Date: Fri, 1 Aug 2003 11:55:57 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 22 - Part I

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

Because of the length of this chapter I have broken it down into two
parts. Part II will follow immediately.


The Boys of Aurora - Chapter 22 - Part I


After Sean left, Cory hung around the Gunroom watching the interplay
between the other cadets. The Gunner and The Phantom came in, had a drink,
and left. Andy and Kyle also joined the party. They did not stop long. They
had a drink, and left, but not before Andy had given the key to Cabin 5 to
Mark, suggesting that he and the other two American cadets might find it
more comfortable sleeping in beds in the Wardroom than sleeping on the deck
of the Chiefs Mess.

Mark accepted the key with alacrity. He and Tony had decided, after the
meeting this morning, that they would drag Nathan, kicking and screaming if
necessary, into one of the barracks, wherever there were three empty
bunks. Tyler and Val needed some space, some privacy and, if the looks that
the two Chiefs had been exchanging were any indication, tonight was the
night that they would decide their true feelings for each other.

Cory, who had overheard the exchange between Mark and Andy, decided to make
himself scarce as well. Sleep, on the other side of the bulkhead from the
Chiefs Mess, would be long in coming if Tyler and Val did more than just
talk, which Cory hoped they would do. They were made for each other, and
any fool could see it! He decided that visiting Sean down in the Dockyard
would be much better than lying in his bunk listening, no matter how
unwillingly, to the two Chiefs making out! Besides, what else did he have
to do? He had seen Harry and Todd slip away, followed shortly thereafter by
Chris and Jon. Nathan, who was sitting at the far end of the Mess table
with Sandro, was chatting quietly with the young Russian. As Cory watched,
Nathan raised his hand and gently ran his fingers down Sandro's blushing
face. Sandro stiffened slightly, and then relaxed. A slow smile crossed his
face and he nodded slightly.

Turning away, Cory busied himself in his locker, digging out some fresh
shorts and a clean gunshirt. He supposed that he should be jealous, but
really felt nothing. Cory knew that Nathan would never be monogamous and
had rejected the American boy for that reason. Nathan was a bed-hopper and
whatever happened between him and Sandro would be for tonight
only. Tomorrow night Nathan would move on to someone else, Caspar Collins,
perhaps, or Jimmy Collyer, or any one of the 300-odd boys inhabiting the
Spit and the YAGs. So far as Nathan was concerned, there was always another
bed and there was always another boy in it.

Shrugging his indifference, Cory went into the heads where he stripped off
his uniform and boxer underwear. He examined the tailored white duck for
stains and dirt, found none, and hung his uniform on the hanger that he had
brought with him. The uniform, once it had been given an application of
spray starch and ironed, would look fine for the parade in the morning.

As he often did, Cory left off his underwear, pulled on his dark blue
shorts, then slipped the gunshirt over his head. He glanced in the mirror
over the sink and noted that the gunshirt could have used a good ironing,
but it was too late to worry about that now. Besides, he was only going
down to the Dockyard for a drink with Sean, hardly a formal occasion.

Dressed, Cory returned to the Gunroom. He saw that all the guests had left,
and only one bunk was occupied. Thumper was an untidy lump under his
covers, and Two Strokes and Fred were undressing, preparing for bed. Two
Strokes saw Cory and smiled. "You off cattin'?" the Vulcan-eyed Crusher
asked with a rude grin.

"Not hardly," replied Cory, not taking offence. "I'm going down to the
Dockyard for a while. Anders asked me to come around for a wet."

Two Strokes stepped out of his white trousers and snickered. "Then there is
no way you're catting. Anders is so straight that he makes me look swishy!"

Cory laughed and shook his head. He looked pointedly around the Mess, and
then winked at Fred. "It looks like you two will be alone for a while. Be
good, now!"  Fred, who was wearing nothing but a pair of sagging boxers,
grimaced and jumped into his bed. He glared first at Cory, and then at Two
Strokes. "Not if him and me were the last two humans alive!"

Two Strokes did not take umbrage. "Just don't you go sleepwalking, Freddy!"
He pulled back his tighty-whiteys. "You don't see no lump in my drawers!"

Fred, who hated to be called Freddy, snorted derisively. "I've seen your
little lump. Small potatoes and few in the hill!" He pulled the covers over
his head and rolled onto his side.

Two Strokes gave Fred the finger and then grinned at Cory. "Freddy, I might
be small but I am mmmm goood! And as for my potatoes, they're round,
they're firm, they're fully packed!"

"Are you referring to your balls or your head?" inquired Fred coldly. "And
if you wait for me to go sleepwalking anywhere near you or your lump,
you'll be dead a long time!" He burrowed deep into his bunk.

There was a grumbling and rustling of bedclothes and Thumper's head popped
out from under his covers. He gave Two Strokes, then Fred, an evil
look. "Can't you two dipsticks pipe down? I am trying to sleep!"

Both Fred and Two Strokes chuckled salaciously. "Balls," snarled
Fred. "You're just waiting for the lights to go out and then . . ."

"He's off like a foreskin, as fast as his little hoofies can carry him,
into the heads so he can thump his pump!" finished Two Strokes.

"Up your ass!" returned Thumper, who did not care to be reminded of his
nocturnal habits. He began to burrow under his blankets again.

"Only in one of your wet dreams, Thumper me old china." Two Strokes crawled
into his bunk. "My ass is forbidden territory, a place where no man has
gone before . . . or ever will!" He grinned again at Cory, who grinned
back.

Thumper's head reappeared. "That's disgusting!" he snapped.

"No more than you thumping away half the night!" retorted Two Strokes, who
was enjoying himself. He had not been in a slanging match for at least a
week and was afraid that he was losing his touch.

Thumper raised himself on one elbow. He gave Two Strokes an evil look. "Oh,
is that right?" he squeaked in righteous indignation. "I ain't the one
lying in bed huffing and puffing like the little engine that could!"

Fred could not resist putting in his oar. "You got that right, Thump," he
said with a lewd guffaw. "I half expect him to start growling, 'I think I
can, I think I can,' just before he blows his load!"

"Is that right, Needle Dick?" returned Two Strokes, pretending to be angry.

"Needle Dick? Who are you calling Needle Dick?" howled Fred. He reached
down and pulled his soft penis from his boxers and waved it at Two
Strokes. "At least I've got a dick, which is more than can be said for you
and that little knob you have peeking out from what has got to be the
thinnest, most scraggly patch of pubic hair this side of . . ."

Chuckling and shaking his head, Cory left the three boys happily slinging
mud at one another and left the Gunroom. As he walked down the gravel path
Cory looked around. The night was very beautiful, the sky a carpet of
stars. It was very quiet, with only some crickets signalling their
displeasure as Cory passed. He looked across the parade square, toward the
Chippy Chaps and Stokers Barracks, and the School of Wind, all of which
were hidden in the gloom. He did not doubt that Harry and Todd were in the
School. Cory smiled at the thought of Harry and Todd together and strolled
on. As he passed the Canteen and Laundry he could see that all the lights
in the Laundry were on. He saw Nicholas and Andre sitting close together,
holding hands and talking quietly. He smiled warmly at the sight of the two
boys and continued on. As he passed the Headquarters Building a light went
out. Cory knew that the now darkened room was the Ship's Office. Greg, it
appeared, was getting lucky tonight.

******

Actually, at the moment, it was Jimmy Collyer who was getting lucky. He was
sitting in Greg's office chair, with his briefs and his white bell-bottoms
gathered around his ankles. Greg was kneeling between Jimmy's outspread
legs, his head bobbing and corkscrewing on Jimmy's slim boner. As Greg's
mouth spiralled slowly downward on his spasming cock Jimmy thrust his hips
upward, each thrust burying Greg's nose in Jimmy's thick patch of black
pubic hair.

Greg had wasted no time in getting Jimmy's dick in his mouth. They had
barely stepped into the Ship's Office when Greg had the zipper of Jimmy's
trousers down and his hand thrust into the confining bell-bottoms. Jimmy,
who was just as eager to get off, allowed Greg to fondle him and
reciprocated avidly, thrusting his hand down the front of Greg's bells and
underwear, fondling his velvet soft scrotum and rolling his testicles
gently. Jimmy would not allow kissing so Greg had had to content himself
with muzzling the slim boy's shoulder and neck.

After several minutes of what could only be described as hot foreplay,
Greg's left hand, which had been massaging Jimmy's firm, melon-like ass,
found the brass buckle of Jimmy's belt. Greg fumbled the brass buckle open
and pushed Jimmy's bell-bottoms and briefs down around his knees. Sinking
to his knees, Greg stared lovingly at Jimmy's smooth, slim, neat and trim,
six-inch hardon. Greg's head lowered and his mouth engulfed Jimmy's boner.

Closing his eyes, Greg imagined that he was sucking on the Pride, which
Jimmy's dick resembled, at least superficially. Where the Pride was
straight and proud, Jimmy's erect penis curved in a gentle arc and ended in
a deep pink helmet, which was slightly smaller than his shaft. Jimmy's
circumcision ring was almost halfway down his shaft, where the Pride's was
only a third of the way down, and barely perceptible, as opposed to
Jimmy's, which was a deep tan colour. The most obvious differences, of
course, were the sizes. Jimmy's dick was slim and trim, and his penis
matched the rest of his body to perfection, just as the Pride suited
Harry's magnificent, muscled body. However, two of Jimmy's dick would match
the Pride in girth, and the Pride outdistanced Jimmy in length by at least
two inches.

Still, Greg was satisfied with the vision before him. He wanted Jimmy and
he pushed the boy into a chair, spread his legs, and dove on his erection,
sucking madly, knowing just how to bring Jimmy off quickly.

Jimmy, a little surprised at Greg's enthusiastic cock sucking, enjoyed the
moment. He could feel his balls drawing up into his pubic cavity and his
dick began to lengthen and thicken. He began making high-pitched moans of
pleasure as he felt the pressure building. "It's gonna happen . . . I'm
gonna cum . . ." he squealed loudly as he felt the head of his dick
swell. His approaching orgasm took over Jimmy's cognitive functions. He was
going to nut, and if Greg wanted his load, he was going to get it because
. . .

Greg sucked like a man possessed, intoxicated by Jimmy's scent of musk and
boy mingled with the smell of clean cotton and Ivory Soap. Greg did not
need Jimmy's high-pitched wails to tell him that the boy was near to
filling his mouth. He could feel Jimmy's dick, silky smooth and as hard as
tempered steel, as it began to jerk and swell. Greg wanted Jimmy's load and
. . . Jimmy let out a keening roar and thrust his hips upward, burying his
dick as far down Greg's throat as he could. His dick pulsed and a massive
stream of his sperm shot out of his distended pee slit.

Not wanting to waste a single drop of the wonderful ambrosia that filled
his throat, Greg pulled his head back and sucked hungrily on the upper half
of Jimmy's dick while at the same time fisting the lower part of it,
milking the throbbing organ for every drop of Jimmy's thick, delicious
seed.

