Date: Sun, 15 Feb 2004 19:11:27 -0500
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: Aurora Tapestry - Chapter 5

AURORA TAPESTRY is the third book in a series. It chronicles the lives and
times of a group of men and teenage boys living in an age and an
environment where being gay was to be despised, maligned and scorned. It is
a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or
places, is purely coincidental.

My writing reflects the customs, mores, traditions, prejudices and
attitudes of the times. The year is 1976 and it was a different world. Some
of the attitudes will no doubt offend those who are so determinedly
politically correct that they are unable to conceive that others might have
a different opinion or outlook. Others are so Liberal in their thinking
that they make Hillary Clinton look like Attila the Hen! And then there are
those that are into "causes". Please, do not write me hooting and hollering
about your cause, prejudices, preferences or whatever. I am not into
causes. I AM a grumpy old sailor and I do not suffer fools gladly. Be
warned.

IN 1976 the AIDS pandemic was only just infecting North America. Condoms
were used primarily to prevent pregnancy and gay men never gave a thought
to having sex with a condom. Do not, I beg you, let what was common in 1976
influence your conduct today. Always practice safe sex.

As my writings detail scenarios of gay sex - tastefully, I hope - in
sometimes graphic detail, I must warn that in some states, provinces,
cities and towns reading, possessing, downloading, etc., is illegal, or if
you are not of legal age to read, possess, download, etc., works of
erotica, please move on.

I would like to thank all who wrote with their suggestions and comments. I
enjoy hearing from all my readers and reply to all, except flames. Please
contact me at my e-mail address: paradegi@rogers.com

My thanks to Peter for all his help and encouragement.


Chapter 5


"You could have said something," complained The Phantom. "And did you have
to bring Chef into this? You know what he's like."

Cory leaned back and inadvertently flashed The Phantom. "I would have told
you, but I wanted to run it by Chef first and then the next thing I knew he
was off and running. And Phantom, it's a good idea."

The Phantom laughed, for he could never stay angry with Cory. "It is," he
agreed. "And Cory, your dick is hanging out."

Cory started forward and quickly adjusted himself. "Sorry," he said with a
blushing grin. "I slept like this and I was going to change after I ate. Of
course, Chef did run on and, well, sorry."

The Phantom grinned and leaned forward. "Don't be. If I move into the
Gunroom will I see that every morning?"

Frowning, Cory drew his legs together. "Now, Phantom, you're spoken for!"
he said with mock anger. "You shouldn't be looking at my . . . well,
looking!" Then he grinned.

Returning Cory's grin The Phantom said, "I can't help but look. You always
did turn me on. And," he waggled his eyebrows, "it is kinda cute, the way
it hangs there all sleepy."

Cory reached down and exposed his sleeping parts. "Well, now that you
mention it is kind of . . ." He glared at the Phantom. "Cute? Cute? Manly
I'll accept, beautiful I'll accept, but cute . . ."

The Phantom reached down and tweaked the finely curved glans of Cory's
penis. "And very cute when it's angry!" he said, laughing as he stood up
and motioned for the door. "Now then, take your cuteness and go play
somewhere. I have a ton of work to do."

Growling, Cory stood up and as he passed The Phantom gave his butt a quick
rub. "We are going to meet again, Phantom," he warned, his voice low. "And
I'll show you how cute I am."

"I know how cute you are," returned The Phantom. Then he gave Cory a fishy
look. "And what about Sean?"

Cory sighed. "Sean is . . . Sean," he said as he followed The Phantom from
the galley into the main dining room.

"And do I detect a note of disappointment?" asked The Phantom as he poured
a cup of coffee. He handed it to Cory and then poured a cup for himself.

Cory sat at the nearest table and shook his head. "It's not
disappointment," he said. "It's just that Sean is so . . . uptight. He
tries, he really does, but he just can't seem to let himself go. Redheads
are supposed to be tigers in bed, but damn it, Phantom, it's like he's
afraid to hurt me, or afraid to let himself go."

The Phantom snickered. "Come on, Cory, give him a break. For three years he
deliberately avoided you and settled for second and third rate. Now that
he's got you, I think he's so in awe, so surprised that you are finally
his, that well, he doesn't want to lose you and he's not going to do
anything to piss you off."

Sighing, Cory nodded slowly. "Somehow spending the rest of my life with
Sean is not something I'm looking forward to," he admitted. "He's a hell of
a nice guy, I do like him, but he is just so . . . conventional!"

"Come on, Cory, life can't be all fireworks and exploding rockets," replied
The Phantom. "At least Sean is here! The Gunner is off in Toronto and I
can't reach out and hold him. You can reach out to Sean."

Cory put his half-empty cup in the dish rack and made a face. "Not today I
can't. I've got the Afternoon Watch, then the First Watch."

"Things will settle down once the YAG crews get on line," replied The
Phantom. "And there is always tomorrow."

"Yeah, always tomorrow," replied Cory sourly. "With me, it seems that it's
always tomorrow!"

******

The morning passed quickly and lunchtime was like old times. The mess hall
rang with the laughter and chatter of the YAG cadets, who would eat all
their meals except breakfast ashore. The Phantom, Matt, and Kevin, were
busier than they had ever been. Now, instead of only six or seven officers,
there were twenty. In addition to Tyler and Val, there were also Tony and
Mark sitting at the Chiefs table, plus five Chiefs from the YAG Squadron,
and fifteen petty officers. Matt told The Phantom that while he loved him,
he had better get some help or Matt wanted a divorce! Kevin, usually the
most happy-go-lucky of cadets, was grim faced when finally the last of the
diners left the dining hall. He too wanted some help. Kevin was exhausted
and if he fell asleep when he was with Ray later on it would be Phantom's
fault and he could deal with Ray!

In the galley things were not much better. With five new cooks on hand The
Phantom had thought that things would go smoothly as the new cadets were
supposed to be trained. Not so.

The Cookery Branch was not popular. For the most part it meant long hours
in a stifling, small, ill-equipped galley. Then the YAGs, while
broad-beamed and stable, still reacted to the effects of the wind and the
waves and, as they were always on exercises, sharp turns to port or
starboard were to be expected. Sometimes the turns were announced;
sometimes they were not. It depended on the experience of the officer on
the bridge at the time, and the cooks never knew when they would be dodging
flying pans and rivers of scalding hot soup. There was also the fact that
they were subject to abuse. A cook was expected to provide hot, nourishing
meals, meals that tasted more like food and less like cardboard, food like
Mom cooked. Protests against sub-standard victuals came in many forms,
usually verbal, although sometimes it happened that a plate or bowl of
particular culinary failure was hurled through the air at the back or head
of the cook. At other times protest took the form of the purchase of a
crock-pot, or other portable cooking utensil. This had a two-fold effect in
that the cadets needed food to cook in their crock-pot, and found ways to
rabbit canned goods from dry stores, which played havoc with the ration
count. The other effect was that each cook used a standard ration count and
if he cooked for 30, he expected that 30 people would eat. If, at the end
of a meal there were rations left uneaten, the cook had to find a way to
recycle the food, obeying the cardinal rule of Supply Officers everywhere
that nothing was to be wasted and nothing was to be disposed of until it
was growing mould. It was a never-ending cycle, really, damned if you do,
vilified if you did, and sleep with one eye open!

Of the five new cooks, only Toby Prospero seemed at all interested in
learning his trade. He was a tall, broad-chested Newfoundlander with curly
blond hair and the easygoing disposition that all Newfoundlander's seemed
to have, and while he was not the brightest bulb in the box he did try,
although Ray despaired of teaching the smiling boy that when you made fish
stock only the bones, some of the flesh, and maybe the skin, was used. The
innards and head did not really add anything to the mix.

Sandro was having much the same problem with Andy Morton and Norris
Williams, who seemed determined never to understand that you couldn't just
fill a pot with water, throw in some vegetables and yesterday's meat loaf,
wave your dick over it and call it soup!

Gordon Potter and Pat Burrell, the remaining two new cooks had made it
quite clear that they had no intention of continuing on as cooks, in the
Sea Cadets or anywhere else, and were given over to the custody of Joey and
Randy, who could at least show them how to scrub pots.

The Phantom had expected that Chef would be in the thick of things,
bellowing, threatening little cadet bottoms (except Toby's, for he was
well-upholstered) with his spoon, sipping, tasting, scowling and generally
being himself. This morning, however, The Phantom found the old fellow
sitting quietly in his office, looking pale and, for some reason,
agitated. "Are you all right, Chef?" asked The Phantom when he stuck his
head in the office door. "You don't look so good."

Smiling weakly, Chef asked The Phantom to come in and shut the door. When
The Phantom was seated Chef sighed heavily. "You know, Phantom," he began,
without a trace of the accent he habitually used, "I used to think that
I've heard and seen it all. I've been torpedoed, I've been shot at, I've
been in my share of scrapes and the Good Lord knows I've suffered enough
aggravation, what with putting up with you and your mates. But today . . ."
Hs voice trailed off and suddenly tears rolled down his fat cheeks. "Ah,
Phantom, man's inhumanity to man causes millions to mourn!"

