Phantom of Aurora by John Ellison
Chapter 13

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As the bugle notes signalled the end of another day Andy looked over to where Kyle was sitting and then reached up to turn out the lamp on the table beside his chair. The impromptu cocktail party had finally ended around 2200. Most of the guests had left at a decent hour but the American officers, led by their Commanding Officer, had stayed, and stayed, and stayed, putting a huge dent in Doc's carefully hoarded liquor supplies. Lieutenant Broadhurst had gotten drunk and been put to bed in Cabin 5 - recently vacated by Nigel - and, as Andy knew from bitter experience, he would be out for the count until at least 0800 tomorrow morning.

Dave Eddy had toddled off well before time as he had the Middle Watch. No "H" had left at 1900 to stand the First Watch, while Wally Higman had a cranky diesel engine that needed looking at and had gone to bed early, as he wanted to get an early start on the thing. With the other American officers gone ashore Andy could now do what he had wanted to do since Texada Island. He stood up and reached out his hand to Kyle.

Kyle looked into Andy's deep, dark eyes and nodded slowly. The two nights that he had lain in Andy's arms had been euphoric. He was ready now to progress beyond their schoolboy lovemaking - he had gotten Andy's paisley briefs off of him the night of the banyan but all they had done was 69. Now it was time to do more.

They walked slowly down the dimly lit corridor and into their cabin where, for a long time, they simply stood facing each other, holding hands. Then Andy reached out and his fingers caressed Kyle's smooth, boyish face. "Kyle could we, can I . . .?"

Kyle quickly pressed his fingers against Andy's warm lips. "I want you to make love to me," he whispered. "I've wanted you to make love to me since Texada Island."

"Are you sure?" asked Andy. Kyle seemed so . . . innocent, not at all like the hard-faced young men he had slept with while he'd been drowning himself in booze and sex in Europe, not in any way like the desperate, frightened young men he had slept with in Nam after Marty had been killed.

"I have never been so sure of anything in my life," replied Kyle. He reached out and slowly unbuttoned Andy's shirt. "I want you, Gyrene," he whispered as Andy shrugged out of his shirt, exposing his tanned chest. Kyle slowly ran his hands down Andy's bare chest, his fingers stopping only to gently rub the hardened nubs of Andy's nipples. He felt the bulge in the front of Andy's white trousers, and then pushed them and Andy's white boxer shorts down.

"When we were together on Texada, and Harwood, when I held you in my arms, when I felt you, I knew," Kyle whispered. A gentle smile creased his face as he ran his hand down Andy's smooth cheek. "I knew, Gyrene." He pulled back and began to unbuckle his own belt.

"Let me," murmured Andy.

******

Nathan lay in the darkness of the berthing deck, listening to the sounds of his messmates sleeping. His ears heard the groans and coughs, the snuffling and sniffling sounds of boys settling in for the night. His nostrils took in the smell of boys, the faintly musky, slightly intoxicating odours of thirty boys, odours that overpowered his senses and caused his penis to rise and strain against the tight fabric of his underpants.

He had lain in his bunk tossing and turning, unable to sleep, unable to surreptitiously watch as the other boys stripped for bed, revealing their hard, firm bodies and trim penises as they strolled naked back from their nightly showers. God, how he loved to watch them as their genitals swung gently back and forth, to watch them as they absently fondled and rubbed themselves when they pulled on their tight, body hugging briefs.

Nathan groaned softly and slipped his hand down the front of his tighty whiteys, grasping his twitching erection. He needed release and relief as he had never needed anything before. He needed the taste of another boy, the feel of another boy's body.

From the day his brother, Aaron, had introduced him to the pleasures that one boy could give to another Nathan had been addicted to sex with boys. He adored the feeling of a warm mouth on his penis, of a warm body as he slowly fucked another boy, the indescribable emotions that assaulted him when Aaron came to his bed, when the smooth, spongy hard head of his brother's dick entered him with excruciating slowness.

