
sleeping habits.  There were ten cadets in the Gunroom. Three were on duty,
or otherwise engaged. Alfie was over in Comox, recovering from his
appendectomy. That left . . . Harry, who slept like the dead; Nicholas,
also a deep sleeper; Thumper, who had to be a dead head what with all the
whacking off he did; Fred, and Two Strokes. Fred was an unknown and Two
Strokes, well, all the other cadets ever complained about him was what a
jerk he was. Jon was another unknown; a very quiet boy and The Phantom
could not remember anyone saying an unkind word about him.

The Phantom tried to think of every aspect. If he went to the Staff
Barracks, would he find one of the cadets receptive to his particular
ministrations? Was Two Strokes, or Fred, a light sleeper, waking at the
mere hint of a strange sound in his Mess? Dared he risk it? Dare he go down
the Spit? He could not make up his mind. Tonight was ideal! The Gunroom was
half empty and at least one fine specimen was lying asleep in it. Nicholas
was some punkin' and . . . Jon? While not as handsome as the Yeoman, Jon
had an intriguing quality about him. The Phantom smiled a slow, wicked
smile. He had heard that Fred was well and truly endowed and perhaps . . .

He sat up with a start and smiled. But then, why risk the Gunroom when
there were two other fine specimens? Of course! They slept in a separate
cabin. He would not have to go into the Gunroom at all. He smiled wickedly
and stood upright. No, there was no need to go into the Gunroom at all.

******

Using the shadows and the buildings The Phantom moved quickly and quietly
past the barracks blocks, the Stores complex, the Headquarters Building,
and then between the Drill Shed and Boatswains Stores. Staying just inside
the tree line he made his way to the Staff Barracks, which he entered with
ease.

Immediately inside the barracks was a short corridor leading to the Gunroom
proper. On his left was a solid bulkhead pierced by a closed door. Behind
the bulkhead was the Chiefs Mess. He slowly opened the door and entered the
small room. Unlike the Gunroom there was no emergency light glowing
red. The room was very dark but there was enough light from the waning moon
that The Phantom could see that on either side of the small cabin was a
bunk, one directly under the window, the other abutting the bulkhead that
separated the cabin from the Gunroom. On one bunk the Cadet Master at Arms
lay curled, his head buried in his pillows. He lay with his back to The
Phantom, facing the cross bulkhead. On the other bunk, stretched out atop
the covers, lay the Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor. Because of the heat he
was wearing only a pair of dark-coloured boxers.  He was lying on his side,
his arms embracing his pillow. His mouth was slightly ajar and he was
snoring softly.

The Phantom moved silently to stand beside Val's bunk. He looked closely
and saw just the tender pink head of Val's penis poking through the gaping
slit of his boxers. The Phantom smiled tightly, knelt down and placed his
lips over the pee slit of Val's mushroom, kissing it gently.

Val's penis jerked slightly and The Phantom's mouth slowly enveloped the
helmet. He sucked gently and felt the penis thicken and slowly lengthen,
becoming a slender, light olive and pale pink, 7-inch shaft of hard,
glorious, magnificent flesh. He tongued the rim of Val's cock, paying
attention to the hard knot of scar tissue left by his circumcision.

As his saliva mixed with the small amount of precum oozing from Val's
flaming helmet, The Phantom sucked and laved just the top two inches of the
hard, smooth, sweet tasting erection, savouring the unique, wonderful taste
of it and his senses drank in the wonderful, slightly musky, clean smelling
odour of the teenager.

The Phantom placed his hand on Val's thigh and felt the muscles tighten and
as he continued to suck softy he felt Val's mushroom swell, his erection
expanding and pulsing and jerking slightly.

As he came closer to exploding Val began to make small, groaning noises,
and buried his face in the pillow he was hugging. As the overwhelming
feeling heated his groin and began traveling up his boner, Val's leg
rippled and trembled. "Ungh . . .Ungh . . ." he moaned. His body stiffened
and he thrust brutally, pushing his penis deep into The Phantom's waiting
mouth. An avalanche of warm ambrosia roared down The Phantom's tongue and
he swallowed the first harbinger of Val's massive load.

Groaning, his hips making quick, tiny thrusts, Val filled The Phantom's
throat with an incredible, sweet, vaguely salty torrent of teenage
semen. As the force of his cumming lessened he slowed his thrusting, then
stopped. He tried to withdraw as the ecstasy of his orgasm was replaced by
a marvellous sensitivity that overcame his senses and his helmet seemed to
disappear into Nirvana.

The Phantom, knowing the effect his sucking had on a freshly drained
mushroom, licked Val's shrinking glans clean of semen, sweeping his tongue
around the still pulsing crown. Reluctantly, he withdrew and gently kissed
the warm, flushed head of Val's soft penis, which glistened with his spit
and the last vestiges of Val's own cum. He then stood up and left the room
as quietly as he had entered it.

Val heard the door close softly, rolled on his back and opened his
eyes. "Madonna!" he ejaculated. He raised his head and saw his saw dick
hanging out of his boxers, glowing softly and resting quietly over the
boxers-covered twin ovals of his now descended balls.

On unsteady legs Val got out of bed and walked to the window. He stared
intently into the darkness and thought he saw a dark, ghostlike shadow
disappear into the blackness of the night. He raised his arm and leaned
against the window frame, breathing heavily, his heart pounding from the
effects of his first ever blowjob.

"Madonna." he breathed quietly.