Date: Fri, 25 Jul 2003 06:29:04 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 21

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons
alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance
to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.

This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions,
customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to
remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back
then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the
bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not
continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right
and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also
contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or
hear any of you thumping bibles about. Write me, I'll be glad to give you
some excellent web sites. To all the anti-this and anti-that, Bible
Thumpers, Libertarians and the ACLU, the bankrupt and increasingly
irrelevant United Nations, please do not send me e-mails espousing whatever
cause you're touting. I have no time for claptrap.

As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual
nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If
your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are
not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature,
or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.

This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex
is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts
without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.

I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please contact me at my home
address: paradegi@rogers.com


The Boys Of Aurora: Chapter 21


In keeping with tradition the band played no military marches. There were
far too many of them to begin with and many were assigned to Army regiments
as Regimental Quick and Slow Marches. Show tunes, and light classical
music, were much safer, with no danger of a guest popping to attention and
singing the Regimental Pissing Song, or whatever, and as the soup course
was served the band segued from Gilbert and Sullivan into Offenbach,
playing a medley from Les Contes D'Hoffman.

As each course progressed The Gunner and Kyle were kept busy pouring the
wines. There was a fine old Amontillado sherry with the soup. With the fish
Chef had chosen a light Gottesfuss Spatlese Mosel. "Now remember, Kyle,"
The Gunner said at the beginning of the meal, "the idea is for the wine to
compliment the dish. Keep an eye on the boys and if one of them is supping
too much of the vino cut 'im off!"

The Phantom stood back, watching carefully as his stewards, with effortless
grace, served each course. He was amazed at their dexterity and
aplomb. Matt, at despair's portal only a few hours ago, was all smiles,
bowing without subservience and responding politely to every request for
more rolls, or water, and was magnificently polite to Todd.

What struck The Phantom, though, was the aura of classical beauty that the
soft candlelight lent to each of the boys. The music of the band seemed to
heighten that beauty and when the band left Offenbach behind and began
playing a soft, wonderful waltz by Joyce, Songe d'Automne, the soft light
and music seemed to bring out and highlight each boy's finest points. Even
Two Strokes, with his high, angular cheekbones, looked positively
dashing. Phillip Thornton, tall, handsome, and last year on The Phantom's
Visiting List, glowed with that special glow that only teenaged boys
possessed. The Twins, their shining hair as fine as spun gold, seemed
almost godlike in their handsomeness. The more The Phantom watched the more
he was intrigued. Every boy in the room, from his stewards to Andre, the
youngest seemed, to The Phantom, to exude an aura of masterful, wonderful,
maleness. It was as if God, or Providence, or whatever higher authority
there was had decreed that tonight the lesser gods of the Pantheon would
gather. Each boy seemed to add his own particular presence, his own
exquisite aura to the room and The Phantom then knew that as long as he
lived he would always remember this night, and this room, made glorious by
the mere presence of the boys of AURORA.

******

Cory, as had Todd, had been raised in the Grand Manner and had, as
etiquette commanded, chatted through the soup and fish courses with the boy
seated to his right, Petty Officer Eion Reilly, a boyish, pink-cheeked,
dark-haired Boatswain who was Buffer of 308 YAG. Good manners dictated that
once the main course had been served Cory should then devote his attention
to the person seated to his left, Chief Petty Officer Sean Anders, Squadron
Chief and a boy who had not spoken to Cory in three years and all but
crossed the parade square to avoid speaking to him.

During the sorbet course, and while the main course, Beef Wellington
accompanied by a truly magnificent Burgundy, a Chassagne-Montrachet
Morgeots, was being served, Cory took the opportunity to look up and down
the table. Todd, more beautiful in the candlelight than Cory thought
possible, was exchanging pleasantries with Jimmy Collyer, a baby faced
dark-haired boy who was an Engineering Petty Officer. Beside Jimmy, Greg
was positively animated as he talked with Gavin Thomas, whippet thin and
not at all bad looking. On the other side of Sean, Harry roared with
laughter as he and Andy shared outrageous lies about the sailing trip. As
the band began playing a silly little piece from an English musical, Glow
Worm, Cory put on his most charming smile. "Good evening, Mr. Anders."

******

Squadron Chief Petty Officer Sean Anders had been dreading this dinner and
had, at first, thought to decline the invitation to attend. On reflection,
and after a discussion with his Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Towsan,
however, Sean realized that he had no choice. As the Senior Chief of the
AURORA YAG Squadron he had to attend, and in the end he had donned his
starched white uniform and gone off to the Gunroom for the pre-dinner
drinks.

Much to Sean's surprise the thing he feared most had not happened. He was
greeted politely by Cory and offered a drink. Todd had shaken his hand and
asked after his health and the state of the squadron. Tyler had introduced
him to the American cadets and then left him to his own devices. Sean was
more than happy to stand to the side and watch as the cadets mingled and
chattered away. The lump in his throat gradually disappeared and his
nervousness drained away. He breathed a muted a sigh of relief when the
Duty Bugler appeared on the wooden porch of the Staff Barracks and sounded
Hands to Dinner.

Sean's nervousness returned when he discovered that he was seated next to
Cory. He had not expected this, fearing a confrontation and he was very
much relieved when Cory chattered away with Eion during the serving of the
first two courses. Sean picked at his food as he listened to Harry spin
outrageous dips, not one of which touched any of the three taboos at a Mess
dinner: women, politics and religion, and mentally tried to compose the
apology he felt he owed Cory. Three years ago Sean had made a disastrous
error in judgement and he hoped that tonight he would somehow be allowed to
apologize, to make amends. Sean had little hope that what he had ineptly
tried to kindle so long ago in Kingston would in any way spark any sort of
relationship - he was not as naive as some people thought he was and had
had two sexually and emotionally inadequate relationships with "civilians",
boys he had gone to school with. All he hoped for, all he wanted, was a
quiet chat, an opportunity to regain the friendship he had once had with
the boy he had secretly loved for three, long years.

What Sean feared, however, was that Cory would either ignore him, or worse,
in the artfully artless manner both Twins had, demolish him with icy
politeness. Sean had long ago learned that while neither Twin would ever
unintentionally cause offence, their cool politeness could slash as deep as
any scalpel.

Sean toyed nervously with his napkin. He had eaten very little though the
food offered was, from the little he had tasted, exquisitely prepared and
delicious, and drank even less, as he had a low tolerance for alcohol and
wanted nothing to befuddle his thinking processes. His heart skipped a beat
when he sensed movement to his right and heard Cory's soft, modulated
voice.

******

"Good evening, Mr. Anders."

Sean looked to his right, saw Cory looking at him, and smiled weakly. "Um,
yes, good evening." He sensed another presence and looked up. He saw the
steward - Nick? Or was it Billy? - hovering, and holding a large, silver
platter of Beef Wellington. Sean smiled warmly, which shocked Billy, and
picked up the silver serving fork and spoon, helping himself to a small
portion of the filet of beef, pate, mushroom and puff pastry confection.

As the steward moved off Sean shook his head slightly. God! He had been so
wrapped up in his thoughts he had not even noticed his half-eaten sorbet
being taken away and the silver service plate being replaced by a dinner
plate. He looked up again and saw another steward, whose name he had
forgotten, presenting the vegetables. Next, another steward, again
nameless, presented a gravy boat. Sean waved away the Madeira sauce. He'd
already had sherry, and some white wine. There was still red wine, and
champagne, and port to come and he was not going to drink any more than he
absolutely had to.

Sean ran his finger around the high, stiff collar of his white uniform
jacket, inwardly fuming at his ineptness. He was trying to impress Cory and
all he was managing to do was to look like some bare-assed Ordinary Cadet
fresh from the farm.

Cory, who was mildly amused at Sean's nervousness, pretended that nothing
at all untoward was happening. Formal dinners were daunting, even for the
initiated. Cory did hope, however, that Sean's nervousness had not been
brought on by proximity to himself. Cory had long ago understood, and
forgiven, Sean's juvenile attempt at seduction. He had also come to
understand why Sean would prefer avoidance to guilt by association. He
watched Sean picking absently at his food and then bent his head. "Not
hungry?" he murmured. "Chef will be most displeased if you don't at least
try to eat something."

Sean started, and then smiled nervously. "I'm . . . I am really not a big
eater."

"It shows," Cory said with a grin, hoping to break the ice with a small
joke. He bore Sean no ill will. "You're still a scrawny git."

Sean smiled thinly and sighed. "I eat anything that will not eat me, and I
cannot gain an ounce." He gave Cory a slight nod. "It's been a long time,
Cory." He smiled shyly. "Or should I call you Mister Arundel?"

Cory chuckled and shook his head. "Cory will do fine." He looked at
Sean. "Mr. Arundel is much too formal for two people who have shared
quarters together, even if it was over three years ago."

Sean coloured slightly, his naturally red face becoming a deeper hue of
red, almost matching the colour of his hair. "I remember," he said quietly.

"I remember as well," replied Cory. "I have some very pleasant memories of
our time together." Before Sean could reply he held up his hand. "Let's
keep those memories, shall we?" he asked graciously, effectively cutting
off any further discussion that could lead to remembering that morning in
Kingston. Cory looked up and down the table. "Everybody seems to be having
a good time."

Sean smiled at Cory, who seemed amiable enough, a little distant, but not
at all hostile, and a small weight fell from his shoulders. While Cory paid
attention to his dinner, Sean looked around the table, making sure that
none of his people was misbehaving. Before leaving the Dockyard, Sean had
held a short meeting of all the YAG cadets invited to the dinner. He was
all too aware that a very real animosity existed between his crews and the
boys of AURORA and warned the others that their conduct was to be above
reproach and that they were to take great care to do nothing that would
cause offence or reflect badly on their Squadron. The cadets, Chiefs and
Petty Officers though they might be, knew that Sean meant what he
said. Sean never threatened any specific punishment, but the boys knew what
would happen to them if they screwed up. As they left the berthing deck of
the Command YAG someone muttered "Iron Ass" under his breath.

Sean had pretended not to hear the epithet. He knew that he was respected
more for the Coat of Arms on the sleeves of his uniform jacket than for his
talent or for his abilities as a Chief. While he was competent and
intelligent, Sean was also a strict disciplinarian and cultivated a
stern-faced, humourless mien that brooked no nonsense, an attitude that did
not sit well with some denizens of the happy-go-lucky, laissez-faire world
of the Sea Cadets. Sean's insistence on proper conduct, proper dress at all
times, and absolute refusal to turn a blind eye to the lesser sins
committed by the YAG crews caused resentment, but there was not a sharper
unit in the Sea Cadets. He knew that the other cadets called him "Iron Ass"
behind his back. The epithet did not bother him. He had a job to do, and
was determined to do it, no matter what the other cadets thought.

His keen eyes scanned the table. Sean expected no trouble or misconduct,
but he had long ago learned that a sharp look at the right moment kept the
more exuberant lads in line. At first glance everything seemed to be
progressing splendidly. His boys were having a good time, chattering away
with the AURORA cadets, laughing and enjoying themselves.

Sean smiled and was about to return to his dinner when a movement caught
his eye. Across the table he could see Caspar Collins, a sharp, clean-faced
boy, chatting away with Sylvain, the arrogant Drum Major of the Bugle
Band. As Sean watched he saw Sylvain's hand slip beneath the table. Sean
raised an eyebrow and Caspar quickly whispered something to the
blond-haired French-Canadian boy. Sylvain's hand quickly appeared on top of
the table. Sean returned to toying with his food, secretly envious of
Sylvain. Caspar was a beauty, and . . . He dismissed such thoughts from his
mind. He could not allow the wall to crumble. He could not allow himself to
think of Caspar as anything but the Chief Boatswain's Mate of 312 YAG.

******

In the galley Chef was amazed at the smoothness of it all. Dinner was
progressing in a most satisfactory manner. The stewards were amazing, Randy
and Joey had managed not to jump each other's bones (Chef was no fool. He
knew what the little buggers did in the lounge); Sandro was happily
murmuring in Russian, the Litany was grumbling in counterpoint to the band
and Ray, who was seated between Sylvain and Nathan, seemed to be enjoying
himself royally, at least the four times that Chef had peeked through the
galley hatch to have a butchers at what was going on.

The washing up was going brilliantly. Chef made a mental note to thank
Harry for sending along the Sea Puppies. The boys made no complaint and
chattered and giggled away, washing and drying the plates and eating a
mountain of food. Chef, before he had just one more quick peek to see how
Ray was getting on, shook his head in wonder at how ten small, skinny Sea
Puppies could pack away the victuals. What Chef did not know, and The
Gunner did, was that while yes, at any given time there were ten Sea
Puppies cluttering up the galley, there were also 28 others hovering
outside. As one of their mates ate, then slipped outside, another took his
place. Chef was not feeding ten always-hungry boys. He was feeding 38!

It was easy enough to do. Chef, who never paid attention at the best of
times, and claimed never to be able to tell one member of the Litany from
the other, was much too busy to pay attention to the small horde of cadets
working all over the galley. It also helped that the Sea Puppies all looked
alike - more or less - and were all dressed alike. Each boy wore a crisp,
sharply creased white gunshirt, freshly ironed blue bell-bottoms, and
mirror-shined parade boots. They all squeaked in the same high-pitched tone
of boys who had not completed puberty, except Evan, whose testicles had
recently descended and his voice no longer squeaked and cracked, having
settled into a pleasant tenor. The Sea Puppies had also pestered Harry into
giving them haircuts, so that they all appeared to be the same, front,
back, and sides. Their subterfuge was compounded in that Chef was much too
engrossed in supervising the plating of the food for the courses, sipping
at his medicine, poking his head through the galley hatch, sipping at his
medicine, hectoring Sandro, threatening Randy and Joey, sipping at his
medicine and bitching just on principle, to see what was going on behind
his back.

The Gunner, who was slowly decanting a bottle of Taylor's Vintage Port,
laughed inwardly as a pair of Sea Puppies slipped out of the galley and
were quickly replaced by another pair - one of whom, Liam Anderson, had a
head of flaming red hair and bore no resemblance at all to the boy he
replaced.

Kyle leaned through the serving hatch and exchanged an empty decanter for a
full one. He grinned at The Gunner. "They don't half love the burgundy."

"Watch what they drink, Kyle. Father will be as sore as buggery if they get
blitzed," replied The Gunner. He saw a look pass across Kyle's face. The
Gunner glanced up and saw the reason for Kyle's frown. He winked at the
young officer as he said, "Matthew, that had better not be a bottle of port
that you are busily stuffing down the front of your trousers."

Matthew, who did not know that the highly polished, stainless steel door
above the serving hatch made an acceptable mirror, quickly stuck the bottle
of port back in the box that was sitting on the deck. "Uh, no, nothing like
that at all," he said quickly, wondering how in the hell The Gunner knew
that he was trying to nick a jug of plonk.

"Good." The Gunner slowly poured the ruby liquid into the decanter. "I
should hate to have to paddle your backside."

Matthew giggled nervously and quickly fled in the direction of the heads.

Kyle chuckled. "He's not going to sleep at all tonight, wondering how you
knew he was into the port."

The Gunner touched the side of his nose. "He'll never know my secrets." He
looked into the dining hall. "God, the boys look sharp, and Andy, hell,
Kyle, you must be proud of him. He does look a treat."

With a laugh Kyle nodded happily. "The jacket does look good on him."

"He looks very handsome," replied The Gunner. He looked at Kyle. "Have you
and Andy decided what you are going to do?"

Kyle, who had no secrets so far as The Gunner was concerned, nodded
slowly. "Andy's going home and going to university. He is also enlisting in
the Marine Reserve."

"And you?"

"Queen's, for the next three years. Maybe more, if I go for my
Masters. After that . . ." He looked quickly around. "After that, I just do
not know. Andy loves me, and I love him. He wants to be a Marine, I want to
stay in Canada."

"Sounds perplexing."

Kyle sighed. "It is. We're taking it one step at a time." His face
softened. "I do not want to lose him, Gunner. I also do not want to be a
camp follower."

The Gunner put the full decanter of port aside and reached for another
one. "Andy is good people. He has already lost one love. I have a feeling
he will want to hold on to the one he has now."

"And I want to hold on to him. I guess I will just have to become a camp
follower."

The Gunner remembered Joel using that same phrase. "It's a hard life,
Kyle. As a young bachelor, at least on paper, Andy will be moved from
station to station. Not everybody can handle it."

"I know, but, Gunner, I love him. He loves me. I'll handle living like a
nomad for as long as I can. I figure that I'll graduate from Queen's, get
my teaching certificate and teach high school. There is always a place for
a teacher."

"Living in the States, in a gay relationship, can be dangerous, Kyle. Have
you thought of that?"

Kyle nodded. "Yes, I have. I am not some starry-eyed prom queen, Gunner. I
know that we will have to be very careful. Andy knows that if we are ever
found out, and he is in the Marines when it happens, he will go to jail."

The Gunner pushed the full decanters of port toward Kyle. "Put those on the
table behind Tyler's place, will you, Kyle? Make sure that you keep an eye
on them, though. The stoppers have a habit of disappearing during Mess
Dinners."

"Sure. And Gunner?"

"Yeah?"  "You going to tell Chef what is going on?"

The Gunner turned and watched as Liam walked by holding a plate piled high
with Beef Wellington, carrots and potatoes. "Nope. If I did the old fool
would get all bent out of shape and start hooting and looking for his
spoon, or the cleaver. He will call the Puppies all sorts of horrible names
and threaten their little pink bums. Then, after they've gone all sorry,
sticking out their lower lips, and managing a crocodile tear or thirty,
wiggling and squirming like they all have to pee, they will tell him that
they could not help themselves, that his food is sooo good that they just
forgot themselves and gave in to temptation, and please, will he forgive
them?"

Kyle chuckled. "I can see it now. They will lay it on thick, and he will
puff up and before you know it he will have convinced himself that he is
the greatest Chef since Escoffier."

The Gunner grinned. "Of course he will! He will also convince himself,
after looking at their little pouting faces and seeing them sooo sorry,
that they are, after all, high-spirited boys, just doing what boys do, up
to no good and skylarking and after they butter him up Chef will strut and
he will see their boyish faces, announce that they are quite right and tell
them what intelligent boys they are, what wonderful boys they are, and then
he will start stuffing them full of something sweet. By the time the Sea
Puppies get through with Chef, and he gets through with them, it will be
happy families."

"Well, I hope he doesn't find that Black Forest cake I hid behind your
beer," returned Kyle. He smiled at The Gunner. "I was a Sea Puppy, once!"

"Really. No wonder I can't tell you from one of them!"

Kyle made a face and was about to move away when The Gunner motioned him
back, "Kyle, during the speeches, while the stewards are eating and Chef is
killing the Sea Puppies with sugar and kindness, what say you join me on
the front steps for a wet? There is something I would like to talk to you
about."

******

Cory, who could charm the birds from a tree if he had to, was positively
gracious with Sean. He bore the redheaded boy no animosity. He had seen the
look that Sean had given Caspar, but said nothing. If anything, Cory's
opinion of Sean had gone up a notch when he had seen Sean's look of
disapproval of Sylvain, a boy Cory did not care for at all. As the dinner
progressed Cory noticed that Sean seemed to be thawing. He even managed to
bring a smile to the boy's lips when he related a carefully expurgated tale
of the sailing trip.

"I would have loved to have been there, Cory," said Sean. "But, then, I am
not a part of your lot."

"Don't be silly," returned Cory. "You might not know it but you are a part
of my lot, as you call it. You just work with the YAGs is all. I'm sure you
and your lot have as much fun as we poor barracks stanchions do."

Sean smiled again. "Well, yes, we do. Still, we do spend a lot of time at
sea, and we do tend to forget that we are a part of AURORA, and not the
other way around."

At that moment the band returned to Gilbert and Sullivan and launched into
a brassy rendition of Poor Wandering One! The irony was lost on Sean, but
not Cory, who quickly hid his smile behind his napkin.

The dinner continued, with the Beef Wellington replaced by a green salad,
handed 'round by stewards from huge crystal bowls that Chef had found
mouldering somewhere. Most of the boys merely took a small portion and then
sat toying with the mixed greens. For all Chef's insistence that the cadets
needed roughage, salad was not a popular dish on any of his menus.

The stewards did not prolong the agony and quickly removed the plates of
uneaten or half-eaten greens, crumbed the table, removed all the errant
silverware, and replaced everything. Sean sat and watched as a Minton plate
was put in front of him, along with a dessert fork and spoon, and a fresh
napkin. He looked at Cory who whispered, "Pudding. Hold the dessert with
your fork and eat it with the spoon."

Sean nodded and looked at the menu. "What's 'Peches a l'Imperatrice?'"

"Peaches," replied Cory, demoting the confection of fresh peaches, vanilla
ice cream, apricot sauce, slivered almonds, glazed with a raspberry puree
and veiled in spun sugar, to little more than something you stole from the
neighbour's peach tree on a hot summer afternoon when you didn't have
anything better to do.

Sean tasted the dessert and his eyes widened. "There's booze in this!"

"I should hope so," replied Cory, eating a huge spoonful of the
dessert. "It's Kirsch. Chef is a traditionalist when it comes to food, and
French Cuisine is heavy on the booze." He smiled.  "But, not to worry. The
alcohol is all cooked out, so you don't have anything to worry about."

The Gunner and Kyle began their rounds, pouring Bollinger into the
champagne flutes. Cory, who had been stealing the sparkling, golden nectar
from his father's wine cabinet for years, preferred Mumm's. They ate in
silence, Sean casting occasional glances around the table, and at Cory.

When the last portion of dessert was eaten the stewards quickly cleared the
table, leaving only the flowers and table decorations. When that was done
they put a small port glass in front of each guest. The Gunner stood behind
Tyler. Kyle was behind Val, The Phantom behind Two Strokes, and Kieran
behind Jon. Each of them held two crystal decanters of port. Another
tradition was about to be played out. "What's happening?" Sean whispered.

"It's time to pass the port," replied Cory quietly. "After that, the
toasts."

The wine stewards placed the decanters in front of Tyler, Val, Two Strokes
and Jon, and then withdrew. Tyler looked around the table, removed the
stoppers from the decanters and held them up. Each of the other boys
followed suit. Tyler put the stoppers from his decanters in the pockets of
his jacket for safety. Stoppers were known to disappear mysteriously, thus
bringing the whole dinner to a screeching halt and a hefty fine - payable
in drinks afterwards - to the unlucky custodian. Two Strokes and Jon
followed Tyler's lead.

"The wine is ready to pass, Sir," intoned The Gunner with traditional
formality.

Tyler smiled his thanks and passed the first decanter on to Dirty Dave the
Deacon, filled his glass and passed the second decanter, again to his
left. A quick look in his copy of Customs and Traditions of the Royal
Canadian Navy told Tyler that the port is always passed to the
left. Another quaint tradition, which nobody knew the origins of, was that
the decanter was never lifted from the table. It was tipped forward and the
ruby liquid poured into one's glass, which one held approximately at table
level.

Jon, Two Strokes and Val followed Tyler's lead. The decanters passed around
the table and when every glass was filled Tyler retrieved the stoppers from
his pocket (they had not gone missing), raised them on high, watched while
the others followed suit, and then temporarily sealed the crystal
containers. There was a soft shuffling of paper from the musicians and then
silence. Tyler looked at Val and nodded imperceptibly. "Mr. Vice!"

Val stood and quickly scanned the piece of paper that had been resting in
his jacket pocket. As the Mess Vice-president he was required to make the
first toast and he had been scribbling notes to himself all afternoon.

"Gentlemen," began Val, "it is always a pleasure to see our American
cousins, and a very real honour that they could be with us here
tonight. Since 1959 American Sea Cadets have been visiting us, sharing, as
we do with them, a common heritage and a common love of the sea. They have,
in addition, cemented the ties that bind our countries, the United States
and Canada, together. Just as they, as Sea Cadets, have striven to continue
our mutual goals and to encourage all of us in our common ambitions, so too
have our countries, joined in brotherhood and friendship, striven to
maintain our friendship and trust in each other, united to further the
common good of all mankind. Both our countries consider each other a part
of their families.

"Like all families, we tend to disagree, but always, always, we have
remained brothers, and part of the North American family. We have
disagreed, as all families do, on several things, one of which was the form
of government we chose to live under. While we have differences, we are
basically the same, in form, and substance. Together we have joined hands
in defending the right, in promoting the freedoms of all people. While I am
a proud Canadian, I am also proud of my friendship with my American
brothers and I take even greater pride in asking you all to join me in a
toast." He raised his glass. "Gentlemen, the President of the United States
of America."

"Take only a sip, Sean, there are two more toast to go," muttered Cory,
rising as the band began thumping out "The Star Spangled Banner."

When the last note of the American anthem finished everybody sat down. Val
turned to Andy.  "Batter up," he muttered. "You're next, Marine."

Andy, who had not expected to make a speech - and was not prepared to make
a speech - gave Val a wounded look. "Thanks, Val."

"Oh, you're welcome," replied Val sweetly.

"Mr. Berg, will you make the Reply?" asked Tyler, ignoring Andy's nervous
glance.