The Phantom, shocked at Chef's words and demeanour, for the man never
seemed to let anything bother him and had always appeared to have nerves of
steel, leaned forward. "Has something happened?" he asked, worried that The
Gunner had met with an accident. "If something has happened to Stevie,
please, Chef, tell me!"

Shaking his head, Chef sniffed loudly. "So far as I know Stevie is fine!"

"Then what . . .?"

"Phantom, there are . . . men who like boys, little boys, and then there
are those who supply the boys!"

The Phantom immediately thought of Jeff Jensen, who was 18, and was
sleeping with his young brother, Robbie, who was 12. "I know of someone
like that," he said slowly. "But nobody 'supplied' the boy. Je . . . the
person I know is sleeping with his brother."

"Phantom, I must know, and please tell me, tell me truthfully, is there
anyone here, in Comox, who has a little boy that he claims is his nephew,
or a foster son, a German lad, or perhaps a Russian, come for a visit,
perhaps an exchange student?"

The Phantom thought carefully and answered truthfully, "No. Comox is a
small town and if anybody like that was visiting the whole town would know
about it." He looked quizzically at Chef. "And what is this all about?"

Chef cleared his throat and said, "Phantom, I have received information
that boggles the mind!" He rose from behind his desk and stared out of the
window. Across the road he could see two of the YAG cadets lounging in
front of the Guardhouse. He shook hs head sadly. "Phantom, when I was a
lad, much, much younger than you, I was on board a ship, travelling from
England to Montreal. We were torpedoed."

The Phantom's eyes widened. This was the first time that Chef had ever
mentioned his past. He was usually so secretive, and while he hinted from
time to time at things done in the long ago years, all of the cadets
thought that he was spinning a dip, or pulling their pissers. But now every
word Chef spoke rang with truth. "Was the ship called the Benares?" he
asked, remembering Ray's earlier question.

"She was called the City of Benares," corrected Chef.  "She was torpedoed
and there was great loss of life. Amongst the passengers were ninety
youngsters, children being evacuated to Canada. Of the ninety, only
thirteen survived." He turned and looked at The Phantom. "One of them
called me, and asked for my help."

Suddenly, the outrage, the anger Chef felt flared and burst into flames. He
slammed the flat of his hand against the hard wood of the desk. The
Phantom, who had never seen Chef angry, jumped in his chair. "Chef!" he
exclaimed, "Calm down!"

"How can I be calm?" Chef demanded hotly. He waved his arm wildly in an
arc. "Out there, across that causeway, across this country, across North
America, boys are being sold! Can you imagine it, can you even contemplate
it?"

For a long time The Phantom sat silently thinking. Then he spoke, his words
hard. "Chef, I may be stuck here in this backwater, but I do watch
television, and I do read the newspapers. I've been to Victoria, and
Vancouver, and I've seen the boys on Skid Row and the boys haunting
Gastown." He thought of Randy and Joey, and their newfound relationship
with Phil Thornton. "I can understand the attraction between boys. I can
understand that boys will fall in love with other, perhaps older boys, or
even an older man."  Chef nodded his understanding, for was not The Phantom
himself in love with The Gunner, who was nine years older than the lad? And
were not Randy and Joey, the pair of them barely into puberty, bedevilling
Chief Phillip Thornton of the YAGS, and as sure as St. Patrick himself
drove the snakes from the Auld Sod Chef would be looking into that
particular arrangement! "There is a difference, though, Phantom me lad, for
the boys fell in love on their own, so they did, and no one snatched them
from their homes and forced them into a man's bed!"  The Phantom thought
about that. "Chef, I can understand why a boy would sell himself. Sometimes
that is all he can do." His eyes narrowed. "The difference being, of
course, that the boys enter into relationships, or sell their bodies, of
their own volition. Many are forced from their homes because they're gay
and they have to live. They have to eat and they have to have a place to
sleep, so they sell the only things they have: their bodies. The English
call them Rent Boys. I understand why those boys do what they do."

"Ah, Phantom, the boys I am talking about have no say in the matter. To be
sure, there are some who are old enough to know what they want. The man I
spoke with, according to him, there are three teenage boys who live with a
very rich man, who hired them to service him. Two of those boys will not
give up the life they have at all! They like what they do, and no matter
how nefarious the circumstances, they enjoy the lifestyle they have." He
looked sadly at The Phantom. "No, lad, it's not them I'm speaking of. It's
the wee ones, the nine and the ten-year-olds, the little lads without a
hair between their legs and not a thought in the world that even approaches
sex! They have no choice, for they were sold, sold to be a man's little sex
toy, his slave!"

The Phantom's stomach turned over and he felt the bile rising in his
throat. "Their parents, their mothers, or their fathers, sold them?" he
asked, his face paling.

"Sold them," confirmed Chef. "And when they are used up, of no appeal to
the man they were sold to, they are in turn sold again!"  "Dear sweet
Jesus!" whispered The Phantom. "That I cannot, and will not, ever
understand. How can a mother sell her child, or a father sell his son?"

"It is the truth," replied Chef simply and then shrugged. "Who can know the
reason other than the parent who did the selling? Perhaps to pay off a
debt, perhaps out of economic want. The reason is not important. What is
important is that the black trade is flourishing!"

"Then something must be done," returned The Phantom. "Mourn later, act
now!"

"Phantom, I have made people aware of the information imparted to me. I can
only hope that they act."

"The Order?"

Chef nodded. "The worst of it, Phantom, is that at least one Knight of the
Order is involved."

The Phantom's eyebrows rose and his face grew flush with the disgust he
felt. "Are you sure? Have things come to such a pass that a Knight would
become involved in this . . . this . . . travesty?"

Chef nodded slowly. "I told you these things because soon you will take
your vows. I cannot say how deep this . . . scandal . . . goes. I cannot
say that no other Knights are involved." Chef looked directly at The
Phantom. "I know you, Phantom, and I know that you are a man of integrity
and more than a little honour. The Order has become, in some ways, a
cesspool. I will understand if you decided to withdraw your candidacy."

The Phantom's emerald eyes blazed as they bore into Chef. He pointed over
Chef's broad shoulder as he said in slow, measured tones, "If a cesspool
needs cleaning out, do it! If I can help, I will. I have heard you talk,
and I have listened to Stevie." He pointed over Chef's shoulder at the open
window. "The cadets outside are my friends. If I withdrew I would feel as
if I were betraying them and that I will never do!"

"The Order may have need of you, Phantom," warned Chef. "We will need all
our true Knights, we will need all our resources. Think well, Phantom, for
you may be called upon to make extraordinary sacrifices."

The Phantom leaned forward, his hands clenched. "Chef, your boys, my
friends, sleep safely at night because you, and I, are here to make sure
that they can. You have accepted Ray as your son and I have accepted them
all as my brothers. You have seen war, Chef, and you were willing to make
the ultimate sacrifice. You made that decision because it was the right
thing to do. Remember the first time we talked?"

Chef nodded. "I remember."

"Better to do the harder right than the easier wrong," quoted The
Phantom. "If there is a war, if the Order sounds the trumpets of war, then
I shall be there. I might not be able to do much, but I will be there." He
saw Chef about to speak and held up his hand. "Please, let me finish!" The
Phantom straightened and his words flowed softly. "You, Stevie, and I, have
placed our trust in the Order. Whatever must be done to end this evil must
be done! If a Knight of the Order has betrayed the Rule, then the Order
must take steps and right the wrong. The boys who have been sold as sex
slaves must be rescued and returned home."

"A Herculean task, Phantom, for we do not know how many boys there are,"
replied Chef. His face did not betray the emotion he felt, the upsurge of
love he felt for this young man sitting so straight and true before
him. "We do not know if they would want to go home, or if they have homes
to return to."

"Then let those who wish to, let them go their own way. Give them money to
help them start out. As for the others, give them a home. The Order was
founded to provide a safe haven on the road to Jerusalem, hospitals where
gay men could find refuge and safety."

"The Order has no hospitals," Chef pointed out.

"Then found one!" returned The Phantom. "Let the Order find homes,
buildings, schools, whatever it needs, but found a new hospital and fill it
with these poor boys. Give them the home they need, the home the Order was
established to provide! Let the Order fulfill its destiny and found a new
hospital on the road to a New Jerusalem! "

Chef slowly sat down, the surprise he felt at the ferocity of The Phantom's
words showing on his face. "Phantom," he said presently, "I swear to you
that I will do everything in my power to see that the Order takes into its
protection those boys who want it. I cannot promise a hospital for them,
but I will try." He pulled open the centre drawer of his desk and drew out
a small, blue leather box. Opening it, he showed the heavy gold and enamel
ring set with an oval, bevelled, table cut ruby to The Phantom. "I have
never worn this, Phantom. As Proctor I could not, you see."

"Wear it now, Chef," instructed The Phantom. "It is time to come out of the
shadows. Wear the ring."

Chef shook his head. "No, Phantom, for there is a better use it can be put
to." He looked up at The Phantom and smiled softly. "A much better use."

The Phantom knew what Chef was getting at. Impulsively he reached into the
pocket of his uniform trousers and pulled out some notes and coins, which
he laid on Chef's desk. "There is, what, $5.37, Chef? It's all I have on
me. It's not much, but it is a beginning. Keep your ring."

Shaking his head Chef carefully pulled the small pile of money towards
him. "I will take your money, Phantom. And I will sell my ring. Together,
we will make a beginning."

"A new beginning," said The Phantom as he moved around the desk and hugged
Chef.

As he carefully put The Phantom's donation into an envelope Chef's
demeanour changed. "Phantom, I want you to know something else." Chef's old
eyes bore into The Phantom. "The Grand Master of the Order, Michael Chan,
is a man capable of great anger. He values loyalty and when a man gives him
his word, he considers it the man's bond. Those who betray the trust placed
in them will suffer greatly."

Once again The Phantom's green eyes flared. "I hope they burn in the fires
of hell!" he declared hotly. Once again he leaned on chef's desk. "And if
necessary I will carry the first torch!"

******

Harry was frankly goldbricking. He had spent the morning cataloguing the
music library, a hot, boring, and dusty affair and had decided to hell with
it. He could think of better ways to spend a Friday afternoon and was doing
one of them, lying in his bunk, playing with the broad head of the Pride,
which was poking seductively above the waistband of his boxers. He resisted
the urge to reach into his underpants and roll his balls. Harry loved
having his balls played with and when he was with the right person he
always roared to a shattering climax when this was done to him. This
afternoon, however, he was content to lie back and admire the Pride, named
so by Todd, and admired by all.

The Pride was considered the epitome of beauty, the penis by which all
others were judged. Harry was flattered beyond measure that his dick was an
object of worship and the subject of at least two contests to determine
who, if anyone, had a penis of sufficient length, girth and beauty to
aspire to the title. He knew that the Sea Puppies had held such a contest,
and while the winner, Evan de Courcy, had boasted a classically beautiful
appendage, Harry thought that the younger cadet did lack something in the
testicles department. It was Harry's opinion that one had to consider the
overall aspect and general appearance of the candidate's
equipment. Testicles should complement the penis and anyone, whose balls
were too small, or too big, simply was not in the same league as the Pride
and its accompanying Escorts, as Harry's testicles were known. The stewards
had also had a contest, with The Phantom as judge, and David Tomkens had
been declared the winner. Harry, who trusted The Phantom's judgement, and
secretly thought that the Chief Steward of the Sea Cadets had a set of
upper deck fittings that could, hands down, claim the title, pretended to
be mollified although the thought that a mere steward could claim the
title, was somewhat unsettling.

Harry, being Harry, knew that it was all a silly game. Still, he milked the
game for all its worth and did not tell the other cadets that back home
there were six penises, with accompanying testicles, that not only matched,
but in two instances, outdistanced the Pride. Harry had six brothers and
each of them had a penis that was as sleek, as pink, and as handsome as his
own. Not only that, but two of his brothers, Charlie and George, were
bigger. Nicky, the next brother down the line, owned what amounted to a
double for the Pride, while Paul and Francis, called Frankie, were coming
along fine. Even Louis, who was only ten and hardly a contestant, had as
fine a specimen as his brothers. Harry took great pride in the knowledge
that he and his brothers were objects of envy for miles around the farm,
and that each Hohenberg brother had been certified perfect by their
grandmother, Augusta-Viktoria, who was an expert in such things, being the
mother of eight boys herself. As was the custom, each boy born into the
family - and there had not been a female born into the family in something
like ten generations - was presented to the Matriarch, who stripped the
child of diaper and shirt, counted fingers and toes, and closely examined
the little domed nub between his legs, given a string of names, and roundly
kissed on the top of his head. It didn't matter where in the province, or
the country the child lived, or was going to live, he was not a Hohenberg
until grandmother said he was. Daughters-in-law, and granddaughters-in-law,
might fume and carp at their husbands, but it was a family tradition, and
that was all there was to be said about it.

As he pleasured himself, Harry wondered who would succeed Augusta-Viktoria,
who was getting long in the tooth. Charlie and George were both engaged and
sooner or later a new son would need presenting for approval and
certification. Harry also planned to marry, and being a traditionalist,
would want his sons - and he would only father sons, he was sure - to be
true Hohenbergs.

An unconscious frown crossed Harry's broad, handsome face as he pushed down
his boxes and began to fondle the Escorts. The subject of Harry's marrying
had driven a wedge between him and Todd, his friend and, until the night of
the end-of-year barbeque, his lover. Todd and Cory had stayed in the
Gunroom, serving a self-imposed sentence, even though they didn't have to,
seeing as how the Commanding Officer had pardoned everybody's sins to
honour the visit of the Lieutenant Governor. Granting remission of
sentences to felons was an old tradition when Royalty, or Royalty's
representative came to visit, but the Twins, being the Twins, refused to
take advantage of their remission and had decided to stay in the Gunroom,
exiling themselves from the revelry by night and satisfying their personal
sense of honour and decency.

Thinking on it now, Harry knew that he had made a big mistake by not
stopping with the Twins. He had gone off to the party without a thought,
and spent the night enjoying himself and not thinking once about Todd.

Abruptly Harry left off his fondling and lay back, his hands behind his
head, mentally cursing his stupidity. Todd needed him, needed him to be
there, and he'd gone off and danced the night away. What made matters worse
was that even though the Twins were in purdah, they still received
visitors, friends who felt it more important to be with Cory and Todd than
to be trolling the fishing fleet. Matt had come by, as had Sean Anders, and
The Phantom. They had been true friends. Harry had not and he took no more
strolls with Todd down the path that led to the School of Wind.

Of course, Harry had to admit to himself, another wedge was Stefan, the
young, dark-haired, sweet boy that Harry had fallen in love with. Harry's
thinking of Stefan caused the Pride to stir slightly and the Escorts to
contract a bit. Harry glared at the Pride and growled a silent, "Down!"

With the Pride once again quiescent and the Escorts nestled in their berth,
Harry stared at the overhead beams and cobwebs, his thoughts turning more
and more to Stefan, the boy of his dreams, his love. A heavy sigh escaped
his lips. It was funny, really. He could take the Pride to sea thinking
about Todd, or Cory, or The Phantom. Hell, he'd even had one hell of a
fantasy about Nicholas one night. He just could not ring down Stand By
thinking about Stefan. It didn't seem right, for some reason, to make the
boy the object of his lascivious dreams. Stefan was the love of his life,
his sweet, young love and Harry was determined never to sully what they
had, to never denigrate the passion they had enjoyed, never debase their
love. One day, when Stefan was older, they would consummate their passion,
and until then Harry was content to dream of other boys. As he began to
form a dream, Harry reached down to gently stroke the Pride. Visions of
. . .

"God damn it, Harry!"

Harry looked up to see Cory standing in the doorway leading to the barracks
yard. Behind Cory was Rob, the Chief Storesman, and behind him were four
cadets from the Duty Watch, struggling to haul a mattress and the
components of a bunk into the Gunroom.

Grinning, Harry thought, "Show time!" With deliberate slowness he stroked
the curving, domed, arrowhead-shaped glans of the Pride. "Now Cory . . ."
he began, lowering his voice in a basso which he thought damned seductive.

"Don't 'Cory' me!" hissed Cory as he stomped into the Gunroom; quite
forgetting that Rob and half the Duty Watch was behind him. "Really, Harry,
it's the middle of the afternoon and . . ."

Before Cory could castigate Harry further one of the Watchmen, his eyes all
but bugging from his head, gasped and declared in an awed whisper, "Holy
fuck!"

Rob, who had seen the Pride in all its glory before, felt his dick twitch
and push out the front of his shorts. He grinned at the four cadets behind
him and declared with all the majesty of a prophet announcing the Second
Coming, "Behold: The Pride of the Fleet!"

The four junior cadets, who were all YAG crewmen pressed for the day,
pushed forward. They had all heard of the Pride - the jungle drums had been
beating throughout the Squadron for weeks - dropped their burdens with an
ear-splitting clang of metal, and pushed forward for a better look.

"Look at that," yelped one of the cadets. "And it ain't even hard!"

"I can fix that quick enough," returned Harry.

"Don't you dare!" howled Cory, all but dancing with rage. "Harry, pull up
your pants, now!" he ordered officiously.

A strange gleam came into Harry's eyes. He rolled on his side, the better
to present the Pride for viewing. "Now, Cory, you know I don't like it when
you talk that way." Then he laughed maniacally and slowly pulled his body
into a sitting position. He ran his tongue along his full lips and crooned,
"Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell fresh Arundel bum!"

Cory stepped back, crashing into Rob, who was laughing like a loon as he
said, "Look out Cory, I think he's on heat!"

Cory's eyes widened with genuine fear. Harry could be fooling around - he
always did when he had an audience - or he could be serious. One never knew
with Harry and Cory was not about to risk his bum again.

Seeing the look on Cory's face, Harry snickered, and then broke into a
full-bellied roar of laughter.  Game, set and match to Harry! He reached
down and pulled up his underpants. "Gotchya!" he declared.

Cory turned red in the face, sputtered and muttered, and then forced
himself to calm down. "If the vaudeville show is over, some of us have work
to do!" he spat.

"What work?" asked Harry. He pretended to notice Rob and the other cadets
for the first time. "Hi, guys. Enjoy the show?"

Four heads bobbed in unison. Rob just raised his eyes to the deckhead and
shook his head.