As he began to breathe heavily, Nathan's hand grasped his throbbing erection tightly and as he began to slowly stroke and pump his turgid organ he relived again the feelings of utter joy that he had felt when he'd been with Cory, of how he had felt as he thrust into the blond-haired Adonis. A sob caught in Nathan's throat as he thought of Cory. What a fool he'd been! He had seen Cory and fallen immediately in love and then promptly gone and done all the wrong things, made all the wrong moves!

A long sigh escaped Nathan's lips as he thought how he had misjudged Cory! He had treated Cory as he had treated all the other boys he had been with in the past, as Aaron had treated him! What a mistake that had been! He had treated the boy he was desperately in love with like some 5-dollar street boy from the docks. He had fucked it all up and now Cory wanted nothing to do with him, probably hated him.

As he squeezed and stroked himself closer to eruption Nathan cursed himself for what he had done and prayed that Cory's brother could do something, could convince Cory to forgive him, to once again let him take him in his arms, to hold him to love him, to . . .

******

Nathan had been so engrossed in his selfish musings that he had not heard the soft patter of bare feet on the tile deck. He did feel the hand that touched his shoulder. Startled, he rolled on his back and saw Bob Herzog, the senior engineer, standing beside his bunk, kneading the prominent bulge in his white briefs.

Bob had a silly grin on his face and never stopped feeling himself as he bent low and whispered, "The officers have come back on board. Broadhurst isn't coming back tonight."

"So?" asked Nathan as he gave the near-naked engineer's smooth body a quick glance and reached out to run his finger down the bulge in Bob's Jockeys.

Bob slipped his hand under the light sheet that covered Nathan's body and felt Nathan's erection. "That means his cabin his empty." He gave Nathan's hard penis a seductive squeeze. "We can spend a little time together."

Nathan's eyes caressed Bob's smoothly sculpted, muscled body, his deep tan set off by the stark whiteness of his tight underpants. He reached out to feel the plump thickness of Bob's erection, which was clearly outlined under the cotton of his briefs, the sculpted glans prominent. Bob wasn't all that big, but what he had was magnificently smooth and crisp.

As he squeezed the head of Bob's penis, and felt the wetness that seeped through the thin fabric of Bob's underpants, Nathan could feel the lust rising in his loins. Nathan knew what Bob wanted, just as he knew that he would give it to Bob. But not in the CO's cabin, not after having been with Cory in there.

"What about Mark and Tony?" Nathan sat up and pulled down the front of Bob's jockeys.

Bob sucked in his breath as his dick, released from the tight confines of his briefs, bounced up and down slightly. He looked down as Nathan slowly leaned forward and kissed the deep pink head of his circumcised penis. "They're . . . not back yet . . . and if we . . ." he managed to gasp. He groaned as Nathan's tongue circled the ridge of his mushroom. "Jesus, Nathan . . ."

Nathan abruptly stopped sucking Bob's dick. He lay against the bulkhead watching as Bob's muscled abdomen rippled as the engineer tried to control his desperate hardon. His eyes narrowed and he licked his lips as he thought of the last time he and Bob had been together. Getting it on with the best quarterback Mercer Island Prepatory had produced in sixty years was intriguing and, as Bob put as much exuberance into making out as he did playing football, the experience was stunning in the extreme. "We can't take the chance, Bob," Nathan temporized. "If Mark or Tony come back and they hear us, we're fucked, in more ways than one."

"The Engineering Office, then," whispered Bob desperately. "Come on, Nathan, no one will hear us in there."

Nathan's hand found the spongy, warm head of Bob's penis. A minute dollop of precum seeped from the slit and Nathan wiped it away with his fingertip. He could hear Bob's harsh, almost desperate breathing and saw the look on Bob's face. He remembered their last time together, remembered Bob's cries of ecstasy as he thrust maniacally into him. Nathan also remembered how Bob had wept and pleaded to be fucked as he long dicked the engineer. He smiled and nodded. "You better turn on one of the pumps, then," he said as he slung his legs over the side of his bunk.