Andy stood up, holding his glass tightly. He smiled thinly and, for a
moment, looked stricken.  He cleared his throat nervously, and then smiled
slowly. He was a United States Marine and a Marine was in control, and
never gave the impression that he was unprepared. "Two hundred years ago,
two peoples, separated by a common language, began the process of forming
two nations. One, Canada, kept the old ways, the old traditions. The
others, 13 squabbling, argumentative, distinct colonies, began the process
that ultimately ended in the formation of the United States of America.

"Strangely, while both countries went their separate ways, they always
remained, as Mr. Orsini has said, neighbours and, as he also said, part of
the American family. What he did not say was that in many ways we are the
same, only different. One of those differences has always been our chosen
form of government. Each form has its good points, and its bad points. Now,
I have always been led to believe that the American way is the best
way. This is true."  Andy lowered his voice slightly. "I am, however, about
to make a small confession. I have always admired, in no small degree, your
Head of State, who is above politics and who, while not perfect, has always
acted in the best interests of all her subjects, not just the minions and
interests of the party in power. Every morning we are asked, here in
AURORA, to be a safeguard unto a Gracious, Sovereign Lady. We are also
reminded, every time we pass through the doors leading to the Headquarters
Building, to fear God and Honour the Queen," he said, referring to the
Naval Crest above the door to the Quarterdeck. "Gentlemen, although I do
not fear God, I do fear his judgement. I also, as a true American, in this,
my country's Bicentennial Year, respectfully pay honour to a great lady,
Queen Elizabeth II." Andy raised his glass. "Gentlemen, will you please
rise and join me in a toast. The Queen."

The assembly rose and repeated Andy's last words. "The Queen!" Many, after
drinking, repeated the traditional "God Bless Her", which seemed always to
follow the toast, and the band played the first six bars of God Save the
Queen.  Jon and Glenn Beuscher, who were seated at the far end of the
table, sat down. Glenn groaned softly. "How much longer? I need to piss,
bad!"

Jon grimaced. "Thanks, Glenn, for reminding me that I have to piss like a
race horse." He leaned his head close to Glenn's. "Lean close and pull the
pocket of your pants open."

Glenn gasped and hoped that Jon was making a joke, and not about to piss in
his pocket.

Tyler tapped his gavel and looked toward the other end of the table where
Andre sat with Two Strokes. "I now call upon Monsieur de Noailles for the
Toast of the Day.

Andre, who had been prepped by Nicholas, knew by heart all seven of the
toasts of the day. He had decided, however, aided and abetted by Nicholas,
to add his own fillip to the occasion. He stood up somewhat unsteadily, and
forced back an enormous urge to giggle. "Messieurs, s'il vous plait
l'ascension et me joint dans le Toast du jour pour le lundi: A nos
bateaux!"

The boys rose and, for the benefit of the uneducated, several repeated the
toast of the day for Monday: To our ships. As he sat down Sean turned to
Cory. "What next?"

Cory sighed deeply, and tried to hide the pain he was feeling behind his
genitals. "Pee break, thank God!"

******

Rather than fight the scrum in the galley heads, where there were only four
urinals and toilets, Cory, Sean, Eion Reilly and Harry hurried from the
Mess Hall and scooted into the Cooks Barracks where they hurried into the
heads there. They stood side by each, peeing happily into the urinals that
lined one wall.

As he shook his penis free of the last drop of his urine, Cory glanced over
at Eion, who was standing transfixed, his small, neatly circumcised penis
with its rosy corona in his hand, staring in awe at the Pride, which Harry,
as usual, was displaying unabashedly. Even Sean, thus far tightly in
control, allowed his jaw to drop when he saw the Pride. Cory fought back a
giggle, put his own weapon back where it belonged and zipped up. As he
walked toward one of the sinks he could not help but wonder why guys just
had to check one another out like that. He had seen Sean's sideways glance
downward and knew exactly what the redheaded Chief was doing. Cory had done
the same, noting that Sean had changed quite a bit in three years. His
dick, while still very smooth and sleek, was thicker, a little longer, and
the smartly curving head of his penis was a deeper shade of pink than Cory
remembered.

After washing their hands the four boys returned to the Mess Hall steps
where they joined the others, some chatting, some having a much needed
smoke (smoking was not permitted at a Mess Dinner). The Gunner and Kyle
were off a ways, The Gunner smoking, Kyle listening intently to The Gunner,
who was letting him know that in the unhappy event that misfortune befell
Andy, there was an organization that would help, an organization about
which both Kyle and Andy might be interested in learning more.

After about ten minutes or so the diners were called back into the Mess
Hall. They resumed their seats, noting that the port decanters had been
recharged, and the band had downed instruments and disappeared into the
galley for their supper. When everyone was seated the port was passed and
the stewards bustled about, placing dessert plates, finger bowls and silver
cutlery in front of each guest, then coming around with bowls of fruit and
an assortment of cheeses.

Sean shook his head, refusing the fruit and the cheese. His stomach was in
knots from the nervousness he felt and he knew that if he attempted to eat
anything more he would just sick it right up. Cory helped himself to an
apple and some cheese, explaining to Sean that the food was offered with
the thought that the diner needed something to sop up the port, and avoid
getting too bombed.

When the stewards withdrew Tyler stood up and introduced the Commanding
Officer with a few well chosen, flowery phrases, giving the boys a
thumbnail biography of Father, and asking him to say a few words.

Father, who had thoroughly enjoyed himself, made a pretty little speech
about the origins of the Naval mess dinner. He explained that tradition
held that the right of Naval types to remain seated whilst drinking the
Loyal Toast had begun when King Charles II had, during a dinner in his
honour on board HMS ROYAL CHARLES, had bumped his head against the deckhead
when rising to reply to a toast, although this did not apply when there
were guests or a band present to play the National Anthem. He then went on
to mention the Toasts of The Day, some apropos, some somewhat dated, such
as the toast for Thursday: "A bloody war, and a sickly season," which was,
in his opinion, a self-seeking plea for promotion. He himself preferred the
toast for Sunday, which was "Absent friends," although the toast for
Saturday, "Our Wives and Sweethearts," came a close second. He did not add
that this was usually followed by a plea to heaven: "May they never meet."

"As if we have to worry about either of them," Fred muttered to Chris, who
was seated to his right.

Chris looked down the table at Jon, who was, he hoped, his life's partner
and sweetheart. "Speak for yourself," he returned, leaving Fred with a
bewildered, curious look on his face.

Father rambled on for another five minutes and then realized that he had
been running on. He quickly thanked Tyler and all his Chiefs and Petty
Officers for a wonderful evening and closed in the hope that a Chiefs Mess
Dinner would, in the fullness of time, become a traditional event in HMCS
AURORA.

Tyler stood up, thanked the Commanding Officer, and then made a short
speech. As he would later tell Val, he had said what was in his heart that
morning, and had decided to keep his remarks at the dinner simple, with no
mention of the deep, personal feelings he held for all the boys of
AURORA. He thanked his guests for attending, and expressed his pride and
satisfaction in all the boys present, assuring them all that he would sail
with them. As Tyler was finishing he looked over and saw Chef, with Sandro,
hovering in the galley doorway. He felt a movement and turned to see The
Gunner standing behind him, holding a tray, on which were a decanter and
four glasses. Tyler grinned and nodded. The Mess Dinner had one more act to
play out.

"Gentlemen," Tyler began, "I would be remiss if I did not thank the people
who made this dinner possible. Without their hard work and expertise, we
would not have dined royally." He gestured for Chef and Sandro to come to
the table. "Where's Phantom?" he asked Chef.

"Eating. Sure and the poor lad is that starved," replied Chef, whose eyes
never left the decanter on The Gunner's tray.

"Well, he better get his skinny behind out here. Without him this dinner
would never have been the success it was." Tyler looked at Sandro. "Please,
Sandro, ask Phantom to join us."

Sandro went into the galley and returned with The Phantom, who was
hurriedly wiping his lips with a napkin with one hand and buttoning his
jacket with the other. He was also muttering under his breath. Finally, he
had a chance to park his ass in a chair, and eat something, and before he
ate two mouthfuls he had to come out again! Hell and sheeit!

"As I was saying," said Tyler as Phantom joined the small party, "without
the hard work of the cooks and stewards, no mess dinner can ever be held."
He smiled and looked at The Phantom. "We are not allowed to offer a
gratuity, but we are allowed to express our thanks in another way." He
turned and took the tray of drinks from The Gunner. "Will you please join
me in a drink?" He offered the tray to Chef, who smacked his lips in
anticipation. Glen Fiddich, 25-years old, was never to be refused.

"Gentlemen, my deepest thanks and appreciation." Tyler raised his glass and
joined The Gunner, Chef, The Phantom and Sandro in the final drink of the
evening. As The Gunner and the others returned to the galley, the decanter
of scotch safely in The Gunner's hand, Tyler turned to his
guests. "Gentlemen, this concludes our Mess Dinner. Thank you all for
coming, and please, join me in the Gunroom for a small bit of hospitality."

******

About half of the boys, most of them from the YAG Squadron, decided to
forego the after dinner drinks in the Gunroom. Cory, as he walked toward
the Staff Barracks, Sean at his side, noticed that Caspar Collins was
walking with Sylvain, and that Greg was now chatting animatedly with Jimmy
Collyer. He smiled, wondering just what sort of friendships would spring up
tonight.

In the Gunroom the collective hidden stashes had been brought out. The
Phantom had added a bottle of Drambuie, and a bottle of Amaretto, and The
Gunner had sent 'round a bottle of Courvoissier. "I thought we were not
supposed to get drunk," said Sean, eyeing the array of bottles.

"One drink does not make a drunkard make," replied Cory. He poured a glass
of cognac for Sean, and one for himself. "Here, at least look like you are
enjoying yourself."

"I am enjoying myself," returned Sean. "I just do not show it."

"So I noticed." Cory looked around the Gunroom. Surprisingly, Harry and
Todd were not together. They were mingling, as the saying went, greeting
the other cadets. Sylvain, the dirty swine, was still trying to put the
moves on Caspar, and Greg was pretending not to be putting the moves on
Jimmy. Cory noticed that Nicholas and Andre were conspicuous by their
absence, and then remembered that Nicholas had stayed behind to take
possession of his flags and pennants, which meant that he and Andre would
be putting the bunting away in the Flag Locker - together.

Actually, no one lingered too long. Tyler had been granted an extension of
half-an-hour, until midnight, before everyone had to be in bed, but few
were inclined to overstay their welcome. Tomorrow was a workday, with a
heavy morning, including a special parade. The first to leave were Stuart
and Steve. Sylvain, who had been disappointed in his quest for some
company, followed them. Caspar, the Squadron Chief's look at the Mess
Dinner burned into his soul, collected Eion and, after making their number
to Tyler, they left, going back to their boats, and to bed.

Sandro and The Phantom, ordered by Chef to get out and take a break, came
into the Gunroom. The Phantom joined Ray, who was impatiently waiting for
Kevin to put in an appearance. Sandro helped himself to a drink of vodka
and stood to one side, watching for a while, and then walking over to where
Nathan was standing. Nathan's last name was Berman and Sandro, mistakenly,
thought that the American boy was Jewish and was looking for a kindred
spirit.

Sean finished his drink and turned to Cory. "Thank you, Cory, I've enjoyed
myself this evening. I shall never forget tonight."

"Leaving so soon? The night is still young," returned Cory.

Sean nodded. "I like to make sure that everything is shipshape before I
turn in. It's close to midnight, you know."

Cory glanced at his watch. "So it is." He grinned. "At least you can hit
your rack. I have to wait until this crowd goes home." He leaned closer to
Sean. "From the look of it, you don't have to wonder where Caspar will
spend his night." He grinned wickedly. "Mind you, you might want to look
the other way if Jimmy is a little late reporting back on board."

Sean smiled thinly. "You noticed, I take it?"

Cory nodded. "Greg is not all that subtle." He coughed delicately. "Nor was
Sylvain."

"No, they were not," agreed Sean. He looked at Cory. "I try not to involve
myself in the personal lives of my subordinates. What Caspar does in his
off time is his business. Nor do I object to Petty Officer Collyer spending
some time with Chief Carroll."

This surprised Cory. He thought that Sean had the makings of a first rate
homophobe. "Then what do you object to?"

"I object to Petty Officer Collins allowing himself to be felt up at a Mess
Dinner!" replied Sean sternly, "and I intend to make him fully aware of my
objection."

"You do know that Jimmy and Greg just might end up . . ."

Sean shrugged. "They had the courtesy to remember where they were, and
where they are now. Chief Beauharnaise . . ." he spat out Sylvain's last
name, " . . . and Petty Officer Collins did not. I cannot do anything about
Chief Beauharnaise. I can, and will, do something about Petty Officer
Collins."

Cory did not really know what to say. On the one hand, he agreed with
Sean. Sylvain had been out of line, as had Caspar. On the other hand . . .