Cory glared at Rob and the cadets and then threw a look back at Harry, who
seemed completely at ease. "If you must know," Cory said archly, "we are
setting up another bunk."

Harry looked around the Gunroom, wondering where Cory was planning to set
the newest bunk up. There was no room, as was evidenced by the double
bunking they'd had to do for Nathan. He also wondered who was moving
in. For a moment he thought that it might be Rob. Then Harry remembered
that Rob had set up a bunk and moved his gear into the Stores
Building. "Where are you planning on putting the bunk?" Harry asked. "And
for whom?"

Rob motioned for the work party to get on with it. "It's for Chief Petty
Officer Lascelles, Philip A.T., Chief Steward of the Sea Cadets," he
announced. "And I have no idea where the bloody bunk is going!"

Cory pointed at Harry's bunk in the corner and regarded Harry. "You said
that it was nice to have all the Boys of Aurora together for once." His sky
blue eyes were locked with Harry's dark brown orbs. "Well, you forget one
of them, and you forget that he's the most important one!" Then he added
ominously. "And you know why!"

Harry's eyes widened and then narrowed. Phantom was one of the Boys of
Aurora. Hell, if it had not been for him, there would be no Boys of
Aurora. Harry knew what The Phantom had done for them and if anybody
deserved to be in the Gunroom, it was Chief Petty Officer Lascelles, Philip
A.T., Chief Steward of the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets. "It was stupid of me
to say what I said," Harry admitted, looking crestfallen.

Cory looked at Harry and smiled at his friend fondly. Harry was many things
but stupid was not one of them. He might project the image of a brain-dead
jock, but Harry was one of the most intelligent cadets Cory knew, although
even Cory had to admit that at times Harry thought more with the head of
the Pride than he did with the head stuck between his shoulders. Smiling,
Cory nodded slowly. "So, you have no objection to Phantom moving in?" he
asked.

"Of course, not," replied Harry. "And Cory, I really wouldn't have bitten
your bum."

A snickering from the four YAG cadets told Cory that he had better be
careful in what he replied. He felt certain that the news of seeing Harry
all but naked, with the Pride and the Escorts on full display and about
ready to put to sea, would be spread all over the YAG Squadron within
minutes of the four boys scampering down to the Dockyard when they were off
duty. "I know you were only joking," Cory said with a wink. He turned to
the other cadets. "Okay guys, set 'er up over Harry's bunk," he directed
with a wave of his hand.

"My bunk?" yelped Harry loudly. "Why over my bunk?"

"Because, Harry," Cory began to explain patiently, "you are in the corner,
against the bulkhead and . . . "

"So are you!" returned Harry.

This was perfectly true. Cory's bunk occupied one side of the bulkhead that
separated the Gunroom proper from the Chiefs Mess, and while setting
another bunk over Cory's would have been no problem, Cory had given a great
deal of thought to where Phantom was to sleep.

At first Cory had thought to put the Phantom above him but then rejected
the idea. Cory loved the slim, handsome, green-eyed boy with all his heart
and soul but he would no more put his occasional lover in a compromising
position that he would cut off one of his testicles. Phantom was not, as
the saying went, "out" to anyone except to a few, very special friends. And
therein lay the rub.

Cory knew that appearances were everything. He and his brother had
deliberately changed their image of gay young things to sober, responsible
young men because they both had come to the realization that while
everybody knew that they were gay, it did not pay to advertise. Their
outrageous mode of dress, their flamboyant conduct, all reflected not only
on them, but also on their family, and friends. Paul Greene, Little Big Man
that was, had demonstrated that theory, accusing The Phantom of being gay
simply because he associated with the Twins. At the time there had been no
basis for such an accusation except for Little Big Man's hatred of the
Twins, because neither Cory nor Todd knew that The Phantom was as gay as
they were. Nor did they know about The Phantom's secret life of sneaking
onto the spit and visiting the cadets in the night, masturbating or
fellating them. Until that fateful night when they had witnessed The
Phantom blowing Thumper, and followed him to the weather-beaten shack
hidden in the woods, they had always thought The Phantom to be as straight
as an arrow, as did the other cadets, and Cory was determined to keep
things that way. Cory knew that if he insisted on putting The Phantom's
bunk over his that some people might think that he was doing so to put the
moves on The Phantom. And this must never happen.

Putting The Phantom over Harry's bunk almost guaranteed that there would be
no idle gossip spread. Harry was considered by all who thought they knew
him to be the quintessential jock: loud, crude, rude and, most importantly,
straight, because that was what Harry appeared to be to them. Very few
people outside of the Gunroom cadets knew that Harry was in love with
Stefan Gillan, or that they been lovers in a schoolboy way. Only The
Phantom knew that Cory and Todd had also been with Harry, in the School of
Wind and that, until the evening of the Course Barbeque, Todd and Harry had
spent every night in the school, making love. Harry had his reasons for not
wanting his sex life talked about, as did The Phantom, as did Rob, whose
lover, Ryan, had already gone home, or Fred or Nathan. None of the boys
wanted their true selves to be exposed to the light of public scrutiny, or
to have a hint of what they were doing talked about. And that was why The
Phantom's bunk was going in the far corner of the Gunroom, over Harry's.

" . . . We need to keep the passageway clear," said Cory. He looked
directly at Harry, his eyes asking the Drum Major to go along with
him. "You know, in case of an emergency, say a fire?"

Harry saw the look in Cory's eyes and nodded. He knew that The Phantom and
Cory had been together at least once, and that after The Phantom had risked
everything, his good name, his reputation, his potential naval career by
sneaking into the Petty Officers Mess and seducing Little Big Man. Harry
did not know all the details, and wasn't sure that he wanted to know. All
he knew was that by doing what he did The Phantom had made his life, and
Stefan's, a little safer. He also erroneously assumed that Cory wanted to
keep temptation as far away as he could because The Phantom was a damned
fine looking fella, and Harry would not have blamed Cory in the least if he
tried to put the moves on the Chief Steward. Hell, now that he thought of
it, Harry wouldn't mind The Phantom being above him at all!

"You know, you're right," declared Harry loudly. "If you put Phantom down
there with you and Todd the three of you would be up half the night
chattering like monkeys and you know how cranky I get if I don't get my
sleep."

"You throw things, like boots!" snapped Cory.

Harry's laughter echoed through the rafters. "I also bite bums!" he
declared. "Nice, fresh, Arundel bum!"

Cory knew better than to pursue that particular line and hurriedly ordered
the other cadets to get the damned bunk set up. When they were finished he
led them out of the Gunroom and while the walked back toward the Guardhouse
one of the boys asked, "Did Harry really bite you on the bum?"

"Yes," replied Cory sourly.

"Did he leave a scar?" asked the cadet.

"Of course he . . ." began Cory, about to deny that Harry had left a scar
on his bum.

"Hot damn, can we see it?" interrupted the cadet before Cory could tell
them that Harry had not even broken the soft skin on his bum!

"What! No you cannot!" returned Cory, his arms waving indignantly. "What
kind of a person would ask that?"

He continued to rant about his non-existent scar all the way to the
Guardhouse.

******

With the lunchtime rush over, and the tables reset for dinner, The Phantom
had a few hours to kill. He knew that he should get started on the
inventory of the Admiral's Dining Room, but could not even think about
plates and forks and knives. What Chef had told him about men buying little
boys had disturbed The Phantom more than Chef knew, and he hoped that the
Order, or at least Michael Chan, would be able to do something to stop the
nefarious trade.

At Chef's suggestion Phantom went home to pack a bag with the clothing he
would need for his stay at AURORA. He also needed to inform his father
where he would be.

On the drive into Comox The Phantom found his eyes leaving the roadway to
watch any young boy accompanied by an adult male. He knew most of the
people who lived in town, of course, and would have known of any strangers,
other than tourists. Still, he scanned the small knots of strolling
tourists and townspeople out doing their Saturday shopping, as he passed
along the Esplanade. He knew that he was overreacting, perhaps being
paranoid, but he could not help himself. As it happened, he saw no
combinations of men and boys that would give rise to suspicion.

At home, The Phantom packed. He debated calling the RCMP Barracks in
Regina, then thought otherwise. His brother had no telephone and he did not
want a message left with the duty desk officer. The Phantom knew that his
mother would ring when she got herself settled, so he penned a note to both
parents and left it on the kitchen table. His father would let his mother
know where The Phantom could be found.

After returning to AURORA, The Phantom found he still had a couple of hours
or so before Hands to Dinner would be piped and, rather than sit in the
loading dock, he decided to walk over to the swimming beach. As he sat down
he looked over to the Dockyard where he saw that all five YAGS were in,
tied up fore and aft along the jetty. As he watched he saw the crew of one
of the YAGs appear on deck, dressed for swimming. Before very long he could
hear the laughter and shouts as the cadets leaped and dove into the waters
of the harbour and he couldn't help wondering if the boys knew exactly how
lucky they were. He also could not help wondering just how many boys would
never know the freedom and joy that the cadets swimming in the harbour had
and knew.

The more he thought of what Chef had told him, the more The Phantom was
determined to help if he could. The money, a few dollars to be sure, was a
start and he had every confidence in Chef. Chef might play the fool, but he
was a cagey, savvy old man and if anyone could get the Order to establish a
hospital for the lost boys, it would be Chef.

The Phantom wished that Stevie were here. He was the Chancellor of the
Order, and would sooner or later become involved. The Gunner would know
what to do, and The Phantom had every intention of being at his side when
he did it.

As he watched the swimming exercise in the harbour, The Phantom wondered if
he should talk to the Twins. He didn't know Michael Chan, but Cory and Todd
did, and they could give him an insight into the man who was the Grand
Master of the Order. Then there was the Twins' father, who had just been
made an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of Canada. He surely would
have to be told, being that he too was a member of the Order.

Idly plucking blades of sea grass, The Phantom felt his anger rising. How
could a Knight, a member of the Order be involved in such a despicable
trade? His heart went out to Chef, who had devoted much of his life to the
Order, trying to recruit young men to what he considered to be a noble
cause. Chef had spent his life helping young men to find themselves, to
find the honour and pride that existed in every man. And now everything was
ashes, ashes contaminated with the poison of pederasty and pedophilia.

They would have to rebuild, of course. Stevie, and Chef, and Mr. Arundel,
and Michael Chan, would have to rid the Order of the feces and filth, and
rebuild and The Phantom was determined to be there every step of the way.

He fisted a clump of beach sand and raised it high, then opened his fingers
and watched as the sand drifted down. Like the sand, the old Order would be
swept away, and a new, stronger, better Order would rise in its place. This
was the way it had to be. This is what would be done.

******

Lost in his thoughts, The Phantom did not hear the soft scrunching of sand
under sneakers as Sean Anders approached, and started when Sean said, "Good
afternoon, Phantom. May I join you?"

The Phantom looked up to see Sean smiling down at him, the gold flecks in
his red hair glinting in the early afternoon sun. Smiling, The Phantom
nodded and gestured for Sean to join him. When the youth was settled beside
him The Phantom asked, "No work today?"

Sean smiled and stretched. "Off duty, at last! We had Captain's Rounds this
morning, this despite having been Duty Boat all night, so the CO piped
stand down," he said as he stifled a yawn.

Chuckling, The Phantom suggested that Sean might try to get his head down.

Sean gestured toward the Dockyard. "We have a Stand Down. I doubt very much
I could get any sleep with that racket going on!"

The Phantom had to agree. "They do tend to get a little rambunctious," he
said presently. "Which makes me wonder if I did the right thing by agreeing
to move into the Gunroom."

"You're moving into the Gunroom?" asked Sean, surprised.

The Phantom nodded. "Cory had this idea that I should experience life in
the raw, seeing as how I am planning on joining up. He went to Chef and the
next thing I knew I was agreeing to move in for the next two weeks!"

Sean felt a twinge of jealousy. He knew that Cory and The Phantom were very
close, and had been together. Cory, as honest as always, had made it plain
to Sean that from time to time he and The Phantom would be together. He
hoped that Sean could understand, but that was the way it was going to
be. Sean tried to understand the bond that existed between Cory and The
Phantom. He did understand the attraction that Cory felt for his friend -
Sean felt the same attraction. The Phantom was a damned fine, handsome
young man. Sean did not blame Cory for wanting to be with The Phantom and
while he hated to admit it, The Phantom had figured in at least two of his
masturbatory fantasies. Not, of course, that Sean expected anything would
happen between them. The Phantom was a friend, nothing more, and Sean
doubted that their friendship would ever go beyond the back slapping
stage. He sighed inwardly, and then said with a chuckle, "Cory can be quite
persuasive when he puts his mind to it."

"Yeah," grunted The Phantom. Then he nodded toward the boys splashing in
the harbour. "It's a different life, isn't it, Sean?" He smiled softly. "In
a way, I think I'm looking forward to the experience."

Sean stretched his legs and fussily adjusted the fold of his shorts. "It
will be an experience," he agreed. "It was a bit of shock, the first time I
messed with a herd of other cadets. I rather think that I was like all new
boys, accustomed to sleeping alone in one's own room, with no noise or
distractions to annoy one."

The Phantom suppressed a growl. "You're doing it again," he said without
rancour.

"Doing what?" asked Sean.

"Being pedantic," replied The Phantom. He lay down and crossed his arms
across his chest and then turned his head to look at Sean. "You really
should try to loosen up."

With a sigh, Sean nodded. "I do try, Phantom, but one has to understand,
I've been doing this for years." He shrugged and let a breath of air escape
his lips. "And now, being the Squadron Chief Petty Officer, well, the
. . ." He was about to say "troops" but then he remembered how much the
word annoyed Cory, and said, " . . .The ratings have come to expect
it. They call me Iron Ass Anders, you know."

Giggling, The Phantom rolled on his side. "I thought was because a wire
halyard slapped you on the ass!"

The Phantom's giggling proved infectious and Sean snickered loudly as he
said, "Well, that too!"

"You know, Sean, I think you miss it." He reached out and gave Sean's
shoulder a light punch. "Come on, admit it, you miss being in a mess, the
yelling, the fighting, the swinging dicks, the morning woodies, the
discomfort."

Reluctantly, Sean nodded his head. "I suppose I do," he admitted. "There
was something . . . so very . . . special when I was in the mess."

"Chef says it's the camaraderie, the closeness of guys being together,"
replied The Phantom. "I think I know what he means, 'cause I feel it,
sometimes."

"The Band of Brothers?" asked Sean.

"Yes, exactly." The Phantom saw a look of almost desperate wistfulness
cross Sean's face. "You are one of that Band of Brothers, Sean."

Sean shook his head. "Thank you, Phantom, for that, but no, I am not yet
one of the Boys of AURORA. I am an outsider, looking in, who just happens
to be in love with one of your brothers." A look of utter sorrow crossed
his face. "And I'm managing to fuck that up as well!" He suddenly buried
his face in his hands, weeping softly. "I'm losing Cory, and I don't know
what to do!" he murmured through his tears. "I love him so much and I want
him to be with me, but I'm losing him!"

For a brief while The Phantom said nothing. Having listened to Cory's
low-key moans about Sean only this morning, he knew exactly what Sean was
talking about. Sitting up, The Phantom put his arm around Sean. "Hey, stop
it, now! You don't know that, you don't know that at all!"

"I do!" returned Sean, unsuccessfully keeping the anger form his
voice. "Cory thinks that I'm mechanical and . . ."

"Are you now?" asked The Phantom with a slight drawl. "Well, are you?"

"Are I what?" asked Sean, forsaking his grammar.

"Mechanical?"

A quizzical look came into Sean's eyes, and then he nodded. "In a way,
yes." He frowned slightly. "But Phantom, I've never made love before!"

"Usually you just let nature take its course and do what feels good,"
responded The Phantom with a grin. Then he sobered. "Really, you've never
made love before?" he asked.

"Phantom, I've been with two other boys beside Cory. The first one I was
with, after I came back from making a fool of myself at Kingston, was the
boy who lived next door to me. His name was Jesse and all we ever did was
fool around. Guy stuff," he finished almost dismissively.

"Just jerking each other off?"

Sean nodded. "We were swimming in his pool one afternoon and started
fooling around, you know, splashing and wrestling in the water. Well, he
was horny and I was horny and one thing led to another and before we knew
what we were doing we were rubbing each other's erections through our
swimsuits." He snickered caustically. "What little boys we were, treading
water in the deep end, holding each other and rubbing like fiends until he
groaned and bucked and I squealed and bucked and . . ."

"Squealed?" The Phantom couldn't help laughing. "Really Sean, squealed!"

"Well I did!" replied Sean with a huge grin. "I was only fourteen and it
was the first time anyone had ever done anything like that to me. I'm ever
so much quieter now."

When he stopped laughing, The Phantom asked, "So, what happened between you
and Jesse?"

Shrugging, Sean lay back on his elbows. "Basically, nothing," he said. "Oh,
we'd meet just about every day and drop our shorts and underpants and grab
each other's dicks. We did, once, suck each other, but Jesse wasn't all
that keen about it."

The Phantom thought of his past relationship with Sam, his one-time best
friend. Sam and he would meet after school and do exactly what Sean and
Jesse had done, drop their pants and beat each other off. Of course, Jesse
sounded a little more into it that Sam had ever been. Sam was a full blood
Homalco and was too afraid of offending the tribal shamans to let The
Phantom jerk him to ejaculation. Sam always insisted that as he neared his
climax that The Phantom drop his dick and he would finish himself off. As
for sucking Sam's dick, The Phantom had never felt the desire. Even now, a
year after their last encounter, he shuddered at the thought. "I knew a guy
like that once," advised The Phantom. Then he added hurriedly, "But we
never sucked each other."

Sean, who knew nothing about The Phantom's nighttime sorties, nodded. "I
suppose it's a phase a lot of boys go through." He wondered - briefly -
just how many boys The Phantom had been with and then dismissed the
question from his mind. Phantom had obviously gone through the hormonal
phase of experimenting, and was beyond that, now. "Jesse and I lasted about
a year. He moved away and for a while I had more or less resigned myself to
a life of solitary masturbation." A mischievous smiled played at the corner
of Sean's lips. "And then I went on a field trip to Saanich!"

"Saanich? What does Saanich have to do with it?" asked The Phantom,
wondering if Sean was pulling his pisser.

"Everything," replied Sean with a twinkle in his eye. "On the bus ride up
to Saanich I met Brent Callwood!"

The Phantom gave Sean black look. "And who in the hell is Brent Callwood?"

"The second boy I slept with," replied Sean with a grin. "On the bus ride
he and I were assigned seats together, which wasn't all that surprising,
seeing as I was the class nerd and he was the class queer."

"Sean!"

"Oh, it's quite true," replied Sean calmly. "I was a nerd, and he sure was
queer."

"You got it on with him on the bus?" asked The Phantom, his eyes wide with
the surprise he felt at Sean's frank, and open confession.

"On the bus, in the hotel room, his house, my house, once in the school
field house, twice in the bracken and bramble behind the school - the
soccer team was using the field house so we couldn't go there - and I
forget how many times in the back seat of my father's car," replied Sean,
his eyes dancing with hidden laughter. "Brent was a very sexual boy. He
loved to fuck!"

"Holy shit!" exclaimed The Phantom, awed that Sean was so experienced. He
certainly did not give that impression.

"Indeed," quipped Sean. He smiled somewhat happily as he continued. "The
first time was, as I have said, on the bus going to Saanich. One minute we
were sitting in the back seat, the one in front of the john, staring out
the window, and the next my briefs were under my balls and Brent's nose was
buried in my pubic bush. He later told me that he'd been lusting after me
for months. Anyway, he gave me a superior blowjob, and promised better
things at the hotel."

"You shared a room?"

Sean nodded. "Brent was the class secretary and had made all the
arrangements for the field trip, including room assignments. I had been
heavily involved with a science project and hadn't bothered to look at the
list, so it was quite a surprise when I walked into the room to see him
standing there, naked."

"And you were so shocked that you couldn't help yourself when he took
advantage of you," said The Phantom.

"Hardly." Sean began riffling through the sand with his fingers. "In
retrospect, I think the only reason I went with Brent was that he reminded
me of Cory - not as handsome - but Brent was blond, with a slim build, the
same colouring, even the same colour eyes."

"A substitute Cory," offered The Phantom.

"Yes, I suppose he was," replied Sean. "In the event, I barely had time to
drop my overnight bag before he was on me. When I was as naked as he was he
sucked on me until I was hard, slathered hand cream all over my dick, bent
over and said, 'Fill 'er up!'"

The Phantom laughed so hard he almost peed himself. "Fill 'er up? He
actually said that?" he asked between guffaws as he pounded the sand.

Quiet seriously, Sean said, "His exact words. He wanted to be fucked, so I
fucked him. That was the beginning of my little adventure with Brent
Callwood."

"It ended, I take it?"

"Oh, yes," replied Sean. "I had no feelings for Brent at all. He was a
fuck, and nothing more. All my feelings were for Cory and I am not ashamed
to admit that when I was doing the dirty with Brent I pretended that it was
Cory I was with. Once I groaned and called out Cory's name when I
ejaculated. Brent was not impressed."

"I can see where he wouldn't be," returned The Phantom dryly. "So your
relationship ended?"

"It did. It was bound to end because, Phantom, a relationship based on sex,
and only sex, is a disaster in the making. Brent liked to fuck, and I liked
fucking him."

"So what happened?"

"Brent became angry and walked out. He came back a few times afterwards but
he was on the prowl for someone else. He found someone and I was back to
masturbating!" He grinned and winked at The Phantom. "Mind you, I think I
got the better of it."

"How so?"

"Brent found a football player with an ten inch dick that was as big around
as a Coke bottle."

"Ouch!"

Sean laughed. "After my somewhat miniscule offering, ouch indeed!" He
looked seriously at The Phantom. "I've told you my history, Phantom,
because I wanted you to understand where I come from. I've had sex - a
great deal of sex - but that is all it was. I can't please Cory because I
don't know how to please him. I start out making love, and the next thing I
know I'm rutting away." He ducked his head and asked shyly, "Phantom,
you've been with Cory. Please, how can I please him? How can I make him
feel about me the way he feels about you?"

The Phantom regarded Sean for a long time, wondering just how embarrassing
it was to Sean's self-esteem to ask such questions. Sean, with his iron
discipline, his carriage, the way he talked, the way he regarded his
juniors and superiors, everything bespoke one word: pride. Sean was a very
proud young man and the cost to his pride in admitting that he could not
please Cory, the cost in asking for help, must be tremendous. At first The
Phantom did not answer Sean. Then he stood up and brushed the sand from the
seat of his shorts. "Do you have a White Sail certificate?" he asked.

Surprised at The Phantom's reaction, Sean nodded. "Yes, Gold and why would
you ask?"

"Because I want to go sailing and I don't have the proper papers to use one
of AURORA's boats. You do, so you are going sailing with me."

"I am?"

"You am!"

******

The brisk breeze that blew down from the mountain spine of Vancouver Island
carried the small boat out of the harbour, through the channel, and into
the Strait of Georgia. The Phantom, who was coxing, turned the small tiller
to port and the boat swung south, barrelling along at a good rate of
knots. Sean, wondering what was going on, crewed, reeving and checking away
the lines and from time to time glancing at The Phantom, who seemed
absorbed in steering the 420 and watching the forested shore and when they
were perhaps two miles south of AURORA he shouted, "Ready About" and turned
toward the shore, heading for a small, secluded beach.

They pulled the boat onto the sandy beach and sat side by each, listening
to the waves washing ashore. The Phantom realized that Sean needed help in
his relationship with Cory. He had asked how to best please Cory and The
Phantom was mulling over in his mind how to answer Sean.

Glancing at Sean, The Phantom recalled The Gunner saying that he never
slept with another male simply for the sake of sleeping with him. There had
to be a . . . uniqueness, a special something that stirred his soul. The
Gunner had also told his young lover that there would be times when other
boys would be attracted to him, and that he would be attracted to them. It
was part of growing up, of living, of being a gay male. There would be
attractions and, as The Gunner pointed out, The Phantom would have to make
up his mind how to handle them.

Up to now The Phantom had felt emotions, and desire, for the Twins, which
was not surprising. Together or individually the Twins could turn a statue
into a slavering, priapic mess. The Twins had a singular beauty that was
beyond compare.

Ray, whom The Phantom loved, was another case in point. Ray had been the
first true love of The Phantom's young life. They had made love, deep,
satisfying, wonderful love only once, and while they both tried to tell
each other that what they had had together would never happen again, they
both knew that one day they would be together again. Ray touched that
hidden chord deep within The Phantom that The Gunner knew only certain
young men had. Ray loved The Phantom for himself, for just being The
Phantom. The Phantom loved Ray for the same reasons. Their attraction for
each other would always be there, no matter that The Phantom had The
Gunner, and Ray had his Kevin.

Then there was Matt. An inner warmth glowed deep within The Phantom
whenever he thought of Matt. He was, in his own way, more beautiful than
either Cory or Todd, gentler, sweeter and, after their night together in
Cabin 5, a boy who made The Phantom want to hold him, to love him, to
cuddle him; brother, son, lover, all rolled into one magnificent package.

Strangely, The Phantom felt no such feelings for Sam Chickweed, the strong,
well-muscled, copper skinned Homalco brave who had been his first
. . . partner. That was the only way The Phantom could think of Sam. They
had never been lovers, really. They had never hugged, or held one
another. They had never kissed. All they had ever done was masturbate each
other. No, there were no feelings of warmth for Sam.

And now there was Sean. The Phantom looked the red-haired boy over
slowly. Sean was hardly a candidate for a Mr. Wonderful competition. He was
slim, although very trim. His face was smooth, with only the last vestiges
of acne dotting his chin. His legs, well-formed and dusted with dark red
hairs, were well formed, although his feet were big, as were his ears,
which jutted slightly from the side of his head. Which was neither here nor
there as The Phantom's ears stuck out as well. Sean's best feature was his
hair, dark red, gold-flecked, and his eyes, hazel, with just a hint of
green in them, sparkling, laughing with a hidden humour.

The Phantom found himself becoming attracted to Sean, and tried to put the
thoughts from his mind. Sean was Cory's and The Phantom would never
knowingly betray his best friend.

Feeling a stirring in his groin The Phantom lay back, and then rolled onto
his stomach. Sean saw the movement and sighed inwardly. His sailing
companion, with his green eyes, lithe, toned body, and ready smile was
sending feelings coursing through Sean that until now he had only felt for
Cory.

Resisting the urge to reach out and run his hand down The Phantom's well
formed behind, Sean picked up a pebble and tossed it into the
water. Something was happening to him, something he didn't understand. He
was, however, in a way, beginning to understand why Cory, and Todd, and
Ray, and yes, even young Matt, looked at The Phantom the way they did, why
their eyes twinkled and danced with happiness, a look that Sean had yet to
see in Cory's eyes for him. He sighed explosively.

The Phantom squirmed, sat up and placed a friendly hand on Sean's
shoulder. "All right, Sean, let's have it," he said quietly.

"I told you, Phantom," began Sean, his voice breaking. "I can't seem to
please Cory. Oh, he says that it doesn't matter, but it does! I can feel
it. I just don't know what to do!" He sniffled and continued on. "I love
him, Phantom, and he says that he loves me, but . . ."

The Phantom raised an eyebrow and then shook his head. "You have to give
Cory time to sort out his feelings for you. He's introduced you to his
parents. He's held you in his arms, and you've made love to him. Remember,
he's coming off a shattered relationship with Nathan . . ." Sean snarled
angrily at the mention of the American Sea Cadet's name. The Phantom
ignored Sean's snarling and continued on. "You yourself did not want to
start a relationship because you were afraid that your secret would be
revealed. You know how Cory feels about that."

Sean nodded and smiled tightly. "I told Cory that so long as he is with me
that I would be open and that I don't care what other people think about me
if I knew that he loved me, and wanted to be with me."

"He does, Sean, you know he does," returned The Phantom. "You are not
Cory's summer fuck."

Turning his head Sean's eyes bore into The Phantom. "Then why doesn't he
look at me the way he looks at you, or Todd? What am I lacking? What do I
have to do to make him look at me that way? Tell me, Phantom, what do I
have to do?"

The Phantom thought a moment. "Sean," he said, his voice almost a whisper,
"I told you how Cory feels about his brother. You can't change that. I
can't change that, even if I wanted to, which I do not. Todd was, is, and
always will be, Cory's first love."

"And you?" asked Sean, his tone icy. "You've slept with him, you've made
love to him. What makes you so special to him?"

"A feeling, a sense, a desire, a warmth," replied The Phantom calmly. "A
hidden chord that both of us have that makes us feel about each other way
we do. I can't help Cory feeling about me the way he does, or feeling about
Todd the way he does. I simply accept those feelings."

"And can you accept that I want Cory to feel the same way about me? To love
me the way he loves Todd, the way he loves you?"

"Yes, Sean, I can." The Phantom rubbed his chin and looked reflectively at
the soft, purling waves as they rolled ashore. "I can accept, and I can
understand. I just don't know how I can help you."

"Nobody can," replied Sean glumly. "How can I compete with you? Or with
Todd, who has Harry turning cartwheels. What have they got that I haven't?"

The Phantom was about to make a flippant remark when his eyes
widened. "Sean, if I asked you a question, will you give me an honest
answer?"

A look of anger crossed Sean's face. "I am not a liar, and I always tell
the truth."

"Good." The Phantom looked at Sean and grinned. "When you and Cory made
love, how was it?"

Sean's jaw dropped. "Now really, Phantom, what a question . . . I mean
really!"

"Answer the question," returned The Phantom. "Was it wonderful? How did you
feel while you were doing it? Did bells ring, the skies open? How did you
feel?"

Sean struggled for an answer. Then he said, "It was wonderful. More
wonderful than I had a right to expect."

"And how did Cory feel?" The Phantom's voice was low.

"I . . . uh . . . well, he said it was wonderful, too."

"But that special look, that twinkle, that small, bright star was not in
his eyes, was it?"

Sean shook his head, no. "There was no special look, no," he admitted with
a sob.

"Then you have to figure out a way to put that look in his eyes," said The
Phantom with a small laugh. "You are going to have to find a way to make
him want you, and only you." He rubbed the back of Sean's head gently. "You
have got to make him think that you are the only boy in the world who can
touch that secret chord deep within him."

Sean glowered. "And how, may I ask, am I supposed to do that? Perhaps I
should find a native witch doctor to put a hex on him. Or is there some
potion I buy over the counter at Walgreen's?" He shrugged huffily. "Really,
Phantom you do talk nonsense. If the spark isn't there, it isn't there, and
there is nothing I can do about it."

"Ah, but you can." The Phantom crossed his arms over his chest and looked
at Sean. "When Cory made love to you - he did make love to you, I take it?"
Sean nodded. "Well, how did you feel?"

"As you said, as if I were the only boy in the world, as if I, and I alone
counted," replied Sean, his voice heavy with emotion.

"So make Cory feel the same way."

"I . . . um, well, to be honest, Phantom, Cory is really the only boy I've
been with who made love to me. To be honest, at the time I wasn't studying
his technique."

The Phantom laughed. He lay back down and then raised himself on one
elbow. "Admittedly, making love is an art. You must have done something
right because Cory came back for more."

"Yes, he did," agreed Sean with an embarrassed smile. Sean raised his knees
and clasped them tightly. "But Phantom, I can't call myself an experienced
lover."

"You've slept with other guys," The Phantom pointed out.

Sean snorted loudly. "We fucked," he said bluntly. "I didn't tell you that
Brent never fucked me. He wanted my dick up his butt." He shrugged
pragmatically. "I was traded for a football player with a ten inch dick and
the libido of a goat. The last I heard they were very happy."

"Well, at least you have the equipment, and you're experienced. You're not
a complete innocent."

"I never said I was," returned Sean, his eyes blazing. "And a fat lot of
good my experience got me."

"Well then, perhaps if you built on that experience, if you . . ." The
Phantom suddenly snapped out. "Stand up, Sean."

"I beg your pardon?" Sean looked at The Phantom, his face a mask of
surprise.

"Just stand up, Sean," ordered The Phantom as he struggled upward.

Sean did as he was told and watched as The Phantom settled back on his
knees. Then, before he could react, he felt The Phantom yank his shorts
down.

"Tightly whiteys," observed The Phantom, his voice clinical. "Lift up your
gunshirt and turn around."

Sean, at a loss to understand, and in a bit of a daze, did as he was told.

"You have a nice bum. Tighty whiteys suit you."

A strangled groan rose from Sean's throat as The Phantom ran his hand down
the curvature of Sean's buttocks. "Cory . . . Cory thinks that I should
switch to boxers."

"Cory's a twit," retorted The Phantom. "You have the build, and the body,
and the bum, for tighty whiteys. A definite turn on. Turn around, please."

Sean slowly turned. He felt The Phantom's hand cup his testicles and then
squeeze his penis. He groaned softly. "Phantom, I . . ."

"Do be quiet, Sean," replied The Phantom. He pulled down the front of
Sean's underpants and looked at his tackle. "Not bad," he said.

The Phantom looked intently at Sean's upper deck fittings. They were really
quite handsome. Sean's soft penis, about three inches long, was darker than
the rest of his body, with a pale, curving, circumcised head, and rose out
of a trim patch of dark red, gold-flecked, pubic hair to rest over plump,
oval-shaped testicles. Plump, The Phantom thought, was the only word to
describe Sean's genitals.

Looking again, closer, The Phantom saw that something was, not wrong, but
. . . Then he realized what Sean had done. "You've trimmed your pubies," he
declared. "You've had a haircut!"

Sean almost died from imagined embarrassment. He blushed a deep red and
nodded slowly. "I, well yes, I did. They looked so scraggly and I, well, I
do like to look neat and trim."

The Phantom snickered and replaced the front of Sean's briefs, the soft
white cotton hiding his parts. "Pull up your shorts, Sean," he directed as
he rose to his feet.

When Sean was dressed again The Phantom's green eyes bore into him. "When
you make love, Sean, your total focus, your entire being, must be to please
your partner, to make him believe that he is, to you, the only person on
the face of this earth that you care about, that you love."

Sean nodded dazedly.

The Phantom's voice was low and seductive as he pushed his hands under
Sean's gunshirt, his fingers playing with his nipples, turning the soft
nubs in raised buds of steel. "Show him your love, Sean," whispered The
Phantom as his fingers, feather-light, gently rubbed Sean's nipples. "Find
his pleasure places as your make love to him," continued The Phantom. He
lowered his head and punctuated his words with soft, gentle kisses. "Make
him want you, to possess you, make him crazy with love and desire."

Sean felt The Phantom's soft, warm lips on his, felt The Phantom's teeth as
they nipped gently at his lips, felt The Phantom's hands as they caressed
his body. He groaned loudly as The Phantom's fingers traced the red
treasure trail that stretched from his navel into his briefs.

Smiling, The Phantom continued carefully, his lips and fingers finding the
most sensitive parts of Sean's body and finding that Sean shared with Cory
many of the same sensitivities, little pleasure zones that set both youths
to squirming in pleasure when they were stimulated and toyed with.  "You
know which parts to pleasure, Sean," murmured The Phantom. "You feel the
same feelings when he touches you." He slipped his hand down the front of
Sean's shorts and gently rubbed the throbbing, aching erection under Sean's
underpants. He returned to kissing Sean and pulled him close, his hand
squeezing Sean's erection gently. "May I make love to you?" The Phantom
asked. "Will you let me show you all the places?"

Sean, moaning softly, nodded. "Yes," he breathed as The Phantom's tongue
traced the outline of his lips. "Show me."

Wordlessly The Phantom pushed Sean's gunshirt up and over his head. He
tossed the cotton garment aside and his lips found Sean's nipples. His hand
never left the front of Sean's shorts as he began the excruciating slow
journey down Sean's chest and stomach. With his free hand The Phantom
reached around and caressed Sean's firm, handsome butt.

"Tell him how much you love him, Sean," murmured The Phantom as his tongue
rimmed Sean's navel. "Tell him what he means to you, how much you need
him."

Sean began trembling as The Phantom lowered his shorts and underpants. He
felt The Phantom's warm lips kiss the head of his rock hard, thick
erection, felt The Phantom's hand as he slowly kneaded and pulled at his
testicles.

The Phantom slid his hands between Sean's legs and his finger found the
warm, closed rosebud. He slowly massaged the little wrinkle of flesh, which
caused Sean to spread his legs wider and to moan loudly.

As The Phantom continued to rub his anus Sean felt the beginnings of a
massive explosion growing in his crotch. He began to groan louder and
thrust his hips forward rhythmically, offering his penis. "Please," he
groaned loudly. "Please."

The Phantom did not disappoint. He slowly sucked Sean's thick erection into
his mouth until his nose was buried in Sean's neatly trimmed bush. He
suckled gently and almost immediately Sean gasped, thrust his hips forward,
and a strangled scream flew from his throat. The Phantom pulled back
quickly, tasting Sean's first offering.

Sean moaned and whimpered as his body convulsed in orgasm. His knees
buckled and with The Phantom's steadying hand on his hip, felt himself
lowering to the sandy beach. He bucked and yipped as The Phantom's tongue
cleaned his screaming helmet. He felt The Phantom lie beside him, felt The
Phantom's lips on his, felt The Phantom's tongue as it entered his mouth to
deposit a dollop of his rich cream.

Reluctantly, Sean allowed The Phantom to pull away. After stripping off his
clothing The Phantom lay down beside Sean and embraced him. They kissed,
passionately and deeply as The Phantom's hands once again explored Sean's
heated body. Not soon enough The Phantom rolled on top of Sean and their
crotches ground together, erection-crushing erection, warm, firm testicles
bouncing together. Sean groaned and wrapped his legs around The Phantom's
back. He began pushing his hips upward, feeling his boner rubbing
ecstatically against The Phantom's equally hard erection. "I want, I want
. . ." gasped Sean.

"I know," returned The Phantom, his voice low and sensual. "And we will,
but not yet." He returned to kissing Sean gently, his lips warm and tender
on Sean's. "There are so many ways to express your love Sean, so many ways
to please your lover," The Phantom said as he began a slow, methodical
thrusting of his hips.

Sean's hands slipped under The Phantom's arms and he grasped his firm,
curving shoulder blades, holding The Phantom tightly as his penis
throbbed. Sean had always known that the little patch of scar tissue, the
residue of his circumcision just under the head of his penis, was his most
tender spot. Huge tremors of pleasure ravaged Sean's body as The Phantom's
silky penis crossed and recrossed the sensitive head of his dick. Sean
began to push his hips upward, matching The Phantom's gentle
thrusting. Sean could feel he pressure building, could feel his testicles
withdrawing into his body as he approached the pinnacle. He could hear The
Phantom's heavy breathing, could feel his hot kisses on his face, his neck,
and his shoulders.

As the pressure became unbearable, as the feelings heightened and his penis
grew longer and harder and thicker, Sean groaned and thrust his mouth
against The Phantom's shoulder. He sucked avidly and pushed upward as the
first stream of his second orgasm squirted massively outward, flooding his
stomach and coating The Phantom's thrusting penis with warm, thick,
ejaculate. Within seconds The Phantom tensed, pushed forward and Sean felt
a rush of warm, thick liquid joining his on his stomach.

Holding Sean tightly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his
orgasm, The Phantom rolled onto his side, pulling Sean with him. They lay
together on their sides, their bodies locked together, their kiss not
broken as The Phantom continued to worship Sean's flushed body.

Moaning at the almost unbearable pleasure that consumed him, Sean needed
more, wanted more. He pulled back and opened his eyes, which he had kept
tightly closed throughout their lovemaking. He saw The Phantom looking back
at him, and saw the green fire sparkling with life in The Phantom's
eyes. "I want you in me, Phantom," he whispered, his face bright, his eyes
shining.

******

Afterward they swam in the sea, the salt water cleansing their bodies. When
they were finished they lay together again on the sand, their soft caresses
stimulating and prolonging the after-effects of their lovemaking.

"You know, I could very easily fall in love with you," murmured Sean as he
stroked The Phantom's face.

The Phantom nuzzled Sean's neck as he chuckled softly. "You love Cory," he
said quietly. "Tonight, after he's off duty, you're going to show him how
much you love him."

"And us?" asked Sean.

"You remember I told you that there will be times when Cory will need Todd,
or me?"

Sean nodded. "I remember everything you said to me." He grinned
widely. "And I'll remember everything you did for me, and to me, today."

The Phantom raised himself on one elbow and reached out to trace Sean's
warm, flushed face. "I like you Sean. You're not as reserved and cold as
you try to paint yourself, and you've shown me that you are capable of
great love. I made love to you because I wanted to bring out that Sean, the
warm, caring Sean. You gave yourself to me and now it's time to give
yourself to Cory. Tonight, you'll make his eyes twinkle." He began moving
down Sean's body and positioned himself between Sean's legs. "Cory will
love you, Sean." He leaned forward and gently kissed the head of Sean's
soft penis. "You asked about us. The answer is that whenever you need a
friend, whenever the world is getting you down, I'll be there for you."

Sean sucked in his breath as The Phantom's gossamer-like lips caressed his
hardening penis. "What . . ."

"There is only one thing left to show you, Sean."

Sean began gasping as The Phantom began to take him across the river.

******

After another cleansing swim The Phantom and Sean dressed, and pushed the
small sailboat into the Strait. Sean was very quiet as they sailed north by
west, paying attention to trimming the boat, and thinking about what just
had happened to him. He was now more than a little in love with The Phantom
and could now understand the feelings the slim, handsome youth evoked in
his friends. It was more than sex, what had happened between them, it more
about caring, Sean realized. The Phantom cared so much about Cory that he
had deliberately made love to Sean, showing him, making him feel, making
him want, to return to Cory and make the love that he so deserved. The
Phantom had shown Sean what it was to be loved and now it was up to Sean.

After they tied up the small boat Sean reached out his hand to grasp The
Phantom's arm. "I'll never be able to repay you, Phantom . . ." he began,
his voice betraying the emotion, the gratitude he felt.

The Phantom smiled and shook his head. "Sean, you asked me to tell you what
to do. I could have talked for hours and you still would not have felt the
emotion, the feelings, you needed to feel. Now you know and now you have to
show Cory how much you love him."

They left the jetty and the Dockyard and as they neared the Mess Hall Sean
asked, "Will we be together again?"

The Phantom was nothing if not honest as he smiled and replied, "That will
be up to you, Sean. I won't deny that being with you was a pleasant
experience." He shrugged. "Perhaps after you've shown Cory what you are
capable of you might not want another man in your life." He turned and
looked at Sean. "I meant what I said before. If you need me, I'll be there
for you, just as I will be there for Cory, or Todd, or any of my friends. I
think Cory will understand your wanting to be with me from time to time. He
will not understand and he will never forgive you if you find another Jesse
or Brent."

Sean heard the seriousness in The Phantom's voice. "I don't want another
man, other than Cory, or you, in my life," he stated firmly. "Cory is the
love I've always wanted and needed. You are the friend I have always wanted
and needed. I think that I'll manage to be satisfied." He laughed
slowly. "And you have to consider that between you and Cory how would I
ever have time to find someone else?"

As he climbed the steps leading to the Mess Hall, The Phantom
turned. "Sean, someone once told me that there will be a time when you see
someone that intrigues you, that attracts you, and you will be tempted. If
the temptation is strong enough, the attraction deep enough, you'll go with
him. It won't mean that you don't love Cory. All it will mean is that for
one, brief, shining moment, you wanted to be with a very special person,
and it won't be sex, just as it won't be love. It will just be two human
beings attracted to each other."

"In a way, what we have, then?" asked Sean.

"Yes, I think so. But there is something else, Sean, and right now you
might not understand what I am about to tell you." The Phantom reached out
and placed a hand on Sean's slim shoulder. "Today you became my brother. We
did not fuck, we made love and in the loving we each of us gave a part of
himself to the other. In the giving I pledged to you my love and my
friendship and one day I may ask you to return that love and friendship."

Sean reached up and placed his hand over The Phantom's. His eyes shone with
the love he now felt for the slim, green-eyed boy. "You will never have to
ask. No matter what happens, Phantom, I will be at your side. No matter
what the reason, what course you choose to steer, I will be at your side."

The Phantom nodded and smiled. "This morning Cory called me stubborn. I
am. There are things happening that you do not know about. One day I shall
do what I think is right and I will act. I might do things that you do not
approve of."

Sean squeezed The Phantom's hand gently. "I already know, Phantom." The
Phantom started but said nothing. "You have an absolute refusal to
compromise or surrender. In many ways I am of the same school. I will not
compromise, nor will I surrender if I am in the right. I can only tell you
this: I will be there at your side."

"Then it is time, Sean." The Phantom took his hand off of Sean's
shoulder. "It is time for you to speak to Chef. Listen to what he tells
you. Keep an open mind and do not allow our friendship to influence your
decision in any way. All I ask is that you listen."

"I will," replied Sean earnestly.

"Good." The Phantom was about to lead Sean into the Mess Hall when he
turned and asked, "Do you have any money on you?"

"Well, yes," replied Sean, a quizzical look on his face. "I have five
dollars."

"Good, then before you make up your mind about what Chef offers you, give
him the money."

"Chef needs money?"

The Phantom shook his head. "No, but there are boys who do."