Nathan reached out and gave Bob's parts a firm squeeze. "We need something that makes more noise than you do!"

******

Andy was peaking, breathing hard as he thrust slowly in and out of Kyle. Kyle's arms embraced Andy's back and his legs gripped his slim waist. Andy could feel his sweat-slicked abdomen sliding easily along Kyle's rock hard erection. As he thrust inward he felt his pubic hairs savage Kyle's tightened ball sack. He moved inward and his hardon brushed against Kyle's prostate, sending a wave of passion through the black-haired young man. "Kyle . . . getting . . ." Andy groaned.

Kyle increased the pressure of his grip, and his ass clenched, sending Andy over the edge. His body tensed, every muscle rigid, as his cock thickened and his semen erupted deep into Kyle's body. At almost the same moment Kyle let go, his dick pulsing, his slit loosing a stream of pearl-like droplets of semen across his stomach, and he began to jerk convulsively.

As his own body convulsed Andy collapsed on Kyle. Their lips met and they kissed deeply and passionately. Andy continued to pump, short, sharp, movements, until his well was empty. They lay there, their lips locked, their tongues entwined, savouring each other's taste and smell.

They nuzzled and nipped at each other until finally Andy's soft dick fell from Kyle's love hole. They lay in each other's arms, their legs entangled, soft cocks gently rubbing and touching. Andy bent his head and began licking the last trace of Kyle's orgasm from their bodies.

The small cabin was redolent with the mingled odours of their sex: musk mixed with semen, mixed with the unique sweat of each man. Kyle traced the outlines of Andy's face with his fingers, lingering as they crossed his soft lashes, tracing the slope of his strong nose, caressing his full, rich lips. "For a Marine with a small dick, you sure are a good fuck," muttered Kyle, chuckling softly.

"And just how many Marines have you fucked?" asked Andy. He reached down and felt Kyle's soft penis, running his fingers around Kyle's still warm, silky smooth glans.

Kyle pretended to think, as if mulling over a long list of names and faces. Finally, he grinned. "Just one," he said softly. "Just one."

"You're my first sailor," murmured Andy. "And, if I have anything to say about it, my last."

Kyle put his arm across Andy's chest and laid his head on Andy's shoulder.

"You're my first . . . anything," responded Kyle, a dreamy expression on my face. "If I'd known how wonderful it was, I might have . . ." He smiled coyly and sighed happily.

"You have never been with a man before?" asked Andy, surprised. Kyle seemed very experienced. He felt Kyle shake his head.

"There were guys, of course. Guys from school, guys from the cadets." Kyle stirred and kissed Andy's nipple. "It was all the you-show-me-yours, I'll-show-you-mine schoolboy stuff." He pulled away and propped himself on one elbow. "You know, the usual stuff young guys do."

Andy nodded. "I know. I did the same things."

"The most I ever did was to suck a guy's cock," said Kyle. "I made him promise not to cum in my mouth and to swear never to tell anybody."

Andy snickered. "God so did I. The guy's name was Larry Benton. I remember it as if it was yesterday. 'Swear, swear, you won't tell'," he mimicked.

"Yeah," agreed Kyle. "And he never did. We only did it the one time. I was 13. I knew from then on what I liked, and what I wanted." He shrugged expressively. "He didn't want what I wanted."

"Larry liked it. A lot." Andy began caressing Kyle's balls, feeling the heft of them. "We never fucked. That was queer stuff. When he was in the mood he'd come over to my house. We'd go up to my room, and sixty-nine."

"How long did it last?" Kyle groaned softly. "You keep that up and I'll have to prove that sailors do it better."

"That's the general idea," returned Andy as he bent down and began lip sucking the underside of Kyle's stiffening penis. "And it lasted until the day before I left for Parris Island."

Kyle laughed softly and then pulled Andy to him. "You were my first. I've never been with a man before." He smiled tenderly. "I'm glad I waited."

"Marty was my first time," responded Andy. "And I was his first. We were both virgins."

"You loved him?"

Andy nodded. "Very much, very deