“Now remember what I told you,” said The Phantom as he adjusted Joey’s cap. “It’s going to be hotter than the hubs of hell so drink lots of water.”

“And take our salt pills,” supplied Joey, rolling his eyes.

“And keep our caps on,” put in Randy.

“Jeez, Phantom, you are not their mother,” interjected Ray, smiling as The Phantom fussed over the two younger boys.

“And I am not yours, either, but the same goes for you and Sandro. That little pissant rain we had last night sure as hell didn’t cool things down at all.”

This was true. It was barely 0830 and the temperature outside the Mess Hall was in the mid-80s. The humidity was oppressing and the heat pressed down on the Spit like a pall. “The range is just an open field, with no shade, so you’re just asking for sun stroke if you don’t take care!”

Both boys nodded solemnly. “And we promise to be good at the pool,” said Joey with a smile. “Even if it is Harry.”

“Or Kevin!” breathed Randy.

The Phantom glared at the two boys. He had told the pair of them that under no circumstances were they to prod, poke, pull, fondle, feel, grope or grab any officer or cadet when they were in the pool. “And no ogling in the dressing rooms!” he warned.

Joey sniffed. “After swimming it won’t be worth the effort!”

“Everybody will be all shrivelled up!” Randy laughed and gave Joey a push. “Even Harry! And he has a lot to shrivel!”

“You leave Harry’s shrivel out of this,” ordered The Phantom sternly. “Now then, have you guys packed all your dirty laundry?”

With the water supply still restricted The Phantom had offered to do a laundry run for the cooks and stewards. He had to do one himself. When he had changed earlier he saw that the pile of dirty socks, cooks whites and underwear in his locker now filled almost half the locker space. He had spent so little time at home lately - spending almost all his time in The Gunner’s apartment or working - that he had not had a chance to do his laundry. A laundry run was definitely required.

When The Phantom told Ray of his plan word had spread fast. Sandro, who had a tendency to be casual in laundry matters, had two huge bags. Ray was almost as bad, always waiting until everything he owned was soiled before he did his washing. Matt and Kevin added their contributions, as did the Twins who had gotten wind of the run. Todd had also asked The Phantom to stop at the trophy shop and put in the final Last Course with Balls T-shirt order. The Gunner’s Rover, the cargo area crammed with kit bags full of dirty laundry, was parked outside the loading dock.

“Yes, Phantom,” sighed Joey in the same tone he used when his mother was on his case. “In our kit bags, with our names on the bags.”

“Good. Now come on, I’ll walk with you to the buses.”

They strolled down to the Headquarters Building where the buses that would take them to the Comox ranges were waiting. Randy and Joey were in high spirits. It didn’t matter that the day gave promise of being a scorcher; they were getting off the Spit!

******

Almost all the senior cadets were subdued and very quiet. Matt, who had spent a restless night, sweating profusely, his sleep filled with nightmares, was pale and drawn. Just a few steps away from Matt hovered Brian and Dylan. They had spent much of the night keeping watch over their friend, watching with increasing concern as he tossed and turned in his sleep, weeping and moaning his distress.

They had been sitting on Dylan’s bunk, shooting the shit and sweating, when the Twins had brought Matt into the barracks. Matt, even to their inexperienced eyes was in distress, shaking, very upset and unable to even undress himself. They had watched as the Twins had stripped Matt down and towelled him as dry as they could before putting him to bed. He had tossed and turned, then slipped into a fitful and restless sleep.

The Twins had stayed with Matt until Lights Out. They would have liked to stay longer but they had no valid excuse for being in the Gunners Barracks. They entrusted Matt’s care to Brian and Dylan, not because they felt compelled to do so, but because Matt was a gunner, and the gunners always took care of their own. Brian, for all his youth, was a steady, levelheaded boy and the Twins instinctively knew that they could trust him. He might bluster and strut, but beneath his steely facade there was a gentleness that few knew existed.

Cory was not so confident of Dylan. As he related what had happened in the dining room to Brian and Dylan Cory saw Dylan grow very pale. He also saw the look of panic that had passed between the two gunners and now knew, as he had known that The Phantom had visited Brian, that Brian and Dylan were lovers. Cory had said nothing, of course. What Brian and Dylan did in private was their business. What mattered was that they were kindred spirits and that they would look after Matt.

Neither Brian nor Dylan had slept, and except when Todd (twice) and Cory (once) had interrupted them, they had argued quietly and fiercely about their relationship. It was Brian’s contention that so long as they continued to be careful they had nothing to worry about. Dylan was not so sure. He had pointed out to Brian that what they were doing was unacceptable to their families. If so much as a whisper of their conduct made its way back to North Bay they could both be sure that all hell would be let loose. Dylan wanted to stop doing anything remotely sexual until they got home, and maybe, he had said quietly, maybe not even there.

Brian was at first stunned. He loved Dylan, and he thought Dylan loved him. Brian understood Dylan’s fears because they both had enough street smarts to know what would happen if their families and friends discovered what they were doing. Brian was not about to go down without a fight. He wanted to be with Dylan, always, and while he had his own fears he loved his friend too much to just give up and roll over. He had quite logically pointed out that they had no reason to believe that Little Big Man, or anyone else for that matter, had so much as an inkling that they were together in Bosun Stores almost nightly. Their secret was safe. They had been so very careful, to the extent that they had stayed in their own bunks on the nights that Little Big Man was duty.

When they got home, Brian pointed out, yes, things would be different. They would have to take more care, and be far more circumspect in what they did, but it was possible for them to have a relationship. They could be together, always. All they had to do was to be very careful.