As if he were reading Cory's thoughts, Sean held up his hand. "Please do
not misunderstand. I am aware that at times certain . . . relationships
develop. It happens and I really have no problem with that."

"You don't?" asked Cory, genuinely surprised at Sean's attitude. Cory had,
from the rumours and stories about him, thought of Sean as a prim,
unbending martinet, a straight-laced, grim faced puritan who would never
countenance improper conduct of any description.

"No. What I have a problem with is those relationships being formed in an
improper setting, at an improper time," replied Sean coldly. "Frankly, if
Caspar wants Sylvain to fuck his brains out, that is fine with me. He must,
however, learn that his trysts are not begun in full uniform, at a Mess
Dinner!"

Cory raised his eyebrows. It appeared that at least a part of his initial
opinion of Sean Anders was confirmed. He said nothing, however. Caspar was
a YAG crewman, and his conduct, trysting, or whatever, were none of Cory's
business. He would not get involved.

Sean looked at his watch. "Well, if you will excuse me, I will be off. It
was good of you to invite me back, Cory. I appreciate it."

"You're always welcome," replied Cory. "I'm here until the end of the
month. Perhaps you will invite me down to your boat." Cory did not expect
Sean's reply. He had only been making conversation, issuing an invitation
out of courtesy, thinking that Sean would politely refuse, leave, and never
set foot in the Gunroom again.

Cory was taken aback when, much to his surprise, Sean did the
unexpected. "Would you like to come down to the boat, tonight?" he asked
with a thin smile.

"Now?"

Sean nodded. "Yes, now. As much as it might surprise you I am not quite the
prick you think me to be. I also have a bottle of vodka hidden away." He
looked around the Gunroom. "You said yourself, you cannot go to bed until
this crowd clears out. I will not go to bed until all my people are back."
He smiled. "Including Jimmy."

Cory hesitated. He was under no illusions that anything might happen
between him and Sean. Sean apparently had gotten over his momentary lapse
into horniness three years ago and was uninterested in anything that even
approached sex. Which was fine with Cory. Spending a few minutes down in
the Dockyard, talking to Sean, might prove interesting. He also might have
a chance to talk Sean out of reading the Riot Act to Caspar. "Okay. I have
to change, though."

"As do I," replied Sean. "In half an hour?"

******

"Well, that's me done," said Stuart as he carefully hung the freshly ironed
white uniform in his locker. "How are the boots coming?" he asked Steve.

Immediately after their return to their own Mess both cadets had stripped
off their white uniforms and, dressed only in their tighty-whiteys and
gunshirts, set to work. As always, they divided the work. Steve hated
ironing, but was a deft hand with a polishing rag, a can of shoe polish,
and a pair of boots. Stuart, who had been looking after his uniforms
himself almost from the day that he had joined the Sea Cadets, enjoyed
ironing and he had the knack for it. He could take a wrinkled gunshirt, a
can of spray starch, and a hot iron and turn the garment into something
that looked as if it had never been worn. Together they rivalled the Twins
when it came to the sharpness of their uniforms. Steve held up the boot
that he had been polishing. "Almost done." He gave the toe of the boot
another wipe with the soft cloth and held it up again. "Behold, a thing of
beauty, even if it is the size of a lifeboat on the Queen Mary.

Stuart told Steve to piss off. Could he help it if he had big feet? He
reached into his locker, found his blue shorts, and then stepped into
them. He exchanged his gunshirt for a clean white T-shirt and then sat on
his bunk, pulling on his running shoes.

"You going somewhere?" asked Steve as he put away the polishing gear and
put Stuart's shined boots beside the bunk.

Stuart shrugged. "Thought I would go for a walk."

Steve grimaced. "At this time of night? Bed would be better!"

"I have some things to think about," replied Stuart. He reached over and
patted Steve's bare knee. "I'm not tired, and I want to go out for while,
okay?"

Steve sat on his bunk and looked at Stuart, who was his best friend. While
they had known each other for only five years, Steve thought it a day
wasted when he did not see Stuart. They both lived in small towns in
southern Manitoba, Stuart in a small farming community, Robinson's Mills,
where his father owned and managed the local IGA supermarket, while Steve
lived 25 miles away in the much larger town of Norwood, which was on a
lake, and had a thriving tourist industry. Steve's dad owned the marina and
campgrounds. He was also the principal of the district high school.

Both boys had met in their freshman year in high school. They had attended
their local elementary schools until then but, as was customary in rural
areas, the school district could support only one high school, which was in
Norwood. Stuart at first had ridden the bus from Robinson's Mills to
Norwood. On his sixteenth birthday he'd been gifted with an ancient pickup,
which after much work, ran like a top. Stuart drove it everywhere, more
often than not to Norwood, where he would spend much of his time with
Steve.

Both towns supported a Sea Cadet Corps. Stuart was Coxswain of his Corps in
Robinson's Mills; Steve was Chief Boatswain's Mate of his Corps in
Norwood. As their paths crossed frequently, in school and, later, during
Sea Cadet activities, both boys had become firm, fast, friends. Steve was
privy to all Stuart's secrets, or at least thought he was. Stuart knew just
about everything there was to know about Steve, or at least thought he did.

"It's the school thing, isn't it?" asked Steve presently. He knew that
Stuart, who was somewhat of a mathematical genius had, through the
instigation and with the help of Steve's father, been offered an academic
scholarship to Harvard; a sports scholarship to the University of Manitoba
and, to add to his dilemma, an uncle had offered to pay the shot if he
would attend his old university, which happened to be in Oxford, England,
and not Mississippi, as Steve jokingly insisted. Stuart had been struggling
with the decision for months, and annoying Steve about it almost as long.

Stuart shook his head slowly. He had more or less made up his mind about
where he would go to university. He had already written his father and
asked that he send the papers on to Harvard. What he was trying to figure
out were his feelings toward Steve, feelings that he had been struggling
with for a long time. This morning's meeting in the Gunroom had set him to
thinking more about his relationship with Steve, and about his feelings
about himself. When he had told the other boys that he might be gay, or
might not be, Stuart had been telling the truth. He just was not sure.

Like many boys before him, Stuart had slept with another boy. He had been
14, and while they had not fucked, they had had sex, sucking each other's
dicks and, Stuart admitted, thoroughly enjoying the process. He had never
repeated the experience. He lived in a small town and he knew what would
happen to him if even that small, schoolboy episode became public
knowledge.

Although he had never looked for another such experience, Stuart had never
forgotten what he and the boy had done, and more and more he found himself
thinking of what it would be like to have another boy's cock in his
mouth. During the day he was a normal, all-around, Canadian boy, popular
with his friends, a good athlete, and outwardly interested in girls. He
had, all through high school, dated the local girls. Stuart had never done
anything with any of his dates other than heavy petting. Small town gossips
were all too ready to point fingers at a "bad" girl, so while all the boys
bragged about "getting it" from their girlfriends, everybody knew that the
most they ever really got was a hand job in the back seat of their daddy's
car, if they were lucky and that getting laid was wet dream material,
period.

During the night Stuart had different thoughts. He would lie in his bed,
mentally wondering which of the boys on the high school swim team were
getting it on. And did the guys on the football team go to bed and actually
sleep when they were staying in motel rooms on an away game trip, or did
they . . .?

Sometimes, hell, all the time, Stuart would beat off with the image of a
boy in his mind, his hand pumping rapidly as he dreamed of doing the same
thing to this boy, or that. More and more he had been getting turned on by
the images of his schoolmates, which was bad enough, but what disturbed him
was that more and more one particular boy was appearing in his fantasies:
Steve. In fact Stuart had been dreaming of Steve that morning when Tyler
had come into his Mess and gifted him with Little Big Man. He also
remembered that in a childish fit of frustration he had thrown his boot at
the object of his dreams.

The trouble was, Steve had never once mentioned anything about sex, at
least not gay sex. He never expressed any comment, one way or the other,
and had never given any indication that he would be interested in a
relationship. Steve was a short, masculine, fireball of a boy who did not
have a feminine bone in his body. In school he always seemed to be on the
make for some young lovely and, other than the normal, locker room
nonsense, had never expressed a gay word or thought. When they slept over
their pillow talk had been about sports, mostly, and when they finally
finished chattering Steve kept firmly to his side of the bed, Stuart to
his. Neither had tried anything, had never touched each other, had never
played "If you show me yours, I'll show you mine."

Another thing that had been bothering Stuart was the kiss he had given
Steve on the night of their wet down. Stuart still could not understand why
he had done it, and did not know who had been more surprised, him or
Steve. He did know that the kiss had started something deep within him to
flare up. Stuart wanted to be with Steve, all the time, and he wanted to
kiss his best friend again and again.  "It's not the school, Steve," said
Stuart as he walked toward the door. "I just want to do some thinking."

As he was walking toward the far end of the parade square he heard running
footsteps and turned to see Steve running toward him. Steve stopped running
and threw Stuart a shit-eating grin. "I can't sleep, either."

Stuart was tempted to argue. Steve was the reason that he wanted to be
alone for a while. He said nothing, however. Once Steve got a bee up his
ass about something nothing could make him change course. "I'm just going
down to the beach. I feel like watching the ships go by," Stuart said as he
began walking again.

"Sure. It's a nice night and sitting on the beach with you is better than
lying in bed listing to the wankers," replied Steve.

"They're only doing something you do every night before you go to sleep,
and every morning when you think everybody is asleep," returned Stuart with
a grin. "The way you go at it all you're going to get out of it is balls
that look like prunes!"

"Talk it up, MacDuff," retorted Steve. "I admit to doing it. You lie there
matching me stroke for stroke and pretending that nobody knows what you are
doing! I ain't deaf, you know."

As they walked by the Canteen they saw that the lights in the laundry were
still on. Through the windows they could see Nicholas, and Andre, sitting
close together. They seemed to be holding hands. Stuart expected Steve to
say something, but he did not and they walked on, crossing the patch of
grass that separated the parade square from the beach and, just above the
high water mark, settled down. Stuart drew his legs up and propped his
elbows on his knees. Steve lay down, and propped himself on one elbow.

For a long while Stuart stared into the darkness, listening to the soft
sighing of the water. It was a very pleasant evening. There was a warm,
yellow, half-moon, and the dark sky was studded with bright, twinkling
stars. A cool breeze blew in from the Strait and he was feeling very
comfortable. He turned to Steve. "This reminds me of home, you know?"

Steve nodded. "A quiet night under the stars. All we need is a camp fire."

"Yeah."

"In a way, I'm going to hate to go home," offered Steve, giving Stuart an
opening that might lead to him talking about what was bothering him.

"Me too," replied Stuart. "Funny, I didn't want come here this year. Now
that I have, I'm going to miss this place. I've really had a good time this
year."

Steve rolled onto his back and stared at the starry sky. He started
chuckling. "It's been fun. What was real fun was the sailing trip. No one
back home will ever believe that we actually spent a weekend on the high
seas and deserted islands, naked, with a whole bunch of other guys, also
naked."

"Getting promoted was good, too," said Stuart. "And getting our new
uniforms. I can't wait for my Mom and Dad to see me in mine. They'll flip!"

"So will my folks," replied Steve. "That will be great, but what will be
even better is when I put on my new white uniform and walk onto the Drill
Deck back home."

Stuart agreed. "There will be a few noses out of joint in my Corps." He
shrugged indifferently. "Not that I care. I'll be home, and that's what
matters."

"Home. Yeah. I'll miss this place, but . . ." Steve sat up, stretched his
legs and crossed his ankles. " . . . I won't miss getting up every morning
at zero-six-double-bubble. Or trying to sleep at night with 20 other guys
huffing and puffing while they stroke their meat!"

Stuart snickered. "Or waking up to a room full of morning woodies. I am
that fed up with seeing guys walking around with their underpants hanging
from the ends of their dicks."

"Those who have boners big enough to hang their briefs from the end of
their dicks, you mean," said Steve with a grin. He looked pointedly at
Stuart's crotch.

Stuart saw the look. "Speak for yourself, fool. I've got nothing to be
ashamed of. Now, if you want to compare dick sizes, Tiny . . ."

Steve quickly averted his gaze. He had not meant for Stuart to see him
perving over his crotch. Damn! For five years he had deliberately avoided
any gesture, any hint, that he wanted Stuart for more than just a buddy. He
did not want Stuart to know how he really felt about him, how he wanted
him. Damn! He had to divert attention from himself. "That's what some of
the guys call Mike," he said quickly. "Tiny, because . . ."

"I know why," said Stuart. "Too many guys make fun of Mike because he's got
a small dick." He lay back and put his hands behind his head. "Mike is an
all right guy, Steve."

Steve lay down and looked at Stuart, sighing inwardly. "I know Mike is a
nice guy," he said presently. "It's just that he's, well, he's been acting
funny."

"Really," Stuart turned his head and looked into Steve's eyes. Gosh, Steve
was beautiful. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, this morning for starters! I mean, would you ever think that Mike
would do something like that?"

"Maybe he got tired of guys making fun of him."

"Okay, but there have been other things as well." Steve resisted the urge
to move closer to Stuart and continued on. "He's been really happy lately,
always smiling, and joking. Mal told me that Mike's stopped posing in front
of the mirror and that he's not shaving his pubies. He has even put in a
chit asking 'Permission to Grow'."

"Grow a beard?"

"No, just a 'tache," qualified Steve. "Also, Mike is awfully tight with
Phillip Adean as well. Mal says that they're like always together."

"So?" Stuart gave Steve a hard glance. "Phillip is Mike's assistant. Why
wouldn't they spend a lot of time together?"

Steve pulled back a bit. "I didn't mean anything, Stuart. All I'm saying is
that they're awfully close, is all. So are Nicholas and Andre. You had to
have seen them in the laundry. They were holding hands and . . ."

"Steve, shut up, now!" Stuart sat up abruptly. It was about time that Steve
learned a few facts of life. "Nicholas and Andre are lovers. I would not be
surprised if Mike and Phillip are more than just good friends."

"Hell, Stuart, Mike and Phillip . . . they're . . . guys!"

Stuart resisted the urge to give Steve a good shake. "You cannot tell me
that you haven't heard of two guys fooling around with each other?" he
asked harshly, his tone giving vent to his insecurities.

Steve swallowed hard and nodded his head slowly. "Yeah . . . but . . ."

Stuart saw the hurt look in Steve's eyes and put his arm around his
friend's shoulder. "Look, Steve, guys sometimes fool around. It happens all
the time."

"Have . . . you . . .?" Steve was starting to feel very warm, and very
pleasant. This was the first time that Stuart had ever shown him any
physical attention, and Steve loved it.

"Fooled around with a guy? Yeah, once." Fuck, did Steve feel nice. "Have
you?"  Steve, basking in Stuart's warmth, and not wanting the moment to
end, rested his head on Stuart's shoulder. "No, well, not really." He
couldn't help himself. He looked down at Stuart's crotch. His eyes widened
a bit. He was no expert on hardons but unless Stuart had a Browning 9-mil
stuffed down the front of his briefs . . .

"What do you mean, 'not really'? Either you did, or you didn't."

Steve, fascinated at the growing bulge in Stuart's shorts, licked his lips,
which had suddenly gone very dry. Could Stuart be . . . No, Stuart did not
have a gay bone in his body. Steve heard Stuart ask again if he had ever
fooled around with another guy. He looked at Stuart and his mind raced. How
do you tell your best friend that in the not too distant past you had lain
back and let some guy give you a blow job? And not just any blow job, but a
mind numbing, all systems shut down blow job? Steve really did not want
Stuart to know about that particular episode, which was not really fooling
around with a guy because, Steve reasoned, he had never fooled around
all. He just accepted the gift being given him. Which did not, to Steve's
reasoning, mean that he had 'fooled around'. It took two to tango . . .and
Steve had not tangoed! He wracked his brain and remembered something that
had happened to him, a long time ago. He took a deep breath. "Well, I think
maybe I did. I didn't touch his dick, or anything, and he never really
touched mine but . . ."

"Steve, come on. There's nothing to be ashamed of if you did fool around."

"It's just that . . . Stuart, I fired my load, but the other guy, he
. . . he never knew that I did. He never knew what was happening because he
was sound asleep."

Stuart gave Steve a disbelieving look as he asked, "What? How did you
manage that?"

Steve giggled. "I know it sounds confusing, but if I tell you, you'll
understand."

"Okay, tell me." Stuart moved his arm from Steve's shoulder to his waist.

The movement was not lost on Steve. He snuggled a bit closer to the Buffer
and daringly he placed his hand on Stuart's hard, firm chest as he said,
with a slight, nervous chuckle, "Just after I joined the Corps, in
February? Yeah, February, we had a joint Winter Indoctrination Exercise
with your Corps. You'd gone off to Winnipeg for some sort of a swim meet,
so you didn't go."

Stuart thought a moment. "Yeah, February, of 1971. You went to Camp
Wainwright."

"Yeah. We took the bus from Norwood and got in at around 2000 on the Friday
night," began Steve as he enjoyed the sudden, unexpected intimacy of
Stuart's arm around his waist. "We drew our gear and went out into the
boonies and pitched our tents. It wasn't too cold, but it was snowing. We
had arctic sleeping bags, and we were all pretty cozy and snug in our
tents. It wasn't bad at all."

"It can be like that," agreed Stuart. "Is that where you might have fooled
around, in the tent?"

Steve shook his head. "No. The next morning, when we got up, it had stopped
snowing but, Jesus, Stuart, it was cold! Colder than a witch's tit!" Steve
lowered his hand slowly until it came to rest just above the waistband of
Stuart's shorts.

"It's prairie weather. Nice one minute, a blizzard the next. Wainwright is
in the cold belt." Stuart could feel Steve's gentle touch on his
stomach. He said nothing, however, although he began to wonder just how far
either of them was prepared to go.

Steve sneaked another glance at Stuart's crotch. He saw that Stuart's bulge
had gone down. Not much, but it seemed to have shrunk a little. Steve
decided that what was sauce for the goose . . . He slipped his arm around
Stuart's back. "Anyway, as the day went on, and we were out snow shoeing
and tramping through the bush, one of the officers noticed that the top of
one kid's ear had turned white. Off they go to the MIR and sure as fuck,
the pecker checker says that the kid's ear is frost bitten. EVERYBODY goes
to panic stations and the next thing I know I am in a truck heading for
some private Regimental club. Its pretty nice inside, and while we were
unloading the truck the Base RSM shows up and starts yelling at our CO
about him keeping minors out in such cold. I thought the poor Old Man was
going to have a heart attack!"

"Regimental Sergeant Majors can be a pain, sometimes."

"This guy was. He really read the Riot Act to the CO and then he told us
that we had to sleep in this club place because it was too cold for us to
stay outside. He also told us that we had to stay there because there was a
real training exercise going on and that all the barracks were full."

Stuart laughed. "Meaning that the Sea Cadets could pig it in the club,
sleeping on the deck, while real men slept in bunks."

"It wasn't too bad, Stuart. There were some couches, which the senior hands
grabbed, but there was a huge fireplace and the place was warm. Warm, hell,
it was like a hundred degrees in there! The heating system was on, and the
fireplace was blazing!"

"At least you were warm!"

"Yeah, well, that too. Anyway, we got bussed down to the Mess for dinner,
and then they let us fool around in the Dry Canteen. Around ten, I guess,
we were all bussed back to the club where we laid out our sleeping bags and
got ready for bed. Off come the parkas, then the uniforms, then the long
johns and all the guys were just in their underpants 'cause there was no
way you could sleep with anything more on. All I kept on were my Jockeys
and I still thought that I was going to sweat my bag off! It was like, like
fucking hotter than an old whore's crotch!"

"You do have a way with words," said Stuart, breaking into a grin.

"It's a gift," replied Steve returning the grin. He was enjoying sitting
here on the beach, with Stuart's arm around him. "Anyway, there we all
were, 40 guys, packed into this room, lying there side by each. Like I
said, we all had a sleeping bag, but those things were built for the
arctic, not a fuckin' boiling hot room. I couldn't stand the heat, so I
just lay on top of my sleeping bag and tried to go to sleep. I was sort of
drifting off, you know the way you do, when all of a sudden I feel
something on my crotch."

Stuart pulled Steve back with him as he lay down. He made no excuse for
holding Steve in his arms, nor did Steve make any objection. "So, you did
fool around!"

"No I did not!" insisted Steve. "I looked down and saw that this guy who
was sleeping next to me, a real jerk who I didn't like, he had his hand on
my parts!"

"He was putting the moves on you, then?" asked Stuart. He closed his eyes
and wondered why he had never noticed before how wonderful Steve smelled.

"No!" Steve, whose closeness to Stuart had given him a very warm feeling in
the referenced parts, reached down and adjusted them. He tried not to let
on to Stuart that at the moment the only thing between them and a raging
hardon was some cotton briefs, cotton gym shorts, and a prayer. "The guy
had rolled over in his sleep and his hand landed on my dick and balls,"
Steve continued.

"You didn't feel him back?"

"No," returned Steve indignantly. "I didn't like him in the first place,
and he never washed half the time, and smelled. I was not about to touch
whatever he had lurking in his briefs."

Stuart could not contain his laughter. He pulled Steve closer and gave him
a hug, pretending not to notice the bulge that rubbed against his
thigh. "How in the hell can a guy's dick 'lurk' in his underpants?"

"You know what I mean," said Steve. He returned Stuart's hug. "I knew that
his dick was pooching out his panties, I just didn't want to find out what
else was crawling around his unwashed pubes!"

When Stuart stopped laughing he lay quietly, with Steve in his arms. "So,
you have never done anything with another guy." Silently Stuart groaned in
disappointment. If Steve had never willingly fooled around, then chances
were that he was not about to start now. Stuart resigned himself to being
allowed to lie here, just holding his friend. He was very surprised when
Steve continued speaking.

"Well, not exactly," said Steve in reply to Stuart's question.

"Steve, you really are the most exasperating person I know! Did you, or did
you not fool around?"

"I don't know, because what I did was, well, I was lying there, with some
guy's hand on my balls, so I did what I think any horny, normal,
13-year-old and a bit young stud would do!"

"What's that, faint?"

"Piss off, Stuart, you started this so you can hear me out!"

"Okay, carry on."

"Thank you," said Steve with a short sniff. "What I did was, I jacked up! I
wasn't very big back then - and if you say one word about the size of my
dick I'll go back to the barracks - and everything, my dick and balls, were
covered by this guy's hand. There I was, lying there, with some guy, who I
barely knew, with his hand on my parts and his bad breath blowing in my
ear. My dick was hard but this guy, he's not doing anything to it, not
grabbing it or anything. His hand was just, like, well lying there. I was
scared to death that this turkey might wake up and I was wondering what the
fuck I was supposed to do? Do I wake him up? Do I let him sleep?"

"Now this is getting interesting. What did you do?" asked Stuart, wondering
just how far Steve was prepared to go before things got out of hand.

Steve could feel Stuart's erection pressing against him and he wondered
just how far Stuart was prepared to go before things got out of hand. Steve
was enjoying himself, however, and was not about to let the opportunity
slip by. With his free hand he reached around and rested it on Stuart's
firm butt. Surprisingly, to Steve, Stuart rolled on his side, and pushed
his arm under Steve's head, so that his head was resting on Stuart's arm.

"I was horny," said Steve with unintended bluntness. "I'd started beating
off about a month before I joined the Cadets, and I loved it. What guy
doesn't?" He slowly massaged the firm, hard flesh of Stuart's ass. Stuart
groaned softly but made no move away. "I hadn't beat off for two days,
dammit," Steve continued, "and I was used to doing it at least three or
four times a day."

"You sound like Thumper," replied Stuart. He moved his hand and reached
down to adjust his throbbing erection, in the process brushing his hand
against the slim, trim, lump in Steve's shorts.

A bolt of electricity coursed through Steve, and he bit his lip, trying to
remain under control. "Do you want to hear the rest of it, or not?" he
asked with pretended indifference. He pushed his hips just a little closer
to Stuart's.

Stuart, his dick throbbing, nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Like I said, I was trez horny!" Steve's eyes were half-closed and his dick
was pulsing. He had wanted to be with Stuart, in this position, and he was
so excited that he was afraid he would nut! He tried to calm down as he
continued his tale. "The problem was I was afraid to cum in my briefs. I'm
a real leaker, too, so the front of my shorts were pretty wet."

"I don't see that's a problem, at all," said Stuart softly. He deliberately
rubbed himself, and Steve, again.

"It was, because my mother did my laundry. I knew that the first thing
she'd do would be to empty my kit bag and start washing. She always did and
hell, Stuart, how do you explain cum stains on your underpants to your
mother? Especially after coming off a weekend with the boys?"

"I see your point," conceded Stuart. "Mothers don't always understand
things like that. That's why, from the first day I blew a real load, I
started doing my own laundry. What mothers don't see they can't ask
questions about."

"That's true," said Steve. "I blew my first load in my underpants when I
had a wet dream." He assumed a confidential tone. "It scared the shit out
of me! Nobody had told me about guys having wet dreams, and for a while I
thought that my balls had exploded!"

Stuart started laughing. "You learned though, didn't you?"

"Sure, after I talked to my cousin, who is three years older than me. He
explained what happens to guys, and told me that I should always take a
towel to bed with me, to wipe up when I was finished."

"Sound advice."

"Which did me fuck all good at the time I'm talking about!" Steve laughed
quietly. "There I was, lying there, with a guy's hand on my dick. It felt
kinda nice, and I'd never had another guy touch me like that before, even
if it was through my Jockeys. I knew that I should have rolled away but,
well, it did feel nice and I was wondering what would happen if I just sort
of rubbed myself, a little. So I did!"

"And?"

"I pumped my hips, real slow, because there was no way I wanted this guy to
wake up while he's giving me a dry rub. I really liked the feeling so I
kept doing it. The more I did it the better it felt. The guy never moved,
so I sort of pumped a little faster. That felt a whole fucking lot better!
Then I started rubbing the head of my dick on the inside my Jockeys, you
know, that little bit of your dick, just under the head, on the bottom
side?"

Stuart did because he was rubbing that exact spot with the tips of his
fingers. "Yeah," he managed to get out as the waves of pleasure began
rolling through his erection.

"Stuart, I found the magic spot! Before I knew it, what with the cloth
rubbing against my dick head, I blew my load, busted my nut! I came and
came and man, my toes curled so far back that it took a day for them to
straighten out!"

"That story is so ridiculous that it has to be true!" Stuart laughed and
deliberately rubbed his hand against Steve's lump.

Steve could feel Stuart's warm hand, and wondered if he should
reciprocate. Instead, he moved his hand, which was still rubbing Stuart's
butt, down and felt the smooth, warm skin of his leg. "It's the God's
truth," he said as he slowly moved his hand under Stuart's shorts. He
stopped when the tips of his fingers touched the edge of Stuart's
briefs. "The God's truth."

"Oh, I believe you," replied Stuart. He squirmed slightly as Steve pushed
his hand higher up the back of his shorts.

"Good. Then you can believe me when I say I did not really fool around. He
never touched my bare dick, and I sure as fuck didn't touch him! I also
started to do my own smalls so at least I solved the cum in the underwear
problem." Steve could feel the back of Stuart's hand rubbing against
him. "So, what did you do?"

Stuart left off rubbing himself and moved his hand down, deliberately
laying it on Steve's bare leg. He could feel the soft dusting of hair on
Steve's leg and he began to slowly move his hand in small circles. "One
night some guys from the Corps stayed over at my house. We were getting our
uniforms ready for our Annual Inspection. My folks were away somewhere. A
convention, I think. Not that it matters. They weren't around so while we
were ironing and polishing we had a few beers. We listened to some records
and before we knew it, it was one in the morning, so we went to bed." He
began to slip his hand under Steve's shorts, stopping only when his fingers
touched Steve's briefs-covered balls.

Steve started to move his hand inside of Stuart's briefs. He slowly brushed
across Stuart's pelvis and when the edge of his hand rested against
Stuart's seven inches of erection, he stopped. "Is that when you . . ."

"Yes," replied Stuart slowly. He could feel Steve's finger slowly rubbing
against the side of his hardon. "There weren't enough beds, so we doubled
up. We had all done it before, on sleepovers, so nobody thought anything of
it. I went up to my room with a guy name Christian. He was next in line to
be Chief of the Corps, so I figure that I would get to know him better."

Steve smiled slyly and moved his hand until it was covering Stuart's
rock-hard erection. He could feel that the front of Stuart's briefs were
damp, and the firm flesh under his palm felt warm, and very, very
nice. "That's one way of putting it," he said, not realizing that he had
started to pant.

"I really didn't mean that," replied Stuart. God, did Steve's hand feel
nice. "I didn't go to bed with Christian intending to do what we eventually
ended up doing. The next day was Inspection day, and I wanted a good
night's sleep." He moved his hand upward, cupping Steve's balls, and
running his middle fingers backward and forward across Steve's five-inch
slimness. "We stripped off, down to our Fruit of the Looms. I told
Christian that was the way I always went to bed, and he said that he always
slept in his underwear, so he didn't have a problem!"

Steve was panting heavier as Stuart began to slowly rub him. He could feel
himself being drawn closer and closer to the edge, for Stuart had found his
secret spot. "And?" he managed through his panting.

"For starters, I never slept a wink." Stuart fought back a moan of
pleasure. Steve's fingers had found his secret spot. "We just lay there for
a while. I could hear Christian breathing. He did not have bad breath,
except for the beer breath I guess we all had. He moved around a bit, like
you do when you're trying to get comfortable, and his hand touched my leg."
Stuart's breath was coming in short, sharp gasps now. "Now, I have to
admit, Christian was some looker. He was blond, like me, and very
good-looking. He also had a decent sized cock, which I'd seen because we
were both on the swim team."

Steve did not reply. He began to increase the pace of his rubbing, giving
Stuart's dick a soft squeeze every now and them.

"He was also one of those guys who always smelled clean. He smelled clean
and fresh." Stuart whimpered as another ripple of pleasure went through
him. "Sort of like you do. He had a smooth dick, and he was a hunk. Also, I
kind of liked feeling his hand against my leg. Not to mention that I was
only 14 and hornier than a two-peckered owl!"

"So you . . .?" Steve's hand maintained a steady pace against Stuart's
cock, a silly smile on his face. So, Stuart thought that he smelt
clean. And fresh.

Stuart growled a low groan, his fingers closed around Steve's boner and he
began to slowly masturbate his best friend. "Christian started it," Stuart
said as he struggled to maintain his composure. "When I didn't say anything
when he put his hand against my leg I guess he figured that I was cool with
what he was doing. He rolled on his side and scooted right up against me. I
could feel his dick, which was hard, a real thick hardon, about five inches
long, which was pretty big, I thought, for a 14-year old guy. I didn't say
anything so he started rubbing my belly, which felt great! Then he moves
south, and starts rubbing my boner, which is only about four inches or so,
but Jesus, was it hard!"

Steve squeezed Stuart's massive erection, which was seven inches long,
thick, and felt very smooth under the cotton cloth of his briefs. "You grew
some since then," he said with a snicker. "You sure don't have to worry
about where to hang your towel!"

"I did back then," breathed Stuart heavily. God, did Steve know how to work
a guy's dick! "Anyway, there I was, with Christian rubbing me up and down,
so I decided that I should at least be polite and return the favour."

"Being a good host, and all."

Stuart grimaced, wondering if he should warn Steve. He was getting awfully
close. "Of course," he said with a small whimper of delight. "I started
rubbing him, and we did that for a while. Then he put his hand down the
front of my undies and fisted my dick, and Jesus, it never felt as good
when I did it! I almost came right then and there!"

"Almost?" Steve shivered with delight as Stuart's hand sent another wave of
pleasure rolling through his body.

Stuart moved his head forward until his forehead was resting against
Steve's. He wanted desperately to kiss Steve, but did not attempt
it. "Almost," he repeated in a whisper as he continued to pleasure Steve
with his hand. "I put my hand down the front of his underpants and wrapped
my fingers around his dick. It was the first time I'd ever done anything
like that and I admit that I was a little scared. In the back of my mind a
little voice kept saying that what we were doing was bad. Christian was a
guy, I was a guy, and guys did not do things like this to each other."

Steve moved his hand and slid it slowly under the elastic leg band of
Stuart's briefs. He felt Stuart's smooth, nicely formed, oval balls, his
warm, slick dick, and his rough pubic bush. "But, guys do it all the time,"
whispered Steve. "It don't mean nothin'."

Stuart moved his hand higher and felt the smooth, silky, crisply formed
head of Steve's dick. "It also felt so good and something that felt that
good couldn't be bad! It felt so fucking wonderful, him fisting me, me
fisting him. Then he made it better."

"How?"

"He leaned over and kissed me. My first kiss. A first class, down the
throat, kiss!" Stuart was all but gasping for breath as Steve used just the
first two fingers of his hand to rub the secret spot on his dick.

"Like you gave me at our wet down?" asked Steve. He moved his head a bit
and his lips found Stuart's. "Like this?"

They kissed passionately. Stuart began to moan. He opened his mouth,
wanting all of Steve's tongue. They duelled for a while and then pulled
reluctantly apart. "Not as good," he said. "Not near as good, but good
enough because when he kissed me we both blew our loads. I shot a load that
damned near blew the front of my undies apart. His load was even bigger."

"And that was the end of it?" Steve began to tweak the round glans crowning
Stuart's dick, running his fingers around and around the crisp, firm edge.

Despite himself, Stuart thrust his hips forward. He didn't want to cum, but
he did want to cum! He forced himself to continue his story. "No, because
it got better." He pushed his hand into Steve's underpants, feeling the
shape and warmth of Steve's smooth, hard penis. "After we came we lay
there, rubbing each other, which was wonderful. We neither of us lost our
boners, and I asked if he minded if I took off my underwear because I
really didn't feel like sleeping in cummy drawers. He said no, go ahead,
'cause he wanted to take his off as well. So we did!"

Steve did not know how much longer he could hold out. Stuart's hand was
slowly pumping him toward the brink. "And it got better?"

"Yeah. We lay there for a while, just holding each other's dick, me not
believing that I had just given another guy a hand job, when he asks me did
I want to stop, or did I want to fool around some more."

"And of course you said no," murmured Steve. He left off his fisting,
sensing that Stuart was getting close. He wanted Stuart, he wanted him in
every way possible, and he wanted to please him as much as he could. He
felt Stuart's balls, then ran his hand against the sensitive skin between
Stuart's legs, under his balls, and along the small path of flesh until his
fingers found Stuart's pucker and began to rub it slowly.

Stuart gasped as Steve's fingers massaged his anus. Christian had never
done that! He groaned in ecstasy. "Jesus, Steve . . ."

"You like?"

"Yeah, I like!"

Steve continued his slow rubbing. "What happened with Christian?"

"I said yes, we could fool around some more. What else was I going to say?
I was fucking enjoying what we were doing! What he did next really
surprised me, though. He moved down the bed and the next thing I knew he
had my dick in his mouth! Fuck, Steve, Christian could really suck a bone!
His mouth was so warm, and ah, shit, I thought that I was gonna die right
there in my bed! I'm thinking, wow, my first blow job! He was sucking my
dick nice and slow, and my mind is all but closing down! Fuck, Steve, how
do describe your very first blow job?"

Steve knew exactly what Stuart had gone through. He thought of that night
when the boy had come into the Mess and . . . He began to breathe harshly,
his hips making short, thrusting movements through Stuart's lightly
grasping hand. God did Stuart's hand feel good. He began to pump Stuart's
dick faster, his thumb caressing the classic helmet of Stuart's cock.

"Then I . . . well . . . what Christian was doing to me felt so good that I
thought that I should make him feel as good as he was making me feel. I
turned around and his dick was right in front of me and, to be honest, his
was a handsome dick - almost as handsome as yours is - so I just, I just
leaned forward and I took him into my mouth. I started sucking his dick."

Steve, who was panting and gulping as his balls began to contract and the
wonderful feeling began to build deep within his groin, did not hear
Stuart's comparison of his dick to Christian's.

"I was 14, Steve, and he was 14 and at 14 you've got no control and shit,
after only a couple of minutes of feeling the most incredible feeling that
I had ever felt, I let 'er go! I started cumming in his mouth and he really
surprised me 'cause he didn't pull away. He started swallowing my load and
that got him going and he blew his humungous load right down my throat!"

Steve, who was seconds away from blowing his own humungous load, grunted.

Stuart heard Steve's grunt, wondering if Steve was getting close or if he
disapproved swallowing another guy's load. He wondered also what Steve's
load would taste like but Jesus . . . Stuart carried gamely on, determined
to pretend as long as Steve did that nothing untoward was
happening. "Christian . . . tasted great." Stuart was moaning softly
now. He managed to keep calm, thought and continued his story. "He tasted
sweet and clean and oh fuck! He tasted just great so I sucked and swallowed
and swallowed and sucked and then he yelped and pulled back. Me too, 'cause
the heads of our dicks were so fucking sensitive that we couldn't stand
it!"

"I know that feeling," growled Steve through clenched teeth. He quickly
fisted Stuart again. He was always sensitive after he came, which was about
to happen, real soon. His balls were so high up in his crotch that Steve
was afraid that they'd end up in his throat. His dick was expanding, and
twitching and . . . OH GOD!

Stuart's breathing was just as laboured as Steve's. His chest was heaving
and he could feel his balls swelling. He began to pump Steve's weeping dick
faster. He was very close to cumming and he wanted Steve to cum with him.

"Stuart . . ." yelled Steve, " . . . ung . . . Stuart . . . STUART! I'm
gonna cum . . ." Steve groaned loudly and thrust his hips upward. His whole
body went rigid and the first jet of his spooge flew from the gaping slit
of his dick. "STUUU . . . AAAART!"

"OH . . . FUCK . . . YEAH!" Stuart yelped as his orgasm overwhelmed him. He
starting creaming Steve's hand, stream after stream of his thick semen
flooding across and down the pumping hand that held him so closely. "FUCK!
OH FUCK!"

Each boy continued to pump after all hope of any further ejaculation
ended. Finally, by silent, mutual agreement, they moved apart.

Steve gazed into Stuart's dark brown eyes. "I've wanted to do that for a
long time, Stuart."

"Me, too Steve." Stuart leaned forward and they kissed, a long, deep,
passionate kiss. "I've wanted to do it for so long," he said slowly as
their lips parted. "So very long!"

Steve reached over and began to push Stuart's shorts and underwear down. "I
never told you that I lie in bed at night, thinking about you, wanting
you." He reached under the edge of Stuart's T-shirt and pushed it over his
head. "I don't want tonight to end." He lifted up his hand and his tongue
flicked across a patch of Stuart's semen that rested in the hollow between
his thumb and fore- finger.

Stuart smiled and began to strip the clothes from Steve's body. "Tonight
will end, Steve. We can't help it ending, and we can't stop it from
ending." He leaned down and kissed the tip of Steve's not quite deflated
member. "But there's tomorrow night, and the night after, and all the
nights after that."

******

"Do you think they saw?" Andre looked nervously around the laundry, trying
to withdraw his hand from Nicholas's grasp.

Nicholas raised Andre's hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "I really
don't care if they did." He smiled warmly and rubbed Andre's hand against
his warm cheek. "If they can't stand two guys being in love, and showing
it, well, to hell with them."

While taking down the flags and pennants after the Dinner they had both
managed to smudge their white uniforms and Nicholas, knowing what an
important day tomorrow was, had insisted that they change into shorts and
T-shirts and wash their whites. Andre, while disappointed in not being able
to proceed directly to the Flag Locker where they could indulge in some
serious sinning, had agreed. They had sat together quietly, holding hands,
waiting impatiently for the washing machine to finish its cycles.

"I do not want them to say bad things about us, Nicholas," said Andre
softly. "I know they say that they are our friends but . . ."

Nicholas took both of Andre's hands in his and gazed deeply into the boy's
eyes. A slow smile toyed with the corner of his lips. "They are our
friends, Andre, and they will not say bad things about us. They will say
good things, and wish us much happiness."

Andre gave Nicholas a quizzical glance. "So you say," he began
sceptically. "I have seen what happens when boys . . ."

Nicholas snorted and pulled Andre to him. He kissed the top of Andre's head
and buried his face in the boy's soft hair. "Listen to me, Andre. Some of
them know about us." He felt Andre try to pull away and held him
closer. "They don't care. All they want is for us to be happy."

"But, Nicholas, we were so careful." Andre began to sniffle. "I love you so
much, and I do not want them to hurt you."

Nicholas laughed quietly. "Oh, Andre, sweet, Andre. They know. Cory and
Todd, they know.  Harry knows. So do Tyler and Val. Everyone who was at the
meeting this morning knows!"

This time Andre's struggles were successful. He pulled away from his lover
and glared at him. "How could they? You did not tell them? Please, Nicholas
. . ."

Nicholas returned Andre's glare with a look of love. He shook his head
slowly. "They knew because they saw the love we have for each other." He
waved his hand toward the row of windows. "Stuart was there. He knows and
he will not let anyone say bad things about you, or me, or us!"

"Stuart? The Chief Boatswain's Mate Stuart?"

"The very same. He told me, and the others this morning that we, you, me,
all of us are brothers and that brothers understand these things." He
nodded toward the parade square. "This morning Stuart was not sure if he
was one of us, like us. Tonight he is with Steve, and maybe he will find
out."

Andre looked puzzled. "But, that would mean that he is . . ."

Nicholas shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not. If he is we will not say bad
things about him." He drew in a deep breath. "We are not alone,
Andre. Surely you've noticed that some of the other boys are very close."

Andre shook his head. "I do not pay attention to such things." He smiled
shyly. "I was busy with . . . other things."

Nicholas laughed. "You were busy sinning, is what you were doing!"

Andre began giggling and reached out his arms. He drew Nicholas close to
him. "I love you Nicholas, so much."

"I know." Nicholas gave Andre a stern look. "You do understand that I love
you more than life? That I will never allow anyone to hurt you?"

"I know." Andre thought a moment. "If the other boys know about us . . ."

"They know," affirmed Nicholas.

"Then it is time," said Andre slowly. He leaned forward and whispered in
Nicholas's ear.

Nicholas listened and then pulled slowly back. A slow, glowing smile spread
across his face. "Are you sure?"

"I am sure." Andre's eyes sparkled with anticipation and love as he
whispered, "I wish that we do it."

Nicholas nodded slowly. He had hoped that Andre would want to make love,
but had not expected it to happen so soon and he did not want Andre to feel
pressured in any way. He looked into Andre's dark eyes. "You don't want to
wait? I can, you know. I want to . . . make real love to you, but I can
wait. It doesn't have to happen here. It doesn't have to happen now."

Andre stroked Nicholas's smoothly shaven cheek. "I have thought about it a
great deal, Nicholas. I wish for you to fuck me, here. We found each other,
here; we found our love for each other, here. I do not wish to wait any
longer. I wish to give myself to you, Nicholas. I wish it with all my heart
because you are the only boy I will ever love. I know it, I feel it. It is
my wish to be with you always. When we do this, you will give me a part of
you. I will have you within me always."

"We will have to do it in the Flag Locker, there's no place else," replied
Nicholas. He swallowed and started blushing. "I think we'll need some
things. A towel, and some . . .lubricant."

Andre snickered. "Nicholas, surely you are not afraid of what we will do?"
"Andre, I have never fu . . . made love before. I . . . think I know what
to do, but . . ."

"We will learn together." Andre's fingers brushed Nicholas's lips.

"All right," said Nicholas in a low tone. "But understand, Andre, I am not
going to fuck you."

"What! But . . . ma foi, Nicholas je . . ." yelped Andre.

Nicholas's low laughter echoed around the room. "Andre, I will not fuck
you. I will make love to you."

Andre's dark face brightened. "Oh . . . OH!" He smiled broadly and kissed
Nicholas as passionately as he could. "We make love, now please?"

******

Harry sighed happily. He reached down between Todd's legs and gave his
soft, flushed penis a gentle squeeze. Todd squirmed in delight, feeling the
Pride of the Fleet, which was nested comfortably in the valley of his butt
stir slightly.  "The Mess Dinner was great," murmured Harry as he nuzzled
the soft skin of Todd's smooth neck, enjoying the euphoria that followed
great sex. "After dinner dessert was better."

Todd reached up and stroked Harry's cheek, a small gesture of affection
that had a wealth of meaning for him. Todd was falling desperately in love
with Harry, something that he had never expected would happen, and
something that had never happened before. He had always loved Harry, but
not in the way he did now. Harry had always been the unattainable goal, and
from the first day that Harry had lumbered into his life Todd had desired
the big moose. On a crude, and very basic level, he had wanted to have sex
with Harry. He had never expected, now that the goal had been reached, now
that they had made love, because Harry did not just have sex - he made
warm, deeply passionate, extraordinary love. Now that they had done it,
Todd's feeling of lust-filled desire had changed into something
different. Now he was falling in love, and he did not know what to do.

Todd felt Harry cup his balls, rolling them and sending a smooth, seamless
wave of pleasure coursing through his body. For somebody whose sexual
experiences had been limited, before he came to AURORA, to jerking off with
his brother, Harry had turned out to be a warm, caring, and surprisingly
passionate lover. Harry instinctively gave as much pleasure as he
received. He had taken Todd to wonderful levels of indescribable feelings
of ecstasy, had taken him beyond any level of delight that Todd had ever
known before, had taken him to places that none of his other partners had
ever brought him to.

Just being with Harry was wonderful. They were in the Unwinding Room,
snuggled into the V-shaped corner of the settee. Todd was warmly ensconced
between Harry's widespread legs, a position Harry enjoyed. Todd could feel
the warmth of Harry's broad chest against his back, and feel the soft
smoothness of the Pride pushing against his butt crack. Harry's right arm
was wrapped loosely around Todd's chest, and his hand was toying with
Todd's hard, rubbery nipple. His left hand rested in Todd's crotch,
fondling and kneading his now low-hanging balls.

"You're very quiet," said Harry as his fingers rubbed gently across Todd's
nipple.

"I'm just enjoying the moment, remembering . . ." replied Todd, turning his
head and smiling at Harry.

"How great I was?" Harry had no modesty whatsoever.

Todd made a small face, and then chuckled. "You were wonderful, Harry."

"You're no slouch yourself, Todd." Harry tightened his hold on Todd's
chest. He gave a happy sigh of utter contentment. "If I'd known how
wonderful making to love to you is, I think maybe we'd have done this a
long time ago." His long, warm tongue slowly caressed Todd's neck. "A long
time ago."

Todd chuckled and pushed back against the Pride. "You sure believe in
making up for lost time, don't you?"

Harry laughed. "I don't hear you complaining."

"I'm not."

"Still, something is bothering you," replied Harry quietly. "You've been
quiet all night, and pensive."

Todd would have preferred not to agree with what Harry had said. The fact
was, however, that his talk this morning with Cory had left him
pensive. Cory had been right. He had to settle, one way or another, his
relationship with Harry. "Actually, I've been giving a lot of thought to
us. I am falling for you, and I am not sure where we are going."

Harry kissed the back of Todd's head. "We're going home, of course."

"That is not what I meant!" Todd gave Harry a jab with his elbow.

Harry retaliated by giving Todd's genitals a squeeze. "I know what you mean
and I do not want to talk about it!"

"Too bad, because we are going to talk about it," replied Todd calmly. "I
am falling in love with you, you big moose. You make me feel things that I
have never felt before. We have started something, Harry, and if it's all
going to end when you step onto the plane to go home, well, maybe we should
just . . ."

Harry hugged Todd tightly. "Don't! I do not want to hear it! I do not want
to talk about any ending between us!"

Todd pulled away, turned around and took Harry's reddened face in his
hands. "Harry, you, me, we cannot ignore what is coming. You cannot just
say that you do not want to talk about it!" He kissed Harry gently. "What
we have is going to end, Harry."

"No!" Harry snarled and pulled Todd to him. He wrapped his arms around
Todd's slim, warm body. "I don't want it to end!" he growled sternly.

Todd struggled free of Harry's grasp and sat back on the settee. He looked
into Harry's deep, brown eyes. "Harry, you were brutally honest with
Greg. Can you be honest with me, and with yourself?"

Harry met Todd's gaze, then looked away. His face softened and he began to
sob quietly. "I tried to tell myself that what we did before was just
sex. When we were all together, you, Cory, me, I wanted it to be just sex."

Todd reached out and wiped away Harry's tears with his thumb. "It wasn't
though, was it?"

Harry shook his head. No, damn it, it wasn't!" He regained his composure
and rested his head against the back of the settee. "I live on a farm. I
know what sex is. Something is always fucking something!" He laughed
ruefully. "Greg was sex."

"And me?"

Harry reached out and motioned for Todd to resume his place between his
legs. Harry adjusted the Pride, then reached around and his broad hands
enveloped Todd's soft genitals. He kissed and nuzzled Todd's neck for a
minute or so, then began speaking again. "All last night, after we went to
bed, I thought about us, about how I felt about you, about how I feel when
I'm with you." He could not resist kissing Todd's neck. "It feels so
right!"

"That's the way I feel about you," replied Todd softly, deliberately
gyrating his hips, rubbing his smooth, firm, ass cheek against the
Pride. "Nobody has ever made me feel the way you make me feel. Except for
Cory and . . ." He would not mention Phantom. Harry did not need to know
about Phantom. In a way he knew far too much as it was.

Harry caught the pause and raised an eyebrow. "Cory and?" He prompted.

"Harry, there is another special person in my life," began Todd, his voice
low, and filled with emotion. "He is kind, and sweet, and in many ways I
love him deeply. Who he is, is between him and me." He turned his head
slightly and looked at Harry. "Sometimes, Harry, when two people have been
together, it is so special that you cannot ever share the moments you had
together with anyone else. That is the way I feel, Harry, so please, do not
ask me his name."

"You slept with him." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, Harry, I did," replied Todd without hesitation. "I slept with him
once, and it was over. I do not regret it and I will always be thankful
that for a little while he was a part of me, and I was a part of him. It
was not sex between us. Like you I know what sex is. I had sex with
Sylvain. I fucked him. With . . .with the other boy I made love, just as
you made love to Stefan. You fucked Greg . . ." Before Harry could protest
Todd held up his hand. "Not literally, Harry, but it amounts to same
thing."

Reluctantly, Harry agreed. "I like Greg, and yes, I suppose I did fuck
him. What I did with Stefan, I did because I'm in love with him." He
groaned, and hugged Todd tightly. "I'm also in love with you."

"Then you know what I am talking about. We both have feelings for each
other, and for other boys. I want to be with you, Harry. I just can't see
that happening."

Harry sighed. "I'm in love with you. I'm in love with Stefan and half in
love with Cory. I want all three of you, to be with all of you, and the
hell of it is that none of you would ever be happy with me!"

Todd's eyebrows rose and a questioning look came over his face. "Why would
you say that," he demanded. "You're a wonderful person, for all that you
put on this big dumb farmer act. You're handsome as the Devil, and don't
you know it! You are the most masculine male that I have ever met. You own
the Pride of the Fleet, which, at the risk of making you more conceited
than you already are, is the most handsome, wonderful penis that I have
ever seen. I named it, remember?" Once again he pulled away from
Harry. "You talk nonsense, Harry." He lay full length on the settee and
reached out his hands, motioning for Harry to lie with him.

They lay together, facing each other, arms entwined, the head of the Pride
softly touching the head of Todd's semi-hard penis. For the moment Harry
wanted to have nothing to do with the future. He kissed Todd, and fondled
him, hoping to start a new session of lovemaking. "It's feels like Little
Todd wants to play some more," he growled seductively, "and the Pride is
making all preparations for getting underway!"

Todd smiled at Harry's metaphor but shook his head. "Harry, the Pride might
be ready in all respects for sea but you can ring down to the Engine Room
to 'Stand By Engines', and tell the Buffer to double up all lines. The
Pride is not leaving harbour until you tell me why no one would be happy
with you. Aside from the obviously polygamous relationships."

Harry snickered, and then fell silent. He laid his head on Todd's
shoulders, breathing deeply, enjoying Todd's scent. After what seemed to be
an eternity of silence he began to speak.  "Do you believe that some people
are predestined to be certain things?" he asked Todd.

"You mean Predestination, that from birth every part of your life is
planned for you by God?"

Harry growled, annoyed. "No, not that religious bullshit! What I mean is
that some people just seem to be born to be certain things. Take The
Gunner. He was predestined to be a sailor. When he was born God pointed at
his little pink baby butt and said that Stevie Winslow will be a
sailor. Case closed and no back talk from the Lower Deck! The Gunner could
have decided to do something else with his life but deep down he knows that
he is a sailor, and he would never be happy being anything else but a
sailor. Phantom, too, I think. He doesn't know it yet, but he was also born
to be a sailor."

Todd thought a moment, and agreed with Harry. "Okay, yeah. Knowing The
Gunner as we both do, you're right. He would never be happy not being a
sailor."

"Thank you for agreeing with me," replied Harry dryly.

"Well, it does make sense, sort of," returned Todd with a grin.

"Good, because if you can understand about The Gunner and Phantom, then you
can understand that I was predestined to be a farmer."

Todd could not help himself. He began snickering. "When you first came to
ONTARIO you acted like some big, dumb, hick farmer. Remember how everybody
started calling you Harry the Farmer?" He laughed out loud. "Cory and I
kept expecting to find bits of straw in your bed, or cow shit on your
boots."

"You were right. You were all right. I was a farm boy back then. I am a
farm boy now. I love the farm, Todd. I love the land. I have always loved
the land. My Dad has put aside a parcel of land for me. In five years or
so, after I graduate university - where I expect I'll study agronomy - I'll
take it over and be what I was born to be: a farmer." He looked
thoughtful. "I expect that I'll get Charlie's share as well."

"Charley, he's one of your brothers?"

"Yeah, the oldest. He graduates from UW next year. He's engaged to a girl
name Katrina Muehlberg. She comes with ten thousand acres of prime Manitoba
grazing land. Her daddy has this huge spread down along the Fisher River. "
He shuddered. "You should see her!" He grinned wickedly. "Then again, maybe
you shouldn't." He grimaced horribly, pushed in his nose, and let his
tongue loll out of his mouth.

"Jesus, Harry, she can't be that bad!" exclaimed Todd, trying hard not to
laugh at the contorted gargoyle that Harry's handsome face had become.

Harry relaxed his face and gave Todd a huge kiss. "She has a wonderful
personality!"

Todd laughed and returned Harry's kiss. "Now that has always been the kiss
of death!"

Harry joined in Todd's laughter. "Aw, she's not all that bad. She isn't the
prettiest thing in the world to look at, but she is and sweet and she does
love Charley, though God and her only knows why. I hate to say bad things
about my brother but he is not exactly the handsomest thing on two feet,
and his dick is the smallest one this side of Mike Sunderland."

"Harry, that's cruel."

"Maybe, but it's the truth. Not to worry, though. They'll make a fine
couple. He loves her, she loves him. She has land, he has brains. She'll be
a good wife to him and together they'll make lots of boy babies."

"Why boy babies? Haven't you ever heard there's a second sex, called
girls?"

"Of course I have! Charley and Katrina will have boy babies. Girl babies
just do not happen in my family. There hasn't been a girl born into the
Hohenberg clan in seven or eight generations. Boys run in the family."
Harry pulled Todd to him. "And that is also another thing that I have to
think about."

Todd knew what was coming next. "You're going to have to get married,
aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "It's expected. It's not something I want to do, but sooner
or later it has to happen." He began stroking Todd's flat stomach. "Georgie
and Nicky hate the farm. Georgie will graduate university and stay in
Winnipeg. He's already told me and he's working up the courage to tell my
dad."

"And Nicky?" Todd squirmed as Harry's finger began rimming his belly
button. He could feel his dick getting hard, and he could feel the Pride
stirring. "Harry," he murmured, "Not yet."

Reluctantly, Harry pulled away. "Nicky wants to get away. Farming is a hard
life, and Nicky is a lazy fucker. He hates having to get up at the crack of
dawn, or getting up in the middle of the night to help calve one of the
cows. He'll be leaving as soon as he can."

"And the others?"

Harry shrugged slightly. "Paulie is only 16 and he's too busy being a
teenager. Frankie and Louie, they're still boys, although you'd think
Frankie was forty instead of 14, the way he acts some time. Cory reminds me
of him. They're both smart, and mature beyond their ages. Louie is still a
little boy. He's only 10 and still giggles when the rooster chases the
hens."

"I'd giggle, too."

Harry returned to holding Todd. "Todd, you asked me to be honest, so I
will. None of my brothers, except Charley, will take to farming. I will. I
love it. That's where I want to be, on the farm, living the farm life. I
have always wanted that, ever since the day my dad took me out into the
fields and planted my pudgy little feet into the earth." He kissed Todd's
forehead and gave him a querying look. "Now tell the truth, Todd. Would you
be able to spend the rest of your life, with me, living on a farm in the
middle of Manitoba?"

"Harry, I'm from the city. A farm is totally alien to me. What would I know
about farming?"

"Not much is my guess."

"And you would be right," replied Todd. He did not want to hurt Harry in
any way. He also knew that spending the rest of his life on a farm was not
what he wanted to do. "Harry, the closest I've been to a farm is the
petting zoo in Stanley Park. My mother took Cory and me there once. I think
we were six or so. It was not a pleasant experience."

"How so?"

"A goose bit Cory on the bum, which served him right because he was
annoying the poor thing."

"Geese can be very vicious fuckers when aroused," opined Harry
gravely. "Not that I blame the goose for biting Cory's bum. He has a very
nice bum. I bit it once."

"Do not remind me," returned Todd with a chuckle. "Cory still bitches about
that little incident." He laughed louder. "Mind you, he didn't go around
trying to show everybody your teeth marks."

"I never left any teeth marks!" protested Harry. "I hardly touched him!"

"Neither did the goose, but that didn't stop Cory from going around trying
to show anybody who looked even remotely interested what he insisted were
the goose's teeth marks."

"A goose doesn't have teeth! It's a fowl, and they don't have teeth."

"I know that, Harry." Todd grinned. "Cory was only six, remember, so he
thought that the thing had teeth. At least, that's what he
said. Personally, I think he just wanted to show off his bum."

"At six?" asked Harry, shocked.

"He was a very precocious six-year-old," replied Todd, a hint of pride in
his voice. "He was reading music at three!" He reached over and rubbed
Harry's hard, rubbery nipples. "He's grumbled about that fucking goose for
years." Todd gave Harry's right nipple a soft tweak. "At least Cory doesn't
eat you in effigy every year!"

Harry, who was very much enjoying Todd's ministrations, was only half
listening. He was hoping that Todd would grow tired of the conversation. He
wanted Todd to make love to him, to feel his golden lover deep inside of
his body. He reached around and pulled Todd to him again. He covered Todd's
mouth with his own and their tongues met. He began squirming and working
his body until Todd was on top of him.

Todd knew what was coming, and wanted it as much as Harry. "God, you're
beautiful," he murmured as he began kissing his way down Harry's body. He
traced Harry's treasure trail with his tongue, then slowly circled the dark
patch of curly black hair that encircled the now rigid Pride, which was
sticking straight out from Harry's body, the head turned a deep
purple. Todd's mouth worshiped the Pride, then the Escorts.

Harry drew his legs back, giving his lover free access to his rosebud,
growling low as Todd's warm tongue laved and probed gently. With each
crossing of Todd's tongue Harry raised his hips higher, his body shuddering
as wave after powerful wave of pleasure rolled through him.

Todd continued to make worshiping motions with his lips and tongue until
Harry's rosebud, which had darkened with blood and desire, opened
slightly. Todd withdrew and quickly found the Vaseline, greased his
rock-hard, swollen organ, and with his finger rubbed around and in Harry's
hole.

"Now, Todd, now . . ." Harry growled. He saw Todd's warm, blue eyes looking
at him and smiled warmly. "I want you, Todd."

Nodding, Todd moved closer and pressed the classically curving, blood
darkened head of his penis against Harry's rosebud. With exquisite slowness
he began to enter Harry.

Harry growled and reached out, his strong hands around Todd's waist. He
pulled Todd closer. "I want you in me, deep, deep, in me!"

Todd continued to push and then he was in, his pubic bush brushing against
Harry's balls. He began a long, slow, deep thrusting movement, breathing
heavily as his hips began a rhythmic pattern of delight. With each deep
thrust the silky, smooth head of his penis brushed against Harry's
prostate, causing him to growl loudly and moan. Todd lowered his body and
pushed his hands under Harry, gasping his shoulders. He buried his face in
Harry's neck, his hips never losing the rhythm, not even when Harry's arms
encircled his back and held him tightly.

"Dear, sweet, Jesus . . . Sweet JeeeSUS." Todd could feel the pressure
building in his balls, could feel his erection thickening, could feel his
balls retracting, could feel . . . He quickened his thrusting, moaning as
his orgasm exploded, his dick spasming, sending a molten river of his cum
deep into Harry's body.

Harry could feel Todd's penis thicken and lengthen, could feel Todd's
pumping organ as it jerked and spilled thick stream after thick stream into
him. He began to yelp as the Pride, stimulated by Todd's warm, thrusting
body, began firing a massive broadside. He dug his nails into Todd's back,
his lips sucking the heated flesh of Todd's shoulder as the Escorts sent
reload after reload into the breech block and the Pride shuddered and
bucked, the gaping muzzle twitching as yet another load of high explosive
hurtled between their heated bodies.

As their orgasms peaked Todd's feverish lips found Harry's and they ground
their tongues together, their bodies melded into one. "Oh, my Jesus God!"
Todd moaned as his lips left Harry's and he collapsed onto him. "Oh, my
dear sweet, GOD!"

******

" . . . Oh, my dear, sweet, GOD!" Nicholas's body stiffened. His head flew
back and his eyes rolled back as his penis bucked and spasmed, held in
check only by the tightened muscles of Andre's love channel. Beneath
Nicholas, Andre's penis, the foreskin pulled back, jerked and pumped
evidence of the most overwhelming orgasm he had ever experienced onto his
thin, hairless chest.

Each boy continued to convulse until their bodies had no more to
give. Nicholas, his eyes returning to focus on the smiling boy beneath him,
his mind slowly beginning to function again, slowly lowered his body onto
Andre's. They held each other closely. Nicholas, overcome with their love
making, could only gaze into Andre's deep, black eyes.

Andre could feel Nicholas's softening organ beginning to withdraw from his
body. He tightened his ass muscles, holding the near-flaccid organ within
him. He gazed into Nicholas's soft, brown eyes and then pulled his head
close. "Vous sont mon amour et ma vie," he whispered with firmness and
conviction. "Vous sont mon coeur et mon ame."

Nicholas nodded slowly, kissed Andre tenderly, and whispered, "Je vous
suis, et vous m'etes. Vous etes le mien, et je suis le votre. Je serai le
votre, a jamais, et je vous aimerai, mon petit celui, jusqu'a ce que le
monde est non plus." Again he kissed his young lover tenderly. "We have
made our vows, Andre. I will love you, my little one, until the world is no
more."

Andre nodded. "We have made our vows, Nicholas. You are my heart and my
soul. We will be together until the world is no more."