Jimmy continued to buck and growl until his balls were empty. He could feel
Greg's moist tongue as it continued to twirl across and around the head of
his dick and he almost fainted from the pleasure of it. He yelped and
pulled away, breathing heavily and collapsing in the chair. "Sor
. . . sorry . . ." he managed to gasp. "It's just that my knob gets so
sensitive when I cum that I can't stand it."

Greg nodded his understanding. He had the same problem, which he wanted to
experience soon. He hadn't gotten his rocks off and his dick was
throbbing. He stood up, unbuttoned his tunic and pulled it open, revealing
the white T-shirt he wore under his jacket. He unbuckled the belt holding
up his trousers, unzipped and pushed his Stanfields and trousers down. With
one hand he reached down to cup his balls while with the other he pushed
his erection down, offering it to Jimmy, who examined the curving rod of
tan and pink flesh closely, then reached out and fisted Greg's dick. "Not a
bad piece of mean, Greggie," Jimmy said with a quiet chuckle. He leaned
forward and licked the head of Greg's dick, running his tongue slowly
around the warm glans. He drew back and looked up at Greg. "You feel like
getting laid?" he asked with a leer.

"Wha . . .  "WHAT?" Greg managed to mumble, stunned at what Jimmy had just
asked him. "You mean . . . you want to . . . fuck?"

Jimmy smiled lasciviously. "Sure. I'll let you fuck me if I can fuck you,"
he said as he ran his finger down the curving length of Greg's hardon.

Greg began gulping and sputtering and Jimmy gave him a quizzical look. Then
Jimmy realised that Greg, for all his smooth talking and boasting, was a
virgin! He left off feeling Greg up and sat back in the chair, chuckling
and staring at the young Writer, who was blushing furiously. He was also
losing his erection. Jimmy reached out and began to slowly stroke Greg's
cock. "You've never been fucked before, have you?" he asked. He leaned
forward and kissed the head of Greg's dick, and then looked up into Greg's
wide eyes. "You're cherry!" he said with an evil, satisfied grin. "I'm
holding a cherry dick!"

"I . . . uh . . . I . . ." Greg was finding it very hard to speak. "I'm a
virgin, okay?" he managed to growl defensively.

Jimmy drew back and held up his hands. "Hey, man, that's okay. I was cherry
once myself."

Greg's jaw dropped. "You . . . you've fucked a guy before?"

Jimmy nodded with practised ease. "Sure. I've fucked a guy; I've fucked a
girl. I like 'em both." He nodded a moment. "Been fucked as well. I really
like that better," He spread his hands and cocked his head. "So, do you
want to get laid?"
	Greg nodded dumbly. "What . . . what do you want me to do?" he
asked, as he began to tremble with anticipation and not a little fear.

******

Cory snickered at the thought of Greg and Jimmy together and moved on down
the row of barracks, walking toward the Mess Hall. As he approached the
huge building he saw that the galley lights were still on. As he neared the
steps leading to the dining hall the lights began to go out. Cory passed by
without a backward glance. As he approached the end of the building he
heard a door slam and a car start up. Chef was going home to his suite of
rooms at CFB Comox.

Stopping a moment, Cory watched as the headlights of Chef's car broke the
night's blackness. He followed the lights as the car travelled up the Spit,
across the causeway and made the turn onto Comox Road. As the taillights of
Chef's car disappeared into the darkness Cory continued on. As he passed
the Ropewalk and approached the Dockyard, Cory wondered why Chef bothered
to drive home. There was plenty of room in the Wardroom.

What Cory did not know was that Chef just might, on a good day and with a
healthy packet on, acknowledge that officers were people too. Chef would no
more sleep in the same berthing space with officers than jump off of the
Lion's Gate Bridge. Chef also knew that Ray and Kevin wanted to spend some
time together so he had made a point of telling the boys that he was going
ashore and spending the night in his own bed. Chef's car had barely cleared
the main gate when Ray and Kevin pulled open the sofa bed and crawled
in. They were both so tired that after a little cuddling they went to
sleep, cradling each other.

******

What neither Chef nor Cory knew was that the galley lounge had been
pre-empted by Sandro and Nathan. Both boys were seated close together on
one of the sofas and were oblivious to the crunching gravel under Cory's
feet as he passed by. Sandro, for all his intended interest in Nathan as a
potential lapsed Jew, was slowly being drawn into the American boy's web,
or so Nathan thought.

They had talked in the Gunroom and Sandro had very quickly realised that
Nathan was not now, had never been, and did not intend to be,
Jewish. Nathan had admitted that yes, somewhere way back when, at least six
or seven generations ago, the Bermans had been German Jews. All that had
changed, however, when the first Berman to immigrate to America realised
and recognised the endemic anti-Semitism that existed in the United
States. He had quickly professed Protestantism and the Bermans had been
staunch Lutherans ever since.

Sandro was mildly amused, and more than a little flattered at Nathan's
attentions. Nathan might think that he was in the process of seducing a
virginal Russian boy, naïve and so innocent. Sandro had news for Nathan.

That Nathan was a Golden Boy, as homosexuals were called in Russia, was
hardly in doubt. Half the Ship's Company had been witness to, or heard of,
Nathan's courting of Cory. Sandro remembered vividly the sight of Nathan
sitting in the rain in the Staff Barracks yard, dressed in a ratty old
bathrobe and pouring ashes that he had purloined from the Wardroom
fireplace over his head. Sandro also had pleasant memories of Nathan
standing naked in the middle of the parade square. A less than pleasant
memory was the vision of Cory standing in the downpour, watching the
American cutter as it made its careful way down the harbour as it put out
to sea.

What flattered Sandro was that Nathan, who had obviously broken up with
Cory, if there had ever been any relationship to break up, had chosen him,
Sandro, to seduce! Not that Sandro minded be seduced. Nathan was a very
handsome young man, with a long, oval face, a firm jaw and intriguing,
flashing, bright sapphire eyes. Sandro could understand why Cory would have
found Nathan desirable. Why the two boys were not together was something
Sandro doubted he would ever know. He was not close with the Twins, and
hardly privy to their secrets and love affairs. Sandro suspected that
Nathan was a born cock hound, never content with just one boy, and was
always on the lookout for another bed to crawl into. Sandro shrugged
mentally. He was enjoying being seduced and would just lie back and enjoy
whatever came next.

Nathan considered himself to be an expert in the art of seduction. He had
begun his campaign within minutes of Sandro entering the Gunroom. Nathan
had been smooth, and very subtle, keeping his voice low and sensual,
emphasising a point with a deft, gentle touch on Sandro's knee or shoulder,
never anywhere near the young Russian's privates. His gloriously blue,
sapphire eyes were warm and glowing and Nathan took great pains to never
show by word or deed what he was really after, and never realised that
Sandro was after the same thing.

Since he was enjoying Nathan's little game, Sandro let it play out. What
Nathan was doing was certainly a welcome change from what he had been used
to from just before his twelfth birthday, when his father's younger
brother, Alexei, had returned from his conscript service with the Red Army.

******

As Russian Jews the Signaransky family was accorded minimal housing in a
crumbling block of flats in the worst part of Minsk. They lived in a
four-room apartment, Sandro, his parents, his grandmother, an aged aunt and
his uncle, Alexei. Life was hard, but then life was hard for
everybody. There were shortages of every description, and Jews suffered no
less than the Christians did. Sandro's family was, by Russian standards,
well off. His mother was a pharmacist who worked in the State Hospital. His
father was a lawyer who made an adequate living defending dissidents and
deviants. As a Jew these were the only clients he could hope to
have. Sandro's grandmother, and his great-aunt, were both veterans of the
Great Patriotic War, and received decent pensions. With their pooled
resources there was always food on the table, and they managed to dress
decently. They even had a small Czech-made television set in the
combination living room, kitchen, and dining room. Sandro, as an only
child, had a small cubby-hole for his bedroom. His parents had their own
room, while his grandmother and aunt shared the second bedroom.

Growing up, Sandro did not know that he was a despised Jew. His family did
not practice their faith and, until his thirteenth birthday, Sandro had not
been required to report on a regular basis to the local KGB office to prove
that his foreskin was still intact. His religion aside, Sandro had a happy
childhood and he grew into a fine, intelligent, handsome boy. He performed
well in school, and while he had only a few friends, he was not despised or
shunned. Like the Signaranskys, the neighbours were all too busy scratching
for a living to worry about who was a Jew, or who was not.

One delight of Sandro's young life had been his uncle, Alexei, who was not
all that much older than Sandro was. Uncle Alexei had been a handsome,
laughing, always smiling, and dashing hero to his young nephew, and they
shared the lumpy old bed shoved into the cubby-hole off the main room of
their apartment. Alexei had doted on his nephew, and spoiled him
outrageously. Sandro had wept bitter tears when Alexei had gone off to
serve his three years in the Red Army as a most unwilling conscript
soldier.

******

The Alexei who returned from the army was not the Alexei who had gone
away. The new Alexei was distant, grim, and taciturn. He refused to
describe the horrors he had endured as a Jew Conscript in the Red Army, and
chose to drown himself in litre bottles of vodka. Sandro had, at first,
tried to understand and comfort his uncle. He had been brusquely pushed
aside and, while they still shared the same bed, the old intimacy was gone.

And then it happened.

In the grim winter of 1971 the local collective failed to deliver the
building's quota of heating oil. There was a shortage, as usual
unexplained. The people would have to keep warm as best they could and a
functionary from the always-benevolent Party distributed blankets and
Leninist platitudes. Sandro had gone to bed at his usual time. Alexei, as
he often was of late, was out somewhere when Sandro crawled under the three
blankets and a down filled comforter that covered his bed. He was dressed
in warm, flannel pyjamas, a gift from one of his father's clients who had
connections with the West. Sandro found that if he kept the blankets over
his head he was not all that uncomfortable.

Sometime during the night Uncle Alexei had returned and gone to
bed. Sometime during the February night the temperature plummeted and
Sandro, half asleep, and freezing, sought the only source of warmth
available - his Uncle Alexei. Sandro snuggled close to his uncle's warm
body, and then spooned against him. Much to Sandro's surprise the warmth of
his uncle, and the feel of his naked skin and taut muscles (Alexei wore
only his underpants to bed), had had an unusual effect on Sandro. His not
quite 12-year-old club began to tingle and harden, and the closer he lay to
his uncle the more his club tingled. The feelings were intensified when his
club poked out of the fly of his pyjamas and he rubbed it - just as little
- against his uncle's well-formed bottom.

Until that moment Sandro's sexual experiences had been limited to playing
with his own club and, occasionally, with the stubby, hooded protuberance
presented by his sometime best friend, Dimitri, who was the son of the
block concierge. Dimitri had the run of the cellars of the building and
knew the best places to hide, a sensible precaution, where they giggled and
examined and played with each other's immature erections, and it was in the
dank cellars that Sandro discovered that if he pulled down the thick skin
covering the head of his club and rubbed the deep purple acorn, and he, or
Dimitri, rubbed it long enough, a most glorious feeling resulted.

Both boys were very careful when they went down into the cellars, making
sure that there were no nosy babushkas loitering about, spying on little
boys. Sandro, as well as Dimitri, knew all too well what would happen to
them if they were caught playing with each other's little clubs. Golden
Boys, as homosexuals were called, were almost as despised as the Jews.

While despised, and denied basic human rights, Jews were allowed to exist
in relative safety and, unless a Jew was foolish enough to indulge in
dissident activities, he had little fear of the gulags. Not so a Golden Boy
who, if discovered, was automatically guilty of deviant and anti-Soviet
behaviour. Few survived seven years, the standard sentence for the "crime",
in the harsh, isolated Siberian camps.

Sandro, being only nearly 12, had not felt too guilty about playing with
Dimitri's club. It was fun, and both he and Dimitri felt very good while
they were doing it. Besides, they were only doing what many of their
friends were doing. Sandro did not consider himself a Golden Boy at all. He
had no desire to play with anyone other than Dimitri, who was not a Golden
Boy, either. As for his Uncle Alexei, well, while he might be well on the
road to becoming a world-class drunkard, he was certainly not a Golden
Boy. Uncle Alexei had his share of girlfriends, or so it seemed to Sandro,
despite being an obnoxious, loud, profane drunk, and had never expressed an
interest in other men, or boys. Had Uncle Alexei been at all interested
Sandro thought that he would have known. They slept together in the same
bed, after all. Uncle Alexei had never, even before his time in the Army,
done anything more than give his nephew a hug and a kiss goodnight. It
therefore came as a great shock to Sandro when his uncle suddenly grunted,
snuffled, groaned and then turned over to face him.

Sandro, wide-eyed with fear at being discovered rubbing his little club
against his uncle's warm bottom, waited for the blow that never came. Much
to Sandro's surprise Uncle Alexei burrowed under the covers, lowered his
head, and lunged. Alexei's warm, slim lips pushed down Sandro's foreskin
and his tongue twirled and swirled around the boy's little acorn. Sandro,
overcome with delight and glory, was too stunned to protest, and such were
the feelings that raged through him as his uncle sucked greedily that he
was soon lost in a world of indescribable pleasure, whimpering and
thrusting his thin, childish hips as he tried to force his boner deeper
into his uncle's mouth. All too soon Sandro experience a massive, mind
altering, dry orgasm.

When Sandro managed to wriggle his penis free from his uncle's powerful,
suctioning mouth, Alexei had whispered that this was their secret, and then
gave Sandro a cuff on the ear and told him to take more care in cleaning
himself. Alexei then rolled onto his side and was soon snoring
loudly. Sandro spent the rest of the night wide awake, a frightened and
bewildered little boy.

******

The next day Uncle Alexei had taken Sandro ice-skating. They skated for
hours and Uncle Alexei made no mention of what had happened. Sandro,
initially too frightened to open his mouth, had allowed himself to be
coddled and spoiled with sweets, pastries, and roasted chestnuts. As the
day progressed Sandro realized that his uncle was buying his silence. The
more he thought of the incident, the more Sandro decided to remain
silent. He was very happy that his old Uncle Alexei, the uncle he had known
before his army service, had returned. Several times Sandro had started to
tell his uncle that he would say nothing. He loved Alexei, and was not
about to tattle and condemn the man to seven years in Siberia. Alexei
pretended not to understand as he reached for his wallet and another bundle
of roubles bought Sandro a new soccer ball.

As they walked home, Alexei haltingly apologized for what had
happened. Sandro replied honestly that what Alexei had done to him was of
no consequence. He admitted shyly that it had felt good. He did not tell
his uncle that having his little club sucked on felt so good that he was
going to asked Dimitri if he would like to try it (the answer would be a
loud, disgusted, NYET!).

Alexei, however, was determined to make his nephew understand that what
they, no, what he had done, was wrong! He had been drunk! If he had not
been drunk it would never have happened! Alexei swore that he would drink
no more and that Sandro could sleep safe in his bed. He, Alexei Effimovitch
Signaransky, was no boy lover!

Sandro, who had been looking forward to going to bed, and secretly hoping
that Uncle Alexei was a boy lover, reluctantly, and with disappointment,
accepted Alexei at his word, so much so that when he prepared for bed he
put on his pyjamas over his underpants, although he did take care to pull
back his foreskin and carefully clean the head of his little club when he
had his evening bath. What Sandro did not know was that Uncle Alexei, who
was drinking heavily, planned on going to bed without his underpants for he
had, while stationed in some god-forsaken village in the middle of nowhere,
acquired a taste for young boys.

Alexei's unit had been quartered in a barracks that abutted an orphanage
overflowing with young boys, all of whom were half-starved because there
was no money to feed them properly, and dressed in little better than rags,
because there was little money left from feeding them to clothe them
properly. The orphan boys had very early on learned that the soldiers would
feed them, give them cigarettes, sometimes sweets, and cast offs to
wear. That there was a price to be paid the orphans ignored. A full belly
cured a multitude of sins and the wall separating the barracks from the
orphanage saw heavy traffic once the sun went down. After the first few
months Alexei made certain that he always had a supply of food, sweets and
cigarettes on hand, and he never spent an entire night alone for the
balance of his tour of duty.

That night, with the heat still off, Sandro, half asleep, had snuggled
close to his uncle. He was very surprised when he slipped his arm around
his uncle's body, to discover that the man was not only naked, but his club
was stiff from excitement, so stiff and excited that his foreskin was all
the way back, and the head was covered in a sticky substance.

Alexei was not as drunk as he pretended to be and for a while allowed his
nephew's hand to feel his erection and fondle his testicles. He could hear
Sandro's heavy breathing, and feel the boy's stiff little club rubbing
frantically against his bare behind. Grinning, he rolled over and pulled
down Sandro's pyjama bottoms and underpants. Licking his lips in
anticipation. Alexei reached over and slowly pulled down the skin covering
the head of Sandro's club. He looked into his nephew's expectant eyes and
lowered his head.

Three times that night - Sandro had not yet reach puberty and could dry
orgasm almost at will - Uncle Alexei lowered his head and a pattern was
established.

Each night Alexei would suck on Sandro's club, most nights never taking his
mouth off of the skin-covered bit of flesh that stood straight out from
Sandro's crotch. In the morning he would act as nothing had happened and,
as the schools were closed due to lack of heating oil, would casually
suggest an outing, to the zoo, to the fairgrounds, perhaps ice-skating. It
mattered little where they went. Alexei needed to expiate his guilt and, or
so he thought, ensure his nephew's silence. He showered Sandro with small
gifts, which seemed to increase in value once Sandro had started
"squirting", as Alexei put it.

Invariably, as they walked home through the cold, Russian dusk, Uncle
Alexei would apologise profusely for what he had done. Just as invariably,
Uncle Alexei would pull down Sandro's pyjama bottoms as soon as he climbed
into their shared bed.

Sandro, a born pragmatist, accepted the apologies, and the gifts, secure in
the knowledge that Uncle Alexei would revert to form at some point during
the frigid night. Sandro also stopped wearing underpants to bed, kept his
dick clean, and his pyjamas loose.

There was one thing, however, that would always puzzle Sandro: his uncle
never asked him to respond in kind, in any way, for that matter. Every
night Alexei would suck Sandro into nirvana, snuffling away with his mouth
on Sandro's club and his nose buried in Sandro's crotch. Most nights, after
Sandro had been pleasured to exhaustion, Alexei would remain between
Sandro's legs, his mouth firmly on the boys soft club, and rapidly pump and
rub his own club against the sheet that covered the bed. As he approached
orgasm Alexei would tongue and suck Sandro's testicles into his warm mouth
and give a loud grunt, which told Sandro that there would be another
questioning look when Babuska stripped the bed to wash the
sheets. Sometimes Alexei would roll away and onto his back, rapidly pump
his club, grunt loudly as the head of it squirted three or four squirts of
thick semen onto his chest and stomach, and then roll onto his side. Within
minutes Alexei would be snoring away.

In the event, Sandro never questioned his uncle. After all, only a fool
kicked a sleeping wolf. He could not understand, but he was not about to
give up his nightly pleasuring, so he kept silent and enjoyed the
situation, which continued for a little over a year.

Sharing a bed with Uncle Alexei ended in the fall of Sandro's 13th year,
when the Russian government announced that Jews would be allowed to
emigrate to Israel. Sandro's father stood on line for three days and paid
handsome "fees" to obtain the necessary visas for the entire
family. Alexei, anxious to leave Russia, went on ahead, charged with
preparing the way for the family.

Israel had proven hot and inhospitable. Sandro's father was very much a Jew
in name only, and balked at the rabbinical restrictions imposed on most of
the Israeli population, thinking that everything was weighted in favour of
the Orthodox or Ultra-Orthodox Jews who, while in the minority, screamed
long and loud when the Law, or their imagined rights, were abrogated or
restricted. He was ably supported by Alexei, who was even less of a Jew
than his older brother, and chafed under the dietary and Talmudic
restrictions (the Rabbis actually expected him to be circumcised!).

Papa Signaransky quickly looked around for another country and decided that
Canada would be the family's future home. Once again Alexei was sent ahead
to make the necessary arrangements and the family packed their belongings,
leaving another land of their forefathers for the New World.

******

In Israel, and later in Canada, Sandro and Alexei did not share a bed, or
even a room. Alexei, very much his former self, was uninterested in
servicing his nephew once he discovered the freedom and disinterest of the
New World. He had found a new circle of friends both in Israel, and later
in Canada, and while Sandro suspected that these friends were more than
just drinking buddies, he said nothing. His affair with his uncle was over.

******

The Signaransky family settled in Saanich, British Columbia, one of the
more upscale suburbs of Victoria, the provincial capital, and while
Sandro's Babuska, and Great Aunt Olga, pined for the Old Country, Sandro
was happy. The house was large, with room enough for everyone, the sun
always shone and the Canadian people were friendly.

When he first arrived in Canada, Sandro did not know what to expect. He was
a stranger in an alien land, had little knowledge of the people, their
culture, or their language. He was, at first, wide-eyed with the wonder of
Canada, where the people lived a free and easy lifestyle, without fear of
spying neighbours and the secret police. Their freedom was to do basically
what they pleased, when they pleased and it came as a sudden culture shock
to Sandro, a boy who had been accustomed to privation, shortages, and the
monthly inspection of his penis by a bored Party functionary. Nobody in
Canada asked to see his penis, or any other part of his body, for that
matter. In point of fact, people were more apt to show their bits and
pieces to anyone who happened to be looking, and for a time Sandro thought
that skimpy Speedo bathing suits, or shorts, usually worn without a shirt,
were required dress for anyone who lived on Vancouver Island, at least
those who actually wore clothing. At times it seemed to Sandro that the
whole island was clothing optional!

In later years, Sandro often wondered why he had thought that Canada would
be free of prejudice. As his English comprehension increased, and he
interacted more and more with Canadians, he was sadly disillusioned. He
should have expected some form of prejudice and discrimination. He had
lived in Russia, where everybody hated each other with blithe abandon, the
ethnic Russians despising anyone who wasn't ethnic Russian, and Orthodox
Christian. In Israel the various sects of Judaism were always at each
other's throats, and bitching about each other's interpretation of the
Law. In the end Sandro realised that Canadians were no different from
Russians, Israelis and, he suspected, all the rest of the human race.

In Canada, while there was a barely perceptible undercurrent of
anti-Semitism, neither Sandro nor his family were bothered about it,
perhaps because their neighbours were much too busy casting aspersions on
others, notably native Canadians, who were despised and dismissed as
drunken Indians, licentious, welfare sucking, good-for-nothings who, when
referred to at all, were sneeringly dismissed as "Neeches."

Indians from India, particularly the Sikhs, who seemed to infest the
province, were similarly held in contempt. Slightly higher on the prejudice
hit parade were the Chinese, who while they had had a valuable presence in
the province for at least a hundred years, were still, more often than not,
thought of as "Chinks" and really not worthy of anyone's notice. Blacks, of
whom there were very few, were universally referred to as "niggers", and
not considered a part of society at all.

Sandro, who was an intelligent boy, and whose command of the English
language improved daily, very quickly learned that while each different
peoples had different prejudices, they were all united when it came to
homosexuals, who were beyond the pale. In Russia, homosexuals, if
discovered, faced the Gulags. In Israel just the merest hint of the word
homosexual was enough to set the Rabbis to raising their eyes and arms in
horror and decamping to the nearest synagogue to beg Yahweh's forgiveness
for allowing their sense of hearing to be polluted by the horrible
abomination of such hearing such a despicable word.

In Canada, while there was no KGB, no camps, or rabbis praying publicly for
the removal of such creatures, homosexuals were just as reviled and
degraded as anywhere else. In school, even though his command of the
English language was limited, Sandro heard the contempt and disgust in the
voices of the other boys whenever "fags" or "queers" were discussed. At
least once a month the newspapers and the television news reported another
beating of this or that man, who was known to frequent areas "known to
police as meeting places for sexual deviants". Sandro, although he missed
Uncle Alexei's nightly ministrations, listened, and learned. He resolved
never to put himself in a position where he would become the object of the
other boys' revulsion.

In time, Sandro joined the Sea Cadets where he kept his own counsel and,
while he made friends, notably Ray, the Twins, and Harry, he avoided doing
or saying anything that would call attention to him or remotely suggest
that he was interested in the other boys in a sexual way.

Sandro's work schedule helped and he was always up long before any of the
other cadets, and was always in bed before the bugle sounded First Post. He
was also away every weekend, staying at the Commanding Officer's house.

Sex for Sandro was solitary masturbation, which he did when and where he
could, and only when he was certain that no one else was around to hear, or
see him. He never masturbated on the weekends. The Commanding Officer and
his lady had shown him great kindness and he felt that beating off in their
guest bedroom strained the bounds of hospitality.

Except for the one time that Ray had caught him stroking himself in the
showers, when they had kissed and their penises had touched briefly, Sandro
had not been with another boy since leaving Russia. He was aware that some
of the other cadets had formed relationships. Sandro knew that Ray and
Kevin were very serious lovers, and that Randy and Joey were fucking like
Kulaks. He suspected that Nicholas and Andre were lovers, for he had seen
the subtle differences in their behaviour whenever they were
together. Sandro also knew that Phantom was more than just a close friend
to The Gunner, just as he also knew that Brian and Dylan had spent time
together, although for some reason their relationship seemed to have ended.

Very often, as he lay in his bunk waiting for sleep, Sandro wondered what
he would do if one of the other cadets suggested a long, warm shower during
the Middle Watch, or a late night walk along the beach. He had never had
the opportunity to find out because no one had ever asked him. Until, that
is, tonight, until Nathan.

******

Sandro lay back against the back of the sofa and watched through hooded
eyes, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips, as Nathan continued
to work what he thought was his magic. Sandro could feel Nathan's
magnificent sapphire eyes boring into him, and he could feel Nathan's
fingers as they traced a slow, lazy pattern of circles around and around
the top of his leg.

It was all very exciting, and intoxicatingly sexy, to be the object of
Nathan's smooth seduction. Sandro opened his eyes a little wider, and saw
Nathan staring at him. When Nathan's hand moved closer to his now swollen
club, Sandro made no move away from the probing hand, and made no
comment. What intrigued Sandro was that Nathan made him feel as if he was
the only boy in Nathan's exclusive little corner of the world, a corner
that few were ever invited to enter.

Emboldened, Nathan ran his fingers along the smooth bulge that strained the
fabric of Sandro's white cook's trousers. "You seem to have a little
problem," he murmured huskily.

Sandro moaned and shivered delightfully. "Is not a little problem," he
returned with a straight face. "It is big hardon!"

Nathan began to giggle uncontrollably. It took him a few minutes to regain
his composure but in those few minutes his fingers never left off stroking
the large, smooth bulge in Sandro's trousers. "It sure looks big," breathed
Nathan when he was once again in control. He rubbed a little harder. "Does
this bother you?" he asked solicitously.

"No, it is feeling very good," replied Sandro truthfully. He leaned forward
and pushed his hand into Nathan's crotch, imitating the other boy's deft,
careful touch. "You are very big, too," he growled.

Nathan shook his head. "Not as big as you, I think." He squeezed Sandro's
erection. "Will you let me see it?" he asked, feigning shyness.

Smiling, Sandro stood up and began to undo the black buttons of his cook's
tunic. "It is better if we undress." He pointed his chin at Nathan's
starched, dress whites. "You must also wear your uniform tomorrow," he
added helpfully.

Nathan returned Sandro's smile, his demeanour hiding the sense of unease he
felt. Sandro had given in much too easily, and he sensed that he was no
longer in control. "Have you ever . . .?" he began.

"I have been with a man," replied Sandro casually. He tossed his tunic to
one side and began to undo the buckle of his belt. "In Russia."

Nathan raised his eyebrows. So, Sandro was not the virgin he pretended to
be. "A man?"

"A man," repeated Sandro as he pushed his trousers down. "He is older than
I and was in Russian Army." He stepped out of his trousers and
shrugged. "What we did was very pleasant."

Nathan, who had stripped off his tunic and was in the process of stepping
out of his trousers, sucked in his breath at the sight of Sandro, who was
standing in front of him, wearing nothing but his underpants, his huge,
erect penis jutting straight out from the leg band of his white cotton
briefs. "Wow," Nathan gasped as he took another look at the smooth rod of
flesh that bounced lightly against Sandro's leg. He looked again and
reached out his hand. "I thought you said that you were Jewish?"

Sandro looked down at his hardon and saw that the top half of his purple
dome was protruding above his thin foreskin. He pushed down his briefs,
snagging his hard dick in the process. Sandro untangled himself and his
dick thrust outward toward Nathan, very long, very thick, and very hard. He
reached down and pulled his foreskin all the way back, revealing the slick,
purple head. "In Russia, all boys have skin, even Jews," Sandro
explained. Remembering Cory's phobia, he gave Nathan a hard look. "You are
displeased?"

"Hell no!" declared Nathan as he pushed his boxers down, revealing his
smooth, flawless, circumcised penis and low hanging balls. "I just did not
expect you to have skin, is all."

Sandro did not feel the need to explain further why he was an uncircumcised
Jew. He was much more interested in Nathan's mesmerizing cock. Sandro had
seen hardons before, but none as handsome as Nathan's was, and never as
close as Nathan's throbbing dick was now. "He is . . . beautiful," moaned
Sandro softly, referring to Nathan's wonderful pink and tan erection. He
reached out and wiped away a small bead of precum that nestled about the
slit of Nathan's cock, then lifted his thumb to his lips and tasted the
clear, sticky fluid. Then, realising what he had just done, Sandro dropped
his hand to his side. He was beginning to breathe heavily and while he did
not yet know it, his own dick was leaking. "I . . . I am sorry, I should
not have touched you without your permission," he told Nathan
apologetically.

Nathan grinned and reached out his hand. "I'm going to touch you without
your permission," he said with a low chuckle. He pushed down Sandro's
foreskin and examined the shiny, wet looking, curving glans of the Russian
boy's dick. "Gosh, you are big!" he declared.

"Almost 19 centimetres, when he is angry, and maybe 10 centimetres around,"
replied Sandro proudly.

"It's big in any language," agreed Nathan. He began to slowly masturbate
Sandro, who returned the favour. "When you were in Russia, you and this
. . . man, what did you do?" asked Nathan. He wanted Sandro to be
comfortable with whatever they ended up doing to each other. "I mean, if
all you did was just jerk each other, then we can just do that, if you
want."

Sandro ducked his head. "He sucked on my . . . penis. It was very nice and
I liked it, a lot!"

"Did you suck on him?" Nathan had every intention of blowing Sandro into
the middle of next week and, he hoped, that Sandro would do the same for
him.

"No, he would not allow it," Sandro replied, a slight note of
disappointment in his voice. Then he added, "I did not ask if I could do
the same to him."

"Oh," replied Nathan, unable to conceal the note of disappointment in his
voice.

Sandro caught the note. "I would very much like to suck your dick." He gave
Nathan's erection a slow, soft caress. "He is very beautiful."

"Well, if you're sure you want to," replied Nathan, pretending reluctance
in asking Sandro to do something he presumed Sandro had never done before.

"I want to," replied Sandro firmly.

Nathan bent down and licked the head of Sandro's dick, then raised his head
slightly and looked into Sandro's eyes. "How about I do you first, and then
you do me?" he asked, once again leaving the decision up to Sandro.

Sandro began his acquiescence, and then stopped. "I have head of
something. It is when two boys suck each other at the same time. You have
heard of it? It is called a six-nine."

Nathan slowly rose upward. "Yeah, I've heard of it. But it's called a
sixty-nine." He leaned forward and his lips brushed Sandro's. "Would you
like to do that?"

Sandro returned Nathan's kiss and then responded with a shy smile. "I would
like to do that," he whispered softly. His hand reached down to cup
Nathan's balls. "But I have never done it before, and you must tell me what
I must do."

Nathan grinned widely. "How about I show you what to do?" he asked with a
low chuckle as he pointed toward the sofa. "First you have to lie down on
the sofa, on your side, and then . . ."

******

Cory strolled on, past Bosun Stores, where he had no doubt that Chris and
Jon were nesting for the next little while. He wondered if the two boys had
made up a bed, using the life jackets stored in the dusty shed (they had,
and Chris would be hard pressed the next morning to explain why there was a
perfect indentation of a life jacket clip on his right butt cheek).

The Ropewalk was dark and empty. Mark and Tony were socialising with Andy
in the Wardroom lounge, and Cory could see the bright lights of the
Officers Quarters shimmering across the water of the harbour.

The moon was rising and filling Comox Harbour, and the Spit, with a warm,
faint light. Cory walked down the length of the jetty, past the YAGs, which
were tied up alongside in line astern, three to starboard, two to port. The
Command YAG, hull 321, was the last in the line of starboard boats. Sean
was not about so Cory continued on to the end of the jetty, taking in the
scenery. Behind him, beyond the bright lights of the jetty, the buildings
of HMCS AURORA were, for the most, dark and silent. It was very quiet, the
only sounds the soft slapping of low waves against the wooden hulls of the
YAGs and the distant clanking of a signal halyard improperly tied to the
Ship's Mast.

Cory sat on a bollard and glanced at his watch. 0045 with the moon rising
and still no sign of Sean. Cory could not stay out too much
longer. Wakey-wakey was at 0600, and Phantom's parade loomed on the
morrow. He would give Sean another ten minutes or so and if the jerk had
not shown up in that time Cory would be off to his bed, hoping that Todd,
Harry, Chris, Jon, and God alone knew who else was out in the night had the
sense to get to their beds before the Duty Watch began its nightly prowl.

******

"We really should be thinking about getting back to the Gunroom," Harry
murmured. "There will be hell to pay if the Duty Hand does his rounds and
finds our bunks empty. We have to be way past our curfew."

Todd snuggled closer to Harry, then reached down and cupped the
Escorts. "Harry, I frankly don't give a shit if the Duty Watch, the
Commanding Officer, or Lord Louis Flipping Mountbatten, go tramping through
the Gunroom and see our empty bunks! I am in love with you, you moose, and
I plan on spending as much time with you as we can between now and the time
we have to go home. What we have here is probably going to have to last us
for the rest of our lives. Let's just enjoy each other in the time we have
left."

Harry struggled into a sitting position and then leaned forward. He began
kissing Todd's flaccid penis and perfect, oval testicles. "It doesn't have
to end here, Todd," he murmured quietly.

"Harry, being in love means that you're happy with the person that you are
in love with." Todd gently pushed Harry away from his crotch and pulled him
against his body. "As much as I love you, and I love you a great deal, I
might be happy on the farm, with you, for a while, but only for a while."

"I know," replied Harry with an unhappy sigh. "But Todd, that is exactly
what I've been trying to tell you." He reached out and brushed the back of
his hand against Todd's smooth, beardless cheek. "I want you, Todd," Harry
said earnestly. "I want you to be there when I come in from the fields at
night. I want you across from me at the dinner table when we have supper. I
want to be able to roll over in the middle of the night and feel you
against me. I want to feel you, to smell you, to taste you!" Harry placed
his broad hands on Todd's shoulders. "I want all that, Todd, even though I
know that I can never have it because, if I did, you would be desperately
unhappy."

"Harry, I know what you want, and I wish I could give it to you," replied
Todd sincerely. "I cannot. You have got your whole life planned out." Todd
shrugged expressively. "Me? I am still floundering around trying to decide
what I want to be or, as you put it, trying to find out what I am destined
to be. My father wants me to be a lawyer. Do I want to be a lawyer? Is that
what fate holds in store for me?"

"Is that what you want to be?" asked Harry. "It's your life, and you should
be what you want to be."

Todd chuckled dryly. He lay back, pulling Harry with him. "The problem, my
dear, sweet lummox, is that I have no idea if that is what I want to
be. Hell, other than deciding that I am not coming back here next year, I
don't have a clue what I want!"

Harry bristled. "It's not because you're gay, is it? Fuck, anybody who
. . ."

Todd held up his hand. "Harry, my sexual orientation is hardly a state
secret." He looked earnestly at his lover. "My being gay has nothing to do
with me continuing on with, or leaving, the Sea Cadets. What has everything
to do with my leaving the Cadets is my age, and my education. I turn 18
next April and this year I will be entering my last year of high school,
with cruel and unusual punishment to look forward to. I have my Grade 13
exams to consider, and the LSAT if I decide to go to Law School. If I
decided to stay in the cadets the most I could hope for would be Chief of
my Corps, which is fine. I could put in for a Staff posting here, but as
what?"

"Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor!" said Harry promptly. "You're more than
qualified and with The Gunner's influence, hell, you'd be a shoe in."

Todd reached down and ran his thumb along the Pride. He jiggled the Escorts
and then fixed Harry a hard, cold stare. "Harry, why aren't you the
Dominion Drum Major," he asked, his voice low.

"Well, I . . ."

"Harry, I was there!"

Harry's brow lowered and anger filled his eyes. "The fix was in! The
Dominion Council had already decided that that little fuck from Kenora
fucking Ontario, was going to win!"

"Because his daddy was owed a big favour, because his daddy had donated a
piss pot full of money to Dominion Command," confirmed Todd with a shake of
his head. "His little boy wanted to be Dominion Drum Major, and so he was
Dominion Drum Major. You could have twirled your Mace on the head of the
Pride, whistled Dixie and farted the Last Post, all at the same time, and
you still would have lost!" Todd sat up and hugged his knees. "I will never
be a party to anything remotely smacking of favouritism! I refuse to accept
any job or post that I am not qualified for, or that I did not win on my
own merits." He turned and looked at Harry. "And, as strange as it may seem
to you, The Gunner will recommend that I be given the job, but he will
never use his influence to ensure that I get the job. And that is the way I
want it, Harry. I will not accept anything that I have not worked for, that
I am not qualified for, or that I received through the influence of
others. I told the Selection Board that, and I am telling you that!"

Harry laid his head against Todd's warm, smooth stomach. He ran his fingers
through the tightly curled thatch of dark blond pubic hair that gave rise
to Todd's pink, soft genitals. Harry did not think it wise to mention that
The Gunner's influence had already been brought to bear for Todd. "The
Gunner has very high standards," Harry said slowly. "And, yes, he would
never compromise his standards to help you get what you want, simply
because you want it."

Todd stuck out his chin and nodded firmly. "Which is the way it must be,
Harry!" he declared. "We must be men of character, and truth. We must be
prepared to do the harder right rather than accept the lesser wrong!"

Harry began curling a small tuft of Todd's pubic hair around his
finger. "You have friends, Todd," he said slowly. "Friends help friends."

"But only if the friend is qualified for whatever it is he wants!" replied
Todd stubbornly. He began to run his fingers through Harry's black, sweat
dampened hair. "Only if it is right and honourable. We both saw what
happens when friends 'help' friends. That kid, somebody who couldn't twirl
a Mace if you tied it to a motor shoved up is ass, fucked you out of the
Dominion Championship because 'friends helped friends'!"

Harry continued his twirling. He felt no sexual urge, and understood now
why the Twins always maintained that when they sat together on the barracks
stoop it was not sex. Harry felt warm and comfortable and just plain happy,
lying with his head on Todd's belly, playing with his pubic curlies. "And
the Kenora Kid learned what happens when my friends get pissed off!" Harry
chuckled softly. "You and Cory sure did a number on the poor schmuck!"

"Fuckin' aye!" returned Todd forcefully. "That little bastard fucked you
out of your championship! His father and his friends cheated! The little
bastard deserved exactly what he got."

"What got me was Cory!" said Harry with a low chuckle. "Butter would not
have melted in his mouth! Every time he saw that kid Cory congratulated him
on being the Dominion Drum Major, and how proud he must be to hold such a
prestigious title . . ."

Todd started to laugh. "And saying how hard he must have worked and how
proud his daddy must be of him."

Harry joined in Todd's laughter. "That poor kid ended up feeling like two
cents well spent," he cackled maliciously.

"The little fuck deserved it," repeated Todd grimly. "All we did was
congratulate the kid . . ."

"Over, and over, and over again," laughed Harry. "And both of you, you and
Cory, you were so sweet and polite when you did it! Everybody knew what you
were doing, even him, eventually. He wouldn't touch the trophy, you
know. He made his daddy carry it out of the drill hall!"

"All we did was help out our friend," replied Todd. "You got screwed and we
wanted the kid and his daddy to know exactly how we felt about it."

"The kid got the message." Harry nuzzled Todd's belly. "For a while,
though, I thought that both of you were serious and really sincere in what
your were saying. Then I saw Cory's eyes, and Todd, what I saw sent a cold
shiver up my spine! I sure hope that I do not ever get that look when I
park the pickup in front of Number Two, Clarence Square."

"I have to admit that Cory's eyes do have a way of giving him away and
. . ." Todd raised his head and looked at Harry, who was looking back at
him. "What pickup? And what do you mean when you say that you are going to
park it in front of Number Two . . ." Todd's eyes widened. "Harry, that's
. . . that's where I live!"

"I should hope so," returned Harry with a grin, "or I'll be calling on the
wrong blond guy."

"A strange look came into Todd's eyes. "Ah, Harry . . ."

Harry moved up the sofa and cradled Todd in his arms. "I love you, and I am
not going to just get on that plane at the end of the month and forget you,
Todd." He kissed Todd tenderly. "I know we won't be together for the rest
of our lives. I accept that, and I don't want to think about what we have
ending."

Todd very gently brushed his lips against Harry's, then dew back, his eyes
full of genuine sadness. "It will, Harry," he said sadly.

"Will you let me finish, please?" asked Harry sincerely. Todd
nodded. "People change, times change," Harry said softly, his voice almost
a whisper. "Fine, so be it and make it so and all that crap. You have to be
you; I have to be me. Sooner or later we both know that what he have
together will end. Again, I accept that. However, until it does, I am going
to see you, and be with you, Todd. I am going to make love to you and that,
Todd, means that whenever I get tired of cow shit on my boots and alfalfa
in my underwear, whenever I can't stand being without you for another
minute, I am going to point the nose of my pickup west and I am not going
to stop until it hits the front door of your house!"

"We have a very sturdy front door," advised Todd with an ear-to-ear
grin. He was relieved that Harry had at last accepted reality, and was very
pleased that their relationship would continue. "But, Harry, what about
school? You cannot just up and head west every time you get the urge, you
know."

Harry returned Todd's grin. "Ah, but I can. I'm not going to school next
year," he announced almost casually.

"You're not?"

Shaking his head Harry replied, "I graduate high school in May. I am not
rushing off to the university. I'm taking a year off." A soft look came
into his eyes. "I want to spend some time with my dad. I got to thinking,
after our talk this morning, about him. He works so hard, Todd, to provide
a decent life for all his kids, and my Mom. He never asks for anything, and
he just loves us as much as he can. I want to give a little of that love
back to him."

A soft smile creased Todd's features as he stroked Harry's face. "You
really are a big lump of mush, you know," he said fondly.

"You won't tell anybody, will you?" asked Harry in pretended alarm. He
smiled and then continued on. "I want to spend some time with my dad. He
can teach me more about farming in a year than any professor can in four!
That's what I want to do."

"Then do it, Harry," urged Todd.

"I intend to. I also intend to come calling on a certain young gentleman
and spend some time with him and I would like to do so with a reasonable
expectation that his brother won't set the dogs on me when I call!"

"We don't have a dog and . . . Harry!" Todd gave his lover a harsh
look. "Why would you even think such a thing about Cory?"

Harry sighed. "Todd, is Cory here? Am I sleeping with him?"

Todd realized that Harry was worried about Cory's reaction. "Harry, Cory is
not at all upset about us being together," he said firmly. "Cory loves you,
yes, and he certainly enjoyed himself when we were all together." He
reached down and slowly enveloped the Pride with his hand. "This morning,
we had a talk, Cory and me. He knows how I feel about you, and he is the
one that said that you were falling in love with me. He expected that we
would have a serious relationship and he has no problem with us being
together at all."

"No look of doom if I show up?" asked Harry, trying to look cold and hard.

"No look of doom," confirmed Todd, snickering. "Don't do that, Harry, you
look as if you are having a gas attack!"

Harry's face softened. "Cory won't eat me in effigy, then and . . . what
the hell was that all about?" he asked, recalling Todd's tale of Cory's
first, and only visit to the Stanley Park Zoo.

"Cory's way of getting his revenge on the goose that bit him," replied Todd
with a laugh. "He gets his revenge on that poor goose every Levee Day. We
host a huge open house. The world comes and there is lots of booze and
food. There is this buffet that is just loaded with food." He began to
laugh harder. "Every year, about a month before New Year's, Cory starts
hooting about his New Year's goose so every year we have this huge roast
goose on offer."

"And Cory eats the goose?" asked Harry, shaking his head. "For revenge?"

Todd nodded. "A goose bit him, so eats a goose at New Year's and Christ,
does he eat it. He gets a big plate of roast goose and cackles and snuffles
and I swear that the eats half the damned thing!"

"Remind me to keep my ass away from Cory's mouth on Levee Day," retorted
Harry.

"You don't have to worry about that, Harry. We could never get your ass in
the oven!"

Harry leaned forward and gave Todd a warm kiss. "You won't have any trouble
getting my ass in your bed!" he said with a sly grin. Then he
sobered. "Still, for some reason, I thought Cory would be pissed off at us
being together." He shrugged. "Maybe it was just that I always thought that
him and you, you know, shared."

"You've lost me," replied Todd. "Whatever made you think that?"

"Well, it's just that I always got the impression that you both had to like
a guy before you slept with him. Like, you both slept with that First
Prefect guy, the one that was giving you nausea about succeeding him. You
both slept with me, had sex, I mean, and you are twins so I thought that
. . ."

Todd giggled. "That you'd get two for the price of one?"

Harry made a face. "Not hardly, and that is not what I meant at all. What I
meant was that you and Cory both seem to think alike, and you both have the
same likes and dislikes, more or less. And you do pull that Frick and Frack
routine that drivers everybody crazy . . ."

"Harry, we are fraternal twins, not identical," interjected Todd
soberly. "In some ways we do share a bond, like identical twins. Our
routine is one of them. However, we are two different people, with two
different viewpoints. Cory is his own man, Harry. He has a mind of his own
and his own opinions. We do not automatically have the same thoughts, or
the same feelings. When we were little we were like that." He shook his
head. "Not now, though. Cory makes up his own mind and makes his own
decisions. What I think has very little bearing on what he thinks, or
does."

"He can be stubborn, I've noticed," observed Harry dryly.

"He can be that," agreed Todd with a sigh. "Right now he has decided that
since you are in love with me he is happy for me, and you. He is not
jealous, or envious. He knows that you want to be with me, not him, and he
has accepted the situation," Todd smiled ruefully. "Cory is no longer a
little boy, Harry. He's growing up."

"He doesn't have much choice," returned Harry. Everybody grows up. Even
me!"

Todd laughed quietly. "Cory is growing, maturing, emotionally, Harry." He
snuggled close to Harry. "And, yes, everybody grows up." He glanced at
Harry's broad, handsome face. "Except you, Harry. You will never grow up,"
he said with a smile. "You will always be a big kid."

"With adult emotions," protested Harry.

"Yes, Harry, with adult emotions. You will think like an adult, you will be
responsible like an adult, you will love like an adult, but deep down
inside you will always be a big, goofy kid."

"Would you love me any other way?"

"No, Harry. Never change."

"I'll try not to."

"Good." Todd gave Harry a serious look. "What surprises me is that I am the
one who fell in love. Cory can be a right romantic at times. I've always
been, well, calmer, more logical and rational. Cory is supposed to be the
twin who falls head over heels in love, not me."

Harry thought about Todd's assessment of Cory for a moment. "Well, you did
say that he's growing up," he reminded Todd. "Cory is no longer letting his
dick rule his brain."

"As opposed to us?" observed Todd tartly.

Harry detected the slight note of sarcasm in Todd's voice. "Not bloody
likely," he snarled. "I did that once, remember? I fooled around with
Stefan and even though I knew it was wrong, I did it anyway." He reached
out and took Todd's hand. "It's different with you. I could have walked
away after Sunday night, put it down as just three guys fooling around." He
nuzzled Todd's neck gently. "I didn't walk away because I love you. It is
not my dick that is making me want to be with you! It's what I feel inside,
how I feel inside. I could have just shrugged and said fuck it, all it is
sex. I did that with Greg because, emotionally, I didn't want anything from
him but sex. I did not want to be with him the way I want to be with you."

Todd sighed. "You're right, of course. Before Sunday I would have, to be
honest, just had a brief affair with you, maybe kept it going until the end
of summer." He chuckled ruefully. "A summer love affair, over come the end
of August and a pleasant memory, which is what all my relationships have
been like. I fucked Sylvain every night for two weeks when we were on QUEST
together. I say fucked because that's all he was. A fuck, a way to get my
rocks off."

"And you were just a fuck as far as he was concerned," returned Harry
evenly. "When you got on the bus to come home your little affair was
over. You fucked him and he fucked you. You both got what you wanted so
you're even."

Todd nodded in agreement. "And in a few weeks I found another fuck, which
is what I have always done. I would meet a guy; we would fuck, and then
move on. There was never any emotional attachment to what we did. Until you
came along." Todd rolled on his back and covered his eyes with his arms. "I
expected, to tell you the truth, that after that night we all spent
together, that Cory would fall madly in love with you. He didn't and,
thinking back, I think it's because emotionally he is maturing. The old
Cory would have jumped your bones every chance he got. The new one, he's
different because Cory has started to look at a relationship as a
relationship, a long term, emotional and physical commitment, and not a
series of one night stands. And that, Harry, worries me. It worries me a
lot!"

"Why?" asked Harry. "So Cory wants a permanent relationship. We all do,
eventually." He reached over and took Todd's arm away from his eyes. "You
said it yourself, Todd. Cory is growing up emotionally. He's looking for
someone to be with for the rest of his life. He's finally come to the
realisation that sowing his wild oats, and fucking or sucking anything with
a dick and a hole is something you do until you realise that if you keep on
doing that all you will end up being is a dirty old man with a house full
of cats!"

When Todd did not reply Harry reached over and placed his broad hand on his
lover's warm, smooth thigh. He rolled Todd gently onto his side and then
shuffled his body as close as he could get to Todd's. Harry gave his hips a
slight grind, pressing the Pride firmly against Todd's soft penis, the head
of the Pride resting against the bottom of Todd's silky smooth, hairless
scrotum.  As much as he enjoyed the feel of the Pride nestled against his
scrotum, and as much as he enjoyed the feel of Harry's strong body against
his, Todd tried to pull away. Harry was a warm, compassionate, considerate
lover. He was also a very lusty lover, seemingly wanting to make up for all
the years he'd been content with a hand wipe from his brother Nicky. Todd
also did not give a damn what Cory's opinions on multiple orgasms in any
given period of time were. He was damned tired and his balls were
aching. He had had three orgasms tonight, once when he and Harry had
sixty-nined to take the edge off; the second time when Harry was deep
within him and brought him to glory without even touching himself, and the
third time when he had made love to Harry. It was all too much. If Harry
wanted the Pride to put to sea again he could damned well give it a
hand. "Harry, please, not again! We have to get back,"

Harry pressed his hand firmly against Todd's right butt cheek. "I have rung
down 'Finished With Engines,' and the Pride is alongside." Then he added,
"But only singled up, in case it has to flash up sudden like."

Despite himself, Todd laughed. Then he sobered. "No more for tonight,
okay?"  Harry nodded slowly. "Actually, all things considered, after last
night, and tonight, the Escorts have to store ship." He gestured
impatiently. "Lift up your head."

"What?"

"Todd, just lift your bloody head," growled Harry. Todd did as he was told
and Harry slid his arm under Todd's head and then told him to lie
back. When Todd was comfortably pillowed on his arm Harry gave him a quick
kiss and then looked at him sternly. "I'm in love with you, and if
something is bothering you, it bothers me. If you're worried about Cory,
I'm worried about Cory." Harry frowned slightly. "I saw Nathan putting then
moves on Sandro, Todd."

Todd nodded sadly. "So did I. What was between Nathan and Cory is over,
Harry."

"And that worries you?"

"No, not at all. I am a little upset that their relationship didn't work
out, but no, I am not worried." Todd thought a moment. "Worried is not
really what I am on about. More . . . concerned, I think."

"Cory didn't seem all that upset, or concerned, about Nathan doing his
damnedest to get into Sandro's pants," argued Harry gently. "In fact, he
barely seemed to notice."

"Oh, Cory noticed. He always notices, Harry. Make no mistake about that."
Todd looked at Harry. "Cory is just not interested in Nathan any more. He
put paid to that relationship - what there was of it - before noon
yesterday. He did it without telling me, or asking me what I thought. Cory,
as I've said, is his own man, and makes up his own mind." He put his arm
across Harry's broad back. Todd saw the questioning look on Harry's face
and continued on. "Harry, to understand my concern you would have to
understand Cory, where he is coming from."

"Okay, help me understand your brother," said Harry as he settled himself
more comfortably on the settee. He reached around and down, cupping Todd's
soft genitals.

Todd squirmed slightly, but allowed Harry's hand to remain where it
was. Harry cupping his parts was no different from Cory cupping his parts
when they sat on the barracks stoop of an evening. "Harry, most of the time
Cory is one of the most masculine males around. He takes shit from nobody,
and stands up for himself. He has courage, and he has compassion. Cory
doesn't panic, and he is cool in a crisis. He is a young man, Harry, but he
is also, inside, a little boy who needs to be cuddled and held close." A
deep sigh of love escaped Todd's lips. A sigh that Harry knew instinctively
was not for him. Todd continued, his voice low and full of emotion. "You
are right, Harry, when you say that we all change. Cory has changed, and
will go on changing as he gets older. But, Harry, that little boy is always
going to be there inside Cory." Todd held Harry closer. "A little boy who
needs and wants affection, who needs to be held, who wants the person he
loves to be there for him, always."

"And Nathan didn't fit the bill, obviously," said Harry tenderly.

Todd's voice was full of regret. "Nathan, it seems, is a real horny
toad. Cory did not go into details, but he did tell me that when he asked
Nathan to make a commitment, Nathan could not do it."

"I wondered what was going on," replied Harry. "I'd see Cory, but not
Nathan. Then I'd see Nathan, but not Cory. At first I thought that we were
all too damned busy so Cory and Nathan just couldn't find the time to be
together." He flashed Todd a wicked look. "I also thought that from the
look on Nathan that he was some horny 'cause he didn't get anything from
Cory last night and having to sleep in the Chiefs Mess with Val and Tyler
would sure make a feller horny!"

"Harry!" gasped Todd, surprised that Harry would even think of the Master
at Arms and the Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor as sex objects.

Harry sniffed. "Todd, just because I think that Tyler and Val are damn'
fine specimens it does not mean that I'm going to put the moves on them."
He gave Todd's genitals a gentle squeeze. "And even you have to admit that
seeing those two in their tighty-whiteys, or naked, would make a feller
horny!"

Todd laughed thinly. "Yes, they would," he agreed. "But, Harry, what I am
getting at is that Nathan was a huge disappointment to me. I encouraged
him, and I helped him. I had convinced myself that Nathan was the one for
Cory. Unfortunately, I was wrong and I feel like such a fool because I
persuaded Cory to let Nathan love him."

"And just how were you supposed to know that Nathan was a horn dog?" asked
Harry reasonably. "He sure didn't seem that way when he was here
last. Hell, when he left here he had everybody convinced that he was madly
in love with Cory!"

"The sad thing is, Harry, Nathan is in love with Cory," replied Todd
morosely.

Harry started and gave Todd a puzzled look. "He sure didn't seem that way
when he was in the Gunroom tonight! For somebody in love with Cory, Nathan
was sure as hell was making quite a production of getting into Sandro's
drawers!"

"I told you, Harry, Nathan is a cock hound. He loves dick. Any dick.
Whenever it's offered. Tonight it was Sandro's dick. Tomorrow night . . ."
Todd shrugged expressively. "Who knows? It could be any guy." He grinned at
Harry. "He might even try to put the moves on you!"

"If he does he will die a horrible death," prophesied Harry grimly.

Todd chuckled and went on quietly. "Nathan could be curled up with Cory
right now. But he isn't because when Cory rolls over in the middle of the
night he wants to feel a warm body, not thin air, which is exactly what he
will feel because Nathan wants to come and go as he pleases, and sleep with
whomever he pleases. He told Cory that has been with other guys since he
was here."

"Now that I can believe!" Harry made a face and shook his head. "If tonight
was any indication Nathan was nose deep in some sailor's balls before that
fucking cutter cleared the harbour buoy!"

"Could be," agreed Todd. "The point, Harry, is that Cory needs someone who
cares for him, who loves him, and who will always be there for him. Until
now it has always been me. I've always been there for him."

"You always will, Todd."

"I will for as long as I can, Harry. But let's face facts. I am going to
move on with my life sooner or later. As is Cory. Right now, when the
nightmares come, and the little boy that is Cory needs someone to hold him,
I am there." Todd's face became a tragic mask. "But what happens, Harry,
when I am not there? What happens if the nightmares come back?"

"What nightmares?" asked Harry, intrigued and perplexed.

Todd looked seriously at Harry. "You do know what happened to us when were
seven years old?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "I know. Some pervert tried to molest you and Cory."

"He wanted Cory to touch his dick, actually," corrected Todd a
matter-of-factly. "He was a good friend of my father's. They worked
together all the time on legal briefs. He would come to our house quite
often and always stayed to dinner. He seemed ever so nice and Cory adored
him." Todd laughed with sad irony. "Cory adored him," he repeated in a
whisper.

"What about you?" asked Harry.

Todd shrugged and shook his head. "Oh, he was all right with me. He treated
me nice, but it was clear that he liked Cory better. It was no big deal to
me. I was used to it," he said, smiling thinly. "Cory was an affectionate
child, cuter than I was, and always open and smiling. Everybody loved him."
Todd laughed self-deprecatingly. "Me, I was the evil twin!"

"A lot of people love Cory, Todd," replied Harry. "They also love you." He
gave Todd an affectionate hug. "And you know that."

"I know, Harry, I know," said Todd softly. "But Harry, you have to
understand that for a long time Cory did not know that people loved him. He
would not trust anyone, and he would not allow anyone but me to love
him. He'd given his love to someone, to . . . him . . . and looked what
happened."

"That someone took you for a walk in the woods," replied Harry, his voice
filled with loathing.

"Yes, a walk in the woods, to see the beauty of Stanley Park," said Todd, a
sob rising in this throat. "We were walking along the hiking path. I
remember that it was early summer and Cory was ahead of me on the path,
with . . . him. I wasn't really paying too much attention and, well, I was
looking at bugs of some kind, when I heard this . . . shriek."

"Cory?"

Todd nodded. "Cory. They were off the path a bit and I ran up to where they
were. Cory was petrified. He was standing in front of Cory, with his pants
down and his huge red thing sticking out! As soon as he saw me he tried to
put his package back into his pants. I barely saw the thing he was trying
to get Cory to touch, but I saw enough and I knew that something terrible
was happening so I grabbed Cory by the ass of his shorts and pulled him
away. It was horrible! Cory was screaming and screaming." Todd's whole body
seemed to sag. "And he kept on screaming for a long time."

Harry's face became suffused with anger. "Son of a bitch! Doing that to a
little kid. Fuck, it's no wonder Cory had nightmares! You and he were just
little boys!"

"Yes, we were," replied Todd, his blue eyes dark with the rage he shared
with Harry. "We knew nothing about sex. We knew nothing about different
kinds of dicks. How could we? We had only seen our own, and our Papa's, and
we thought that everybody was like us."

"The guy wasn't snipped, then?" Harry looked thoughtful a moment. "I guess
that's why Cory has the phobia."

Todd began to cry softly. "We did not know a thing about sex, or hardons,
or anything, or anything, Harry. We were seven years old! Seven! We were
innocents and that fucking bastard took away our innocence. He took away
our ability to trust! We loved him, he was in our house; he ate at our
dinner table. We called him uncle and he took away my brother's innocence."

"Oh, Todd . . ." Harry held Todd as close as he could.

"Cory was a sweet kid, Harry. He loved being cuddled and hugged. Until
Stanley Park he greeted everybody with a hug and a kiss and a smile." Todd
buried his face in the curving valley of Harry's shoulder and sobbed
quietly. "Everything changed after Stanley Park. Cory would not let an
adult near him. He would not sleep alone. He was scared all the time and he
had nightmares about what happened. Dear God, those nightmares!" He
clutched Harry closely. "The first time it happened he scared the piss out
of me!"

"Being woken up in the middle of the night with your brother screaming
would put the fear of God into you," replied Harry, his voice gentle, full
of understanding and sympathy. "It would scare hell out of anybody."

"No, Harry, you don't understand," said Todd woodenly as he struggled to
regain his emotions. "The first time Cory had a nightmare he literally
scared the piss out of me. When we went to bed I fell asleep with him
snuggled up against me. The next thing I knew he was standing at the end of
the bed, with his back against the headboard, screaming, pushing away some
imaginary demon with his hands. I was so scared I pissed myself!"

"Dear, sweet Jesus!"

"Cory screamed and screamed and my parents came running. He had also pissed
himself, and Harry, please, you must never let Cory know that I told you
that."

"As if I would," retorted Harry indignantly.

Todd was calmer now. He managed a small smile. "In time the nightmares
stopped. In time he started to trust again. The therapist our parents sent
us to was very good, and he helped us to understand what had happened to
us. He also went along with Cory's need to always be with someone. Me, as I
am sure you've guessed. Before Stanley Park we would always sleep in our
own beds. After . . ." He shrugged expressively. "After Stanley Park, Cory
slept with me."

"But things did get better?" asked Harry.

"Yes, yes they did. In time the nightmares stopped but not the sleeping
together. It just seemed that we needed to feel each other always, to be
together, close and warm."

"Is that when . . . when you and Cory start to . . .?" asked Harry
tentatively.

Todd shook his head. "No, that came later. At first all we ever did was
sleep together. What did we know about sex? We knew we had what we called
out dinks, but all they were good for was peeing out of. We also knew that
sometimes our dinks would get bigger, and hard, but then all we ever did
was take a pee and down they would go." He chuckled softly. "It's hard to
get all horny when you are wearing underpants and pyjamas, which is what we
wore to bed."

"I remember that!" chortled Harry. "When we were little, in the winter?
Hell, it was long underwear and pyjamas." He laughed loudly. "I could never
really see the sense in undressing, and then getting dressed all over again
to go to bed!"

"It does seem silly," agreed Todd, "sort of like mothers always buying
little boys tighty whiteys." He snickered and then continued. "Still, we
did it for, oh, a couple of years after Stanley Park." He looked up at
Harry's concerned face. "Nothing happened between Cory and me. We never did
anything remotely sexual. It was just he and I, together, loving each other
and holding each other. Cory stopped having nightmares, although he would
not sleep alone. We didn't start to fool around until we were nine or so."

A grin spread across Harry's face. "I was 11 when Nicky and me started
fooling around. He caught me jerking off in the barn. He said I wasn't
doing it right, though how you can fuck up a hand wipe is beyond
me. Anyway, Nicky grabbed my dick and from then on we did it every chance
we got."

Todd nodded his understanding. "At first, all we ever did, as I said, was
just hold each other. Sometimes we woke up with boners, sometimes we
didn't. It didn't mean anything to us because we didn't know that it was
supposed to mean something. Then I went and got sunburned!"

"Sunburned?" A puzzled look came over Harry's face. "What in the hell does
you getting sunburned have to do with anything?" he demanded mildly.

"Everything," returned Todd, "because that was when we started to discover
that we were boys, and that we were gay."

"By you getting sunburned?"

"Yep, by me getting sunburned." Todd freed himself from Harry's warm
embrace and sat up. He reached down and took the Pride in his warm, slim
fingers. He did nothing but hold it tenderly. "We'd had a fight. I don't
remember what about, probably something childish."

"All brothers fight," observed Harry. He reached over and took Todd's soft
penis in his wide, strong hand. He did not intend to do anything but hold
it tenderly. "Nicky and me, hell, we might be jerk off partners, but we've
had some real battles."

Todd grinned. "Cory and I sure did! Still do, as a matter of fact." He
continued to hold the Pride and a faraway look came into his eyes. "We'd
had this fight and Cory got all pouty, just as he still does now. We were
supposed to be going to the beach with our cousins, but he would not go. He
got that look of doom in his eyes and he absolutely refused to go anywhere
with me, because now he hated me."

"That sure changed," replied Harry with a snicker.

"Cory gets angry, but he doesn't stay angry, which is a good thing because
when he wants to be he can be as stubborn as a mule. He makes up his mind
about something, digs in his heels, and nothing I say, or do, will make him
change his mind."

"Tell me about it!" growled Harry. "Stubborn little git!"

"He can be, when he wants to be," agreed Todd, not at all fazed by Harry's
remark. Cory was a stubborn little git! He continued on. "Anyway, I went to
the beach and Cory stayed home. I had a hell of a good time." Todd turned
his head and looked at Harry. "I think that was the first time I realised
that I liked boys. I saw all my male cousins, all seven of them, naked, and
I liked what I saw!"

"Comes to all of us," replied Harry without elaboration.

"We swam in the ocean, we played beach volleyball, and generally had a hell
of a good time. Unfortunately I forgot that with my fair skin I have to
take the sun in stages. I got home looking like a boiled lobster! My mother
put me in the bathtub with Epson Salts and then covered me with Calamine
lotion. I could not bear to have clothes on so I went to bed naked." He
moved and motioned for Harry to sit up. When they were sitting side-by-each
Todd again reached down and held the Pride in his hand. Harry did the same
for Todd.

Todd snuggled closer to Harry and continued with his revelation of his
epiphany. "Cory went from being all irate to loving brother. He went from
being angry with me to feeling so sorry that we had had a fight. And, of
course he just had to comfort me. He was not in any discomfort, and
certainly no pain, so that takes care of one myth about twins. All he
wanted to do was to help me in my time of pain. He did insist, however,
that since I was naked, he had to be naked, so he stripped off and got into
bed with me. Then he got a little pissed off because he wanted to go to
sleep and the only way he ever got to sleep after Stanley Park was by
holding me close. The problem was, every time he touched me, I started to
yell, because it hurt to be touched, which was why I was not wearing
anything in the first place! The only part of me that wasn't burned was the
part of me that had been protected by my bathing suit."

"Basically your balls and dick area," supplied Harry.

"Got it," affirmed Todd. "Cory, being Cory, was determined to get his
way. He would always sleep with his arms around me and he was not about to
let my sunburn change his way of sleeping. He got as close to me as he
could, then reached over and put one hand on my bum. Then he put his other
hand on my dick and balls."

"And the rest, as they say, is history," said Harry with a chuckle.

Todd giggled. "Harry, I have to tell you, some of my cousins are
gorgeous. One of them, Kenneth, he was 15 and he had a beautiful dick; and
hair, a lot of hair, around his dick, and his balls were all furry and
Harry, I was fascinated!" He sighed wistfully.

"With his balls or with him?" asked Harry, miffed.

"Both," admitted Todd honestly. "And no, I never made it with Kenny."
Before Harry could respond Todd snickered and continued on. "My other
cousins were almost as good to look at as Kenny, and none of them minded me
checking them out, so after being with them all day I was horny! Cory had
his hand on my dick and it felt good, and since I was horny, I thought that
I would make him feel good too, seeing as how I wasn't angry with him
anymore. I reached down and felt him and he was hard!"

"Quelle surprise," quipped Harry. "You did have your hand on his dick,
after all!"

"Anyway," grumbled Todd, expressing his displeasure at being
interrupted. "We giggled and played with each other and from that night on
we explored each other. We realised that we both liked it, so we kept on
doing it. Later, we found other boys who were like us, or seemed to be like
us, and we starting fooling around with them. As we got older we developed
our own . . . tastes. Some guys I liked, some Cory liked." He gave the
Pride a light squeeze. "Most of the time, though, we both liked the same
guy. Which is where you got the idea that we always slept with the same
guy. We didn't. There were, and are, guys that I would go with, but Cory
would not touch them with a ten foot pole!"

"Like Sylvain, or Andre, or Ryan, at least before his little operation?"

"Yes, but not always for that reason, although that is probably the only
lasting . . . what shall I call it? Trauma? Anyway, that phobia is just
about the only thing has stayed with Cory. A guy's status is paramount to
Cory, and he simply will not go with a guy who is not circumcised. He is
never going to change, so why fight it?"

"No point," replied Harry logically. "It's the way he is."

"It doesn't stop him from looking, though," returned Todd. "He looks, a
lot!"

"So do I, and so do you." Harry grinned foolishly. "And guys look at me all
the time!"

"That's because there's a lot to look at, all of it good," replied Todd
with a warm smile. "Cory would love you even if the Pride had not been
refitted. He just would not have slept with you. He likes Andre, and would
take him into the woods if he had been refitted." His face grew
hard. "Sylvain, now, while a beautiful specimen, and more than willing if
you ask me, Cory cannot stand!"

Harry nodded and his lips pursed slightly. "I don't blame him. Sylvain is a
jerk! With or without a refit, he's still a jerk!"

"A jerk that I slept with," replied Todd. "He was a piece of ass, nothing
more. And therein, dear Harry, is the difference between Cory and me. Until
last night I was not expecting to fall in love. Until last night I went
with any guy who took my fancy. Cory did not, except for Blake Putnam,
which I can't blame him for. Blake is a beauty!" Todd's face became very
pensive. "Cory has more and more been looking for someone who will replace
me."

"No one can replace you, Todd."

Todd was serious, now. "Harry, I told you, sooner or later Cory and I will
go our separate ways. It has to happen. We have talked about it and we are
both comfortable with it. The problem is that when I do start out on my own
I would feel a hell of a lot more comfortable if Cory had somebody to
depend on, to love, to be with and who would never betray him, and would
always be faithful to him, because that is what he wants."

"And obviously Nathan didn't fit the bill," observed Harry.

"I thought he did," replied Todd sadly. "I encouraged Nathan, and I more or
less talked Cory into agreeing to at least be with him. I made a mistake
with Nathan. Cory knew what he wanted, but I interfered. Cory was right, I
was wrong."

"They had sex, didn't they?" asked Harry. "And Nathan sure put on an
act. He had me convinced that he was the man of Cory's dreams."

Todd ignored Harry's question. There were certain things that Harry did not
need to know and Cory's disastrous encounter with Nathan was one of
them. "Nathan had us all convinced," said Todd. "He had everybody convinced
except Cory, which is why Cory asked Nathan about his sex life. Cory will
not accept a bed hopper. He has to be able to sit on the front porch with
his hand down the front of his lover's undies, and just talk, the way he
and I do now. Cory likes sex, but at times all he wants is to be with me,
to hold me. The guy who sits on the front stoop with Cory, with his hand
down the front of Cory's drawers, and Cory's down his, that is the man that
Cory will stay with."

Harry looked down at his crotch, and then looked at Todd's. He started to
laugh. "Like we're doing now?" he asked.

"Exactly!" Todd put his arm around Harry's shoulder. "I would love to see
Cory in a relationship like we have, or like what Nicholas and Andre
have. Loving, warm, caring . . ."

"Like us?" Harry now knew that for all his protestations, Todd would be
with him for a long time to come.

"Yes, Harry, like us, even thought we both it's going to end, eventually."

"Ah, for Christ's sake, not again!" muttered Harry, exasperated.

"Harry, I am only telling you the truth. We will be lovers and friends for
as long as you want us to be lovers and friends, and when you decide what
he have is over, it's over." He gave Harry a quick peck on the lips. "But
we're talking about Cory, not us, and I want you to understand that my sole
concern is him. I want Cory to have a lover, and a friend."

Somewhat mollified, and happy that Todd had finally dropped the distasteful
subject of their eventual drifting away, Harry replied sincerely. "Cory
will. Look at Tyler and Val. They started out as friends and I sorta think
that by now they're also lovers."

"Poor Cory," said Todd with a small grimace. "If Tyler and Val are doing
what I think they're doing, Cory will not get a wink of sleep tonight!"

"How so?"

"Cory's bunk is right next to the bulkhead between the Chiefs Mess and the
Gunroom," explained Todd. "Tyler's bunk is on the other side of a very thin
wall!" He giggled. "Tyler gets very, um . . . exuberant."

"Loud, too," returned Harry with a grin. "Maybe Cory will just move over to
your bunk if the Chiefs get too rambunctious. Or into Greg's bunk. He won't
be sleeping in it."

Todd could not help laughing. "Half the ship is off making out and Cory is
stuck with listening to Tyler and Val make up for years of not being
exuberant!"

"Cheer up, maybe they'll use Val's bunk. It's on the other side of the
cabin," supplied Harry. Then he frowned. "It's also under the window."

Todd guffawed. "Pity the Duty Hand if he does Rounds past that window!"

******

Tyler was lying in his bed, unable to sleep, not wanting to sleep, enjoying
the memory of what had been the most extraordinary, memorable night of his
life. Beside him, lying close was Val, who was sound asleep with his head
on Tyler's chest and his right arm flung out and down. Val's hand was
resting in Tyler's pubic bush and his right leg was draped across Tyler's
thick, muscled right leg.

Tyler could feel Val's zephyr-like, rhythmic breath blowing softly across
his chest, tantalising his hard, excited, right nipple. He could feel Val's
warm, soft penis brushing against his thigh. Tyler sighed happily into the
shadowed darkness of the Chiefs Mess.

The moon had risen, casting a pale glow through the open window, bathing
Val's body in a wonderful, opalescent sheen. Tyler gazed lovingly along
Val's sleeping body, a body that had, at long last, given him the
delightful pleasures and feelings that still coursed through him.

As Tyler laid his head back onto his pillows, Val stirred and his lips
nuzzled the edge of the small aureole surrounding Tyler's nipple. A shiver
of delight coursed through Tyler, and he shuddered, stifling a small
moan. He had never known that sex could be so wonderful, so glorious that
he did not want the night to end, did not want Val to ever leave his side.

Tonight had been so wonderful, and so fulfilling, that Tyler could hardly
believe that it had happened, that he and Val had finally come to
fulfilment. Tyler was in love with Val and Val was in love with him, and
their love was no longer a secret from each other.

Today had been a day of secrets bared, and fears confronted. Strangely,
Tyler felt no fear. What he and Val had experienced had felt so
right. Being with Val gave Tyler the courage to face his deepest fears and
the courage to face whatever the future held for them. Tyler's only regret
was that it had taken 11 long years for them to come to this place, to
become what they were meant to be, friends and lovers.

It should have happened sooner. They should have loved each other in
school, or when Val had come to stay at Tyler's house. It should have
happened when the strange figure came into the Mess and brought them both
to a glory that only hinted at the magnificence they had found tonight. Or
when they had kissed Phantom . . . 11 years!

Tyler moved his body slightly, positioning himself so that his penis,
semi-erect, and still flushed from the lovemaking, was resting against
Val's soft, silken shaft. Val stirred, but his breathing remained
constant. Tyler did not wake the handsome Sicilian boy who had tonight
become his lover. There was plenty of time, many more nights, when they
would relive the sensuous delights of this night, delights that had been
given to them both when Mark . . .

Continued in Part II