Dylan remained unconvinced and unmoving. They had been lucky so far, but sooner or later their luck would run out. Brian might not believe him, but he did love him, more than he could ever say. But they had to stop. It had to end. So far as Dylan was concerned there was no future for them as lovers. Not here in Aurora, not at home in North Bay. Not anywhere.

Brian, in the face of Dylan’s obduracy, and tired of their arguing, had brusquely given in to Dylan’s fears. He went off to the Mess Hall where he filled a pitcher full of cold water. When he had returned Todd was sitting in a chair beside Matt’s bunk, holding the boy’s hand and stroking his sweating brow, gazing fondly at the smooth, flushed face of the boy he was beginning to realize that he was in love with.

Silently Brian put the pitcher on the deck beside Todd and handed him a washcloth. Then he sat on his bunk where he drew up his knees and hugged them, silently cursing the fear that had just lost him the love of the only boy he had ever truly cared for.

******

As the last of the buses pulled away The Phantom walked back to the Mess Hall. He walked about the dining room, straightening the tables, and realigning the sugar bowls and napkin dispensers that sat on every table. When he was finished his inspection he went into the galley, which was eerily quiet. From Chef’s office came the sound of a radio playing classical music, a Bach fugue he thought, remembering his piano lessons.

The door to Chef’s office was open. Chef was sitting behind his desk laboriously writing on a foolscap pad. The Phantom knocked lightly on the doorframe and Chef looked up. He waved The Phantom into his office and gestured toward the sofa. “Sit down, my boy, sit down.” Chef very carefully capped the fountain pen he’d used in his writing and lifted the small pile of papers in front of him. “A gift, Phantom.”

“Looks like writing to me.” The Phantom grinned and reached out and took the papers. He quickly scanned the hand-written sheets of paper. Written in black, graceful, copperplate, was an inventory list.

“It’s everything I could remember of the Admiral’s Dining Room, Phantom,” said Chef. “I had some free time last night so I thought I’d write out what I could remember. I’m sure that I missed a few items. You’ll have to fill in the gaps.”

“Jeez, Chef, this is too much.” The Phantom looked at Chef and smiled. “Where did you learn to write like that? My handwriting looks like a drunken spider staggered across the page.”

Chef laughed and shook his head. “Thank Sister Mary Gonzaga! She ruled with her rosary in one hand and a sawed off hockey stick in the other. Proper penmanship was beaten into me at a very early age.”

The Phantom scanned a few more pages. “There’s so much of it,” he said, referring to the contents of Admiral Sturdee’s Dining Room. “Every piece of which I have to move.”

“You’ll need help,” replied Chef with an understanding nod. “Not that you’ll get much today, not with everybody off to the Ranges. Tomorrow I think that maybe we can scare up a work party for you. Once Captain’s Rounds are over there will be plenty of gash hands standing around doing nothing.”

“I thought I’d take some of the silver pieces today, Chef. Maybe the bigger pieces.”

Chef nodded his agreement and looked at his watch. “It’s just gone 0845. Why don’t you take off now, and be back for say, 1030 or so? I have that meeting at Base at 1100 and I don’t want to leave the place empty.”

“I have to do a laundry run first, Chef, but yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem for me. What about lunch?”

Chef shook his head. “There’s only Father and Dirty Dave the Deacon around. I expect Father will want to visit the lads out on the ranges so I don’t expect he’ll be eating in. As for Dirty Dave, well, he can have a sandwich and some soup. When I get back from Base you can take off again until four or so.” The Phantom stood up, about to leave. Chef waved him back to his seat. He looked directly at the boy, then ducked his head and rubbed his chin. “Phantom, I don’t usually interfere in a cadet’s business,” he began slowly, “but, well, to be honest, I care a lot about Ray . . .”

“Chef, you don’t have to worry about him. He’s happy.”

“That’s not what I mean, Phantom.” Chef stood up and faced the window overlooking the roadway and the guardhouse. He sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped. “I had a son, Phantom,” said Chef quietly. “He’s 23 now and I haven’t seen him since he was a year old.” Chef turned his head and looked at The Phantom. “But then, I suspect you know that.”

The Phantom smiled sheepishly and nodded.

Chef returned to gazing out the window. “It’s no secret. I had a son. I lost a son.”

“You’ll find him again, Chef.” The Phantom wanted to reach out and hold Chef, to share the hurt he was feeling.

Chef turned and smiled. “Thank you for that, Phantom, but no, he’s gone from my life, and I know it all too well.” He returned to his desk, sat down, and began playing with his fountain pen. “For a long time I deliberately avoided getting close to anybody, especially the younger Ratings. I didn’t want to become emotionally involved with anybody.”

“Until Ray?”

“Until Ray,” confirmed Chef. “For too many years I avoided becoming close to anybody and then in walks Ray! Don’t ask me to explain what happened, because I can’t. He touched something deep inside this alcoholic, bloated old piece of flesh I call a body and I, well, you might say I fell in love with him. He’s everything I ever wanted in a son. He’s kind, he’s gentle, he’s smart and he’s not afraid of hard work. I love him, Phantom, as a father loves a son, and not the way he loves you, or the way you love Stevie.”

“He knows that, Chef,” replied The Phantom.

Chef grinned. “Well, I certainly didn’t try too hard to keep my feelings secret.”

The Phantom returned the grin. “He loves you, Chef. And you know he does.”

Chef nodded his head in agreement. “I know, I know. And because I know I’m afraid for him.” He threw his pen onto the desk. “Damn that little bastard!”

“Chef?”

“Little Big Man,” explained Chef. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the deck head. “Phantom, Ray is not the first gay cadet, nor is he the last, to come strolling down the pike. His being gay is not a problem so far as I am concerned. He is what he is and that’s all I’ll say on the subject.”

“You don’t mind, really?”

“Why should I?” demanded Chef. “I have accepted him as my surrogate son! I accept him and I love him and it doesn’t mean damn all if he sleeps with another boy, a girl, or a chimpanzee! A son is a son and you love him no matter what!” He smiled slyly. “Even when he uses my office as his honeymoon suite!”

The Phantom’s jaw dropped. Then he closed it, coughed, turned red and looked frantically around. “I . . .”

Chef held up his hand. “Phantom, I know the signs. Somebody was in here last night.”

“You do? I mean . . .”

Chef laughed and rubbed his nose. “Two normal teenage boys rutting leave a spoor. I knew it wasn’t you, because I know where you spend your nights. It wasn’t the Brats or Sandro, I’m sure of that.” He cocked an eyebrow. “That left Ray.”

The Phantom squirmed. Chef obviously knew that he knew more than he was going to tell. He didn’t want to lie to Chef.

Chef leaned forward and looked at The Phantom. “I don’t want you to betray a confidence, Phantom. All I want to know is that Ray’s happy.”

The Phantom thought a moment. “Yes, he’s happy.”

“And the other boy? He’s treating Ray okay?”

The Phantom smiled warmly. “More than okay.”

“Good. I’ll say no more about it, then.” Chef chuckled. “I’ll let you tell Ray that the sofa pulls out into a bed.” Chef stood up and gestured for The Phantom to follow him.

They went into the dining room where Chef poured a cup of coffee for both of them then led the way to the Chiefs’ table. Chef idly stirred his coffee, gathering his thoughts. The Phantom sipped the hot coffee, waiting patiently for Chef to tell him what was on his mind. “Phantom, last night I saw what went on in here with Little Big Man. After everything was over with, I went home. I went to bed. Then didn’t I just lie there, thinking about what had happened?” He smiled wanly. “I couldn’t sleep for thinking about Ray and, to be honest, his relationship with you.”

The Phantom coloured slightly. He liked Chef and would not lie to him. “Chef, he’s very special to me, and you’re right, I love him. But our relationship is not as serious as you might think.”

Chef looked at The Phantom. He grinned and shook his head. “What you and Ray get up to when you’re alone is not my concern. I’ve been around since the old King died and I know what happens between boys. Hell, it’s almost a rite of passage for boys to be with other boys.” He gestured expansively. “Some do it, experience it, and move on. Others don’t.”

“I think Ray will move on. He won’t like it, but he’ll move on. His family will force him to.”

“You know about his family?”

“Oh, yes. A real fundamentalist Come-to-JeeeZUZ crew,” replied The Phantom with a laugh.

Chef raised his arms and raised his eyes toward the deck head. “Hallelujah!”

“Yeah,” agreed The Phantom as he struggled to gain control. “Church twice on Sunday and every Wednesday just to keep the Devil out of you.”

Chef wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and looked very serious. “That is what worries me. If his family ever finds out what Ray has been doing here, God alone knows what they’ll do.”

The Phantom agreed. “Pray over him, I expect. Or disown him. Having sex with another boy is pretty high on their list of sins that get you a massive dose of hellfire and brimstone!”

Chef snorted in derision. “So much for loving the sinner but hating the sin.” He rubbed his face, concern plainly written in his eyes. “Phantom, Ray will never have to worry about anything so long as I’m around. If word does get to his family, and they give him grief, well, I’ll be there for him. What worries me, though, is that he gets the reputation of liking boys. I don’t want him to have to go through life with some jerk whispering ‘faggot’ after him. I’ve seen it happen and believe me, it’s not a pretty picture.”

The Phantom knew exactly what Chef was getting at. As both The Gunner and Cory had said, all it took was a word and a guy’s reputation, his good name, was ruined forever. The stigma of homosexuality, once applied, could never be erased. He knew from reading Little Big Man’s letters that Ray had never been mentioned. He hastened to reassure Chef that Ray was, at least for the time being, safe. “Chef, Ray is very careful about what he does and whom he does it with. None of the other boys know about him and me. They also don’t know about him and his, um, new friend.”

“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” grumped Chef.

“I am,” replied The Phantom with conviction. “Ray’s like I was, before I fell in with what The Gunner calls a gang of thieves and cutthroats. To most of the cadets he’s just the guy who works in the galley and cooks the food. To the others, the ones who are his friends, well, he’s Ray, he’s one of them and they would never, even if they knew, talk about him.” He stood up and looked pointedly at his watch. “I better get my ass in gear if you want me back by 1100.”

Chef reached out and grasped The Phantom’s hand. “Phantom, talk to him for me, please.”

The Phantom gently pulled his hand away. “Chef there is no reason why you can’t talk to him yourself.”

Chef pushed his chair back and waved his arms. “I couldn’t do that, Phantom! I wouldn’t know what to say. I’d get all flustered and embarrass him!”

The Phantom grinned and shook his head. “Chef, you can talk to him. He’ll listen to you. Trust me, I know.”

Chef cocked an eyebrow. “You do, then? And how do you know that?”

“Because, Chef, only yesterday Ray told me that he loved you very much.”

“He did!” Chef grinned widely. “He actually said that?”

“Sure did. Of course, he also said that while he loved you, he didn’t love you enough to take a shower with you.”

“What?” The Phantom wheeled and took off running with Chef bellowing after him. “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean? Phantom, come back here! Come back here you insufferable little guttersnipe! God Damn It! Phantom, you get your skinny white ass back here . . . God Damn It! PHANTOM!”

******

The Phantom chuckled most of the way to Comox. Chef was a good old boot and Ray was lucky to have him as his self-appointed Guardian Angel.

His good mood dissipated, however, as he entered the town. The Phantom for the first time experienced the frustration of driving. Every street seemed lined with vehicles of all descriptions and the bay side Esplanade was choked with slow-moving Sunday drivers admiring the scenery, loading their cars and vans with purchases, double-parked wherever and whenever the driver felt like it.

Near the docks, where the fishing fleet tied up, huge refrigerated trucks, loaded with the last of the day’s catch, were pulling into the seemingly never-ending stream of vehicles, further congesting the town’s streets. To add to the confusion and frustration there were the pedestrians - tourists for the most part - who wandered lemming-like up one side of the Esplanade and down the other, or darted across the street for no apparent reason. It was all very aggravating.

The Phantom spent more time reaching the trophy shop than he had in getting into the bloody town! Placing Todd’s order took all of five minutes. He then drove to the small Laundromat that his mother used occasionally. It was owned by two spinster sisters who, when not arguing with each other or the horde of cats that infested their shop, would separate, wash, dry, fold and pack your laundry. They charged $2.00 extra for this service. The Phantom thought it a bargain.

After parking the Land Rover, The Phantom was about to open the back door of the vehicle to unload the laundry bags when he heard a raucous car horn and someone calling his name. The Phantom looked around and saw Jeff Jenson’s red, Mustang convertible being smoothly wheeled through the traffic.

Jeff expertly pulled his car alongside the Land Rover and stopped. Seated beside him was his younger brother, Robbie. “Hey, Phantom, how they hangin’” shouted Robbie. He waved happily and grinned.

The Phantom returned the wave and leaned against the passenger-side windscreen of Jeff’s car. He saw that both boys were dressed in almost identical attire: white, sleeveless T-shirts, loose, dark blue running shorts, and Nikes with no socks. The Phantom had known both Jeff and Robbie forever. He had gone to school with Jeff, and at one time had frankly lusted after the football player’s smooth, chiselled body.

At first glance Jeff did not seem to have changed. His shock of black hair was just as curly and shining with health as The Phantom remembered. The muscles in his chest still rippled. His smile was just as brilliantly white as it had ever been, and the bulge in his shorts was just as enticing as it had been last month, when they had last met. Yet there was something wrong.

It was not that Robbie had pride of place in the front seat of Jeff’s convertible, though The Phantom did wonder what had happened to the Babe of the Week, who usually occupied that position. No, it was something else. As Jeff talked The Phantom looked at his smooth, classically formed face, and realized what was wrong. The difference was in Jeff’s eyes. They no longer sparkled quite as brightly as they had. The Phantom thought that there was a special sadness, almost a look of despair in Jeff’s eyes.

“ . . .So Phantom, me and the Squirt here, we’re going up the valley,” Jeff was saying. “Going to do a little hiking, a little camping maybe . . .”

“I told you not to call me that, Jeff!” snapped Robbie, rudely interrupting his brother. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that! I have a name!”

Jeff paled a little. “Okay, Robbie, I’m sorry. I forgot, okay?” There was a wheedling tone in Jeff’s voice that The Phantom found irritating.

Robbie glared at his brother but said nothing. He turned in his seat and smiled coyly at The Phantom.

The vision of Robbie and Jeff together, in Brendan’s room, flashed through The Phantom’s mind. He remembered again the scene of both boys pleasuring each other, and he remembered Jeff’s confession to him.

Robbie brushed away the hank of his brown hair that had fallen over his eyes and looked evenly at The Phantom. He was still a beautiful boy, and his white T-shirt set off his tanned skin to perfection. “You coming to my birthday party, Phantom?” he asked, his voice low, and husky. “It’s on the 1st of September. You don’t have to bring a present or anything.” As he spoke Robbie opened his legs and then slowly drew up his left leg, causing the fabric of his shorts to ride up his smooth, hairless thigh. He spread his legs slightly, deliberately showing The Phantom that he was not wearing any underwear.

Despite himself The Phantom looked at Robbie’s thin, soft penis, tan and pink, with just a hint of a ridge of skin girding his perfect, soft pink, rosebud helmet. Robbie’s testicles, small ovals, hung very low, rising slowly as he breathed. Surrounding his treasure was a wispy ring of soft, light brown pubic hair.

Robbie saw the look on The Phantom’s face. His eyes lit up and he slowly reached down to brush his finger along his soft cocklet, all but daring The Phantom to say something.

The Phantom was shocked at Robbie’s blatant display of raw sexuality. He quickly looked away. “So, Jeff, ah, haven’t seen too much of you guys this summer,” he stammered.

Jeff had seen The Phantom’s stricken look. He knew from bitter experience what Robbie had done. “Just hangin’ out with the brother, here,” said Jeff as he reached over and, using the pretence of squeezing Robbie’s knee, slowly pushed the boy’s leg down. “Not much else to do.”

Robbie flashed Jeff a dirty look, then turned his attention back to The Phantom. There was a strange look in his eyes, and The Phantom felt as if for some reason Robbie had scored a point with Jeff.

“A day without football, baseball, or some sport is a day wasted as far as Jeff’s concerned,” Robbie grumbled loudly. Then he reached over and idly rubbed his hand along Jeff’s bare inner thigh. He grinned a little devil grin. “We’ve kept busy, haven’t we Jeff?”

Jeff returned the grin. He raised his arm and placed it across the back of Robbie’s seat, his fingers toying with the soft curls of hair that lined his brother’s neck. “Yeah, we have,” he said noncommittally.

The Phantom had never claimed to be the brightest thing to come slithering out of the scuppers, but he would have to be a bivalve not to understand exactly what was going on between Robbie and Jeff. It was all too apparent that the relationship between the two brothers had progressed far beyond the cuddling, kissing and licking stages. It was obvious that they were deeply involved in a forbidden passion. Which explained several things: Robbie replacing the Babe of the Week, the almost identical outfits, Jeff gently forcing Robbie to close his legs, the gentle rubbings and touching. There was something else, though, something The Phantom could not quite put his finger on.

Jeff jerked his chin toward the Land Rover, and then glanced at the Laundromat. “You takin’ in laundry now, Phantom?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

The Phantom grinned and shook his head. He explained the water restrictions in force in Aurora.

“It’s the same in town,” put in Robbie. “Dad’s all hot and bothered about that. He can’t water the lawn or fill the pool.” He looked directly at Jeff. “But then, it doesn’t take much to get him all hot and bothered, does it Jeff?”

Jeff seemed to shrink back in his seat. “He’s just Dad, Robbie.”

Robbie waved his hand airily, dismissing Jeff’s reply.

“The guys need clean clothes,” said The Phantom. “It’s so hot we change clothes at least twice a day.”

“Yeah, it’s real ball-hangin’ weather,” agreed Robbie. “It’s not so bad if you don’t wear undies.” He reached over and placed his hand on the bulge in Jeff’s shorts. With his thumb he began rubbing the head of Jeff’s dick through the thin fabric of his shorts. “Jeff and I don’t, do we, Jeff?”

Jeff gave The Phantom a pleading look, hesitated, and then slowly placed his hand over Robbie’s. Robbie shot his brother another dirty look, deliberately squeezed his brother’s dick, and then turned to address The Phantom. “Sometimes Jeff gets mad at me because he thinks I get too familiar with him.”

“Robbie . . .” groaned Jeff.

“Well you do!” snapped Robbie, his face hard.

“Robbie, all I said was that there are some things . . .”

“We’ll talk about it later, Jeff.” Robbie’s voice was steely.

The Phantom took a step back. He did not quite believe what he was hearing and seeing. He did believe that Jeff had just received a warning.

Robbie grinned at The Phantom. “So, can you come to my birthday party?” He smiled slyly. “Amy will be there and I know you’ll get lucky, because she likes you.”

Jeff’s jaw dropped. “Robbie,” he gasped.

“Well Phantom will!” insisted Robbie. He rounded on his brother. “She’s a slut and if she’s going to give it away she might as well give it to Phantom.”

For a brief moment Jeff’s backbone solidified. “Robbie, that’s enough. Amy is our sister and you shouldn’t talk that way about her. She is not a slut.”

Robbie was not about to admit defeat nor would he yield an inch. “Oh yeah? Well if she isn’t, how come Greg Langston is spreading it all over town that she gave him a blowjob up by the reservoir last week after that rock concert he took her to? She likes sucking cock almost as much as . . .”

“That’s enough, Robbie,” Jeff snarled angrily.

“What did you say?” Robbie’s voice was dangerously low, almost a growl.

“Robbie, please, enough!” begged Jeff, his voice a bare whisper. “Please.”

A malevolent gleam came into Robbie’s eyes. “Maybe you’re right, Jeff. We wouldn’t want Dad to hear about it, now would we? You know how straight-laced he is when if comes to sex.”

At the mention of their father Jeff’s face lost its colour and a desperate, haunted look came into his eyes. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. “There’s no need to tell Dad anything,” he managed to choke out.

Robbie’s hand returned to Jeff’s crotch. He grinned triumphantly as he slowly stroked Jeff’s penis. “No need to tell him anything at all.” Robbie continued to stroke his brother and the mound in Jeff’s hiking shorts began to thicken and grow longer.

As The Phantom watched wide-eyed the head of Jeff’s penis slowly emerged from the edge of his shorts, the classic, curving helmet bright red with excitement, a small drop of precum glistening in the harsh August sun.

Dear God in Heaven! The Phantom gasped silently, finally realizing what was going on. He was appalled and disgusted at what he was seeing. He quickly averted his eyes and turned and began to pull the bags of laundry from the Land Rover. “I won’t be going to your party, Robbie,” he said as he threw a bag over his shoulder. “I made some plans to go camping, so I’ll be away.”

Robbie rubbed his thumb along the curving dome of Jeff’s spongy, mushroom-shaped glans, and then abruptly turned in his seat. “Too bad, Phantom, it might have been a fun day.” He grinned what he thought was a lascivious grin.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll have a good time anyway,” returned The Phantom. He did not return Robbie’s grin. “Anyway, I have to get going, guys. It was nice to see you both.”

Robbie snorted. He recognized the tone of dismissal in The Phantom’s voice. Anger flashed briefly in his eyes, and then disappeared. He should have known better than to try putting the moves on The Phantom. He was such a straight arrow! “No, it wasn’t,” he drawled insolently. He turned to Jeff and waved his hand, a silent order to get going. “Let’s go, Jeff. I’m starting to sweat and my balls are hanging down to my knees!”

Jeff nodded woodenly. “Sure Robbie, whatever you want.” He started the car and as it pulled away he looked sadly at The Phantom. “See ya, Phantom.”

As the car pulled into the stream of traffic The Phantom watched it go, sadly shaking his head and firm in the opinion that while Jeff’s hands might be on the steering wheel, Robbie was firmly in the driver’s seat.

******

“ . . .Now you remember to tell your mother that we asked after her,” said the thin, white-haired lady behind the battered and chipped counter top.

“Yes, I will Miss Doris,” replied The Phantom patiently. Since entering the laundry he had been complimented on how handsome he was (much blushing), gently chided for not visiting (working) and had his parents asked after twice.

“And tell your young friend that he’ll have white things or we’ll know the reason why,” said the other white-haired lady, a heavier version of her sister.

“I surely will, Miss Margaret,” said The Phantom as he moved toward the door. “He’ll appreciate it and I do thank you for trying to help him out.”

Miss Doris laughed a tinkly, old lady laugh. “Phantom, we haven’t done anything, yet, and it’s no trouble. It is not the first time this has happened.”

The Phantom grinned his goofy, lopsided grin. “I brought you a lot of work.”

“Yes, you did,” agreed Miss Margaret. “Not that we mind.”

He pulled open the door and waved. “I still appreciate it, Miss Margaret. And I know the other boys will.”

As he stepped into the street and was about to pull the door closed The Phantom heard Miss Doris speaking. “Phantom is such a nice boy.”

“Of course he is,” replied her sister. “His mother raised him right. Not like some I could mention.”

“Now, Margaret . . .”

The Phantom smiled and closed the Laundry door. He walked across the street, dodging the tourists and cars, and leaned against the waist high railing that lined the seawall.

The harbour was all but empty. The ferry for the mainland had sailed, the fishing boats were tied up at their wharf. There were two small sailboats tacking back and forth, not making much headway, there was so little wind.

As he watched the helmsman on the nearest boat gestured impatiently and presently a young boy came up from down below. He immediately began taking down the sails while the helmsman flashed up the boat’s outboard motor.

As the boat put-putted toward the marina it turned slightly, coming closer to the Esplanade, affording The Phantom a perfect view of the boy. He was leaning against the mast of the boat, taking advantage of what little breeze was generated as the boat passed through the water, and was young, no more than 14 as far as The Phantom could judge, with dark hair and a slim, lithe body. He was wearing a dark coloured swimsuit. A Speedo? No, the suit was cut high in the waist and thighs. Not a Speedo. As the boat passed the boy waved to The Phantom, who waved back.

The Phantom stared after the boat, and the boy, as the small vessel receded into the distance, thinking of the first time he had become aware of Jeff Jensen, of the seminal moment when he had realized that all his fears, all his feelings, were personified in a boy he had really known all of his life.

Four years ago, and a few months, The Phantom had sat in the bleachers of the Highland High School pool, watching a swimming demonstration. It had been an open house, a sort of welcome for all the new students who would be entering high school in the coming September. The Phantom had been 12 years and 9 months old, a soon to be freshman. Jeff had been a sophomore, a dark, handsome, slim youth already on his way to becoming the fair-haired, golden boy of Comox.

From the moment Jeff, a member of the Junior Boys Dive and Swim Team, stepped onto the podium, preparing to show off his skills, The Phantom had been infatuated with him, to the extent that on that early summer morning, he had sat stupefied, oblivious to the other divers, seeing only Jeff as he dove gracefully, twisting, turning, sliding through the water with barely a ripple, proudly displaying his wonderfully formed body, his barely hidden genitals thick and heavy in the tight, thin fabric of his Speedo.

Up until that moment Jeff had always been just one of the neighbourhood kids, somebody to play pickup ball with, who had a bratty baby brother and a sister who every time she saw The Phantom seemed bound and determined to get her hand up, down, in or around his shorts. Thinking back on, it The Phantom was thankful that his mother still bought his underwear back then. Tight briefs under your shorts at least kept little girl hands from touching IT!

All that had changed at the open house. The Phantom had been so overcome he had orgasmed, twice (dry, if the truth was told. His first true orgasm, a wet dream, would not occur for another five months. He would be dreaming of Jeff when it happened).

For the next three years The Phantom had watched Jeff grow and move from sports triumph to sports triumph. Jeff moved effortlessly from swimming to baseball to quarterback of the football team. He was the golden boy, the boy every father wanted his own son to be, and the boy who smiled and beckoned and every girl fought to be with. Jeff had it all: looks, brains, fame, and just enough notoriety to make it all interesting.

For three years and more, The Phantom had dreamed his dreams of being with Jeff. At night, in the still darkness, again and again he returned to the vision of Jeff. When he and Sam had sat, naked from the waist down in the broken down shack, fisting each other’s dick, and pumping like madmen, it had not been Sam’s thick, skinned-covered organ in The Phantom’s hand.

Physically The Phantom had been stroking his friend’s penis, slowly pulling down Sam’s tight foreskin with its red-rimmed, angry opening that stretched to reveal the ugly, deeply purple, oversized head that crowned Sam’s thick shaft. Physically, The Phantom had heard Sam’s harsh breathing and muttered cursing as he thrust viciously upward when he approached orgasm.

Physically it was Sam’s thumb that rubbed across and around the sleek head of The Phantom’s penis, causing him to grunt and moan.

Physically it was Sam’s hand that brought him closer and closer to a screaming outburst of pleasure.

But . . . In his mind it had been the strong, firmly muscled, taut body of Jeff Jensen sitting with him, holding him, fondling him. In his mind The Phantom’s hand held perfection, Jeff Jensen’s glorious erection. In his mind it was not Sam’s hand on The Phantom’s smaller, thinner replica of Jeff’s penis. It had been Jeff’s hand that . . .

Eventually, as The Phantom grew older, and had begun to work in Aurora, the nightly images of Jeff had faded, replaced by images of other boys. Harry, the Twins, and later, after he had begun his nighttime forays, vivid memories of the then nameless boys he visited.

The Phantom rummaged through his trouser pockets and found his crumpled pack of cigarettes. He lit up, inhaled, filling his lungs from the noxious weed, and then exhaled, watching as the tobacco smoke formed a thick cloud in the still, warm air. He looked toward the marina. The sailboat, and the boy on it, had disappeared into the jumble of hulls and masts that marked the marina slips.

“Full circle,” thought The Phantom as he took another drag on his cigarette. Four years ago Jeff, a slim, lithe, awesomely handsome creature in a dark Speedo, envied and lusted after, the real Jeff had come into his life. And now, just as the boy, slim, lithe, in a dark bathing suit had disappeared into the anonymity of the marina, so too had the real Jeff disappeared down a dark, anonymous highway.

The Phantom shuddered and replayed in his mind the horrible, depressing scenes of Jeff and Robbie, mourning the loss of the handsome, bright-eyed youth whom only a month before The Phantom had wanted do be with, if only for a little time, a youth whom, in the time before Aurora, The Phantom could, and probably, would have loved.

That Jeff was gone, replaced by a frightened boy, so afraid of offending his little brother that he would endure any humiliation rather than have his underage lover divulge their secret.

Which, in a way, was unfair to Robbie. Jeff had walked into their affair with his eyes wide open. He was in love with Robbie. He was also jealous that Robbie would find other boys attractive and would try, as he had, to attract other boys. Jeff’s pushing down Robbie’s leg - no matter how gently - to hide the boy’s treasure from The Phantom’s gaze had held a wealth of meaning. He was signalling that Robbie was his. Robbie’s fondling, blatantly, openly, without fear, was also a signal: Jeff was his, and his alone, not to be shared with a girl, or with another boy.

At the end of the day, though, Jeff’s fear was palpable. Robbie, for whatever reason, had chosen to play the dominant role in his relationship with his older brother. Jeff, out of fear, was the passive one. The Phantom threw the remainder of his cigarette over the railing and turned, resting against the iron, rust-pitted rail, asking himself if sex plus fear equalled power. Or did sex plus power equal fear? He was not all that sure just what the answer was.

The Phantom watched the colourful kaleidoscope of humanity, tourists and townsfolk, strolling by, filling the sidewalks and occasionally stepping into the motorway. Every age group seemed to be represented. There were grey-haired pensioners, sometimes alone, more often couples; young marrieds, always it seemed with a baby in a stroller and a young child at their side; groups of teenage girls, laughing and giggling as only girls could laugh and giggle; troops of teenage boys, scrubbed, hair slicked back, strutting and posturing in hopes of catching the attention of the girls.

There were others, young couples, mostly teenagers, male and female, strolling, arms around the other’s waist, stopping to window shop, admire each other, or kiss lightly.

As The Phantom watched one couple they stopped before a shop window. The boy lowered his head, nodded at something on display, and whispered in the girl’s ear. She laughed delightfully and playfully slapped his shoulder.

Seeing the flirtatious interplay between the boy and the girl, The Phantom smiled cynically. The boy, as were all the other boys, was doing what his culture told him what he must do: pursue the female of the species, a pursuit that would, more often than not, end in denial, for the same culture forbade him from reaching the ultimate goal, save with the blessing of God and the Church. In pursuit of the almost unattainable goal each boy dressed himself in the plumage he thought best attracted the females: tight, white T-shirts or singlets (once called “Giuseppes”, now for some reason called “wife-beaters”), brightly coloured swimming shorts or sports shorts, which showed their long, muscular legs and accentuated their firm, round butts and tight packages.

The Phantom shook his head ruefully, knowing, as the others should have known, that good girls, the ones who “saved” themselves for marriage, would keep their legs firmly closed, because their culture told them that they must. Bad girls, those who enjoyed sex and boys, were condemned and labelled as sluts or whores, pitiful creatures to be tut-tutted after and talked about behind their backs, just as Robbie had condemned his sister out of hand for blowing Greg Langston.

Not that The Phantom blamed her. Greg was a muscular, dark-haired sleepy-eyed, moderately handsome young man who had played football with Jeff. He wondered if Amy realized that by committing what society considered an unnatural and deviant act - sucking Greg’s penis - the condemnation for that act would follow her as long as she remained in Comox. Just as it would follow Jeff if ever the truth about his relations with his younger brother were revealed. In Jeff’s case, however, the condemnation would be violent and vitriolic. Amy’s sin would be whispered about. Jeff’s would be proclaimed from the church steps. Greg, for allowing his penis to be sucked by a girl would be snickered after, but as everyone knew, boys would be boys.

Jeff would be driven from the town. The culture in which he lived abominated homosexuality in all its forms. It saved its vitriol for men who had sex with young boys. Jeff would be condemned from bench and pulpit. If he managed to avoid jail, he would be cast out, a pariah, never to be spoken of except in the most scornful tones. His family would disown him, neither knowing nor caring what happened to him. His past prowess as an athlete, the unnumbered trophies, ribbons and championships that he had helped bring to the town, all would never be remembered. The glories that were Jeff would be forever submerged in a tidal wave of hate.

The Phantom started, realizing that he had been looking at the wrong equation. It was not a question of sex plus power equalling fear. Jeff had been reduced to a quivering husk, a grovelling, obsequious Uriah Heep, because sex plus the fear of discovery equalled power. Jeff might be vaguely aware that any hint of his relationship with Robbie becoming public knowledge would result in total, apocalyptic destruction. Robbie knew it.

Sly, manipulative, sneaky Robbie knew it! Just as surely as he knew that if what he did with Jeff came to the attention of the authorities Jeff would go to jail! Just as he also knew that the responsibility for their dark and forbidden relationship, the blame, would all be placed squarely on Jeff, for Robbie was after all a minor child, incapable of initiating or sustaining an immoral relationship. Jeff, at 18, was an adult, and would be portrayed as the predator. Robbie was a minor, and would be seen as the innocent victim of his own brother’s lust!

Thinking of Robbie caused a low growl to rise in The Phantom’s throat. He recalled with distaste the morning Robbie had tried to seduce him. The Phantom had no particular feelings for Amy, but Robbie was hardly one to talk. If The Phantom’s suspicions were correct, and Robbie’s body language and Jeff’s whimpering demeanour suggested just that, then Robbie was doing a hell of a lot more with Jeff than Amy ever dreamed of doing with Greg Langston! God how The Phantom wished now that he had lashed out at the little bastard for calling his sister a slut! But then, that would not have been wise. It would do no one any good to antagonize the little bugger. It could also be dangerous for Jeff. Robbie’s threat to mention his relationship to his father had all but reduced Jeff to a slavish wreck.

The Phantom did not know what malevolence Robbie was capable of and he had no desire to find out. Jeff needed a friend, not an accuser. Shaking his head sadly The Phantom glanced at his watch. It was time that he was no longer standing here. Chef would be waiting impatiently for him to get his skinny white ass back to Aurora.

******

The Phantom dodged the slow moving traffic and got into the Land Rover, his thoughts returning to Jeff as he started the engine and pulled into the traffic. Jeff had obviously discovered, as the poor saps who wandered the Comox Esplanade had not, that the Grail of Pleasure was not female, but male. He had discovered that only another boy could bring him to such pinnacles of ecstasy that mere sex with a girl paled in comparison. Only another boy knew instinctively the secret places, the secret ways that brought boys to the ultimate heights of sublime passion.

It was a pity that Jeff had made his discovery in so frail a vessel as his brother. Robbie was almost 13 going on a venal, vicious 30. Jeff, having tasted the contents of the Grail, and been transported to heights of lust he never knew existed, would do anything to keep Robbie happy, contented, and more importantly, silent.

The Phantom thought of the parallels between Harry’s relationship with Stefan, and Jeff’s relationship with his brother. He felt truly sorry for Jeff. While Harry had knowingly, and happily, entered into his relationship, Jeff had, so far as The Phantom could tell, been victimized into his relationship with his brother. Hell and sheeit, what a fool Jeff had been!

Jeff had initially tried to offer comfort to his younger sibling during a storm - as The Phantom himself had done with Randy - and then gone and allowed his innate homosexuality to come out and allowed himself to be seduced. In a way The Phantom could understand what had happened. He remembered the night that he had slept in the Mess Hall lounge with Randy and Joey, when both boys had huddled against his body, seeking the warmth and comfort that at times only an older brother could provide. The Phantom tried not to be too judgmental. Had he not already been aware of his own sexuality, he might have succumbed to temptation as easily as Jeff had unwittingly done.

As he remembered his conversation with Jeff after the Sunday barbecue, The Phantom realized that Jeff’s actions had never been predatory. If there was a predator it had been Robbie. Jeff’s mistake in accommodating his brother’s initial advances had been compounded by his succumbing to Robbie’s further, lustful demands. Jeff, too late, had dug himself deeper and deeper into a hole, a hole that could destroy him. Robbie would never let him forget what they had done, and were doing. Jeff was Robbie’s stud, there to pleasure him, to satisfy him, and would be until the day came that he could break completely free of his life in Comox and his brother.

Harry’s affair with Stefan had ended partly because Stefan had returned home, and partly because Harry had the good sense to realize that what he and the boy were doing could not be condoned. Jeff’s affair with Robbie would end if Jeff had the intestinal fortitude that The Phantom had always credited him with, very soon. Jeff would be taking up an athletic scholarship at UBC, and moving to Vancouver. The question would be then, would the affair end and Robbie move on to prey upon another unsuspecting boy, or would Jeff resume his disastrous accommodation every time he came home? The Phantom did not have the answer. He could only hope that Jeff did.

******

As he drove slowly along Comox Road The Phantom analysed Jeff’s situation, and he began comparing it to another, far more serious situation, a situation that demanded action so drastic that he could not quite bring himself to make the decision he felt deep inside had to be made, a decision that could initiate an action almost too horrible to contemplate.

He pulled over and parked the Land Rover at the side of the deserted road. For long minutes The Phantom stared at the white-painted buildings of Aurora shimmering in the heat. A cold tremor ran through his body as he wondered just what the consequences would be. Robbie had awakened a beast in his brother, a beast that Jeff could not control and for a long while The Phantom wondered if by his own actions he would awaken such a beast, a beast that could not be controlled or contained and, once the beast had been awakened, how high a butcher’s bill would have to be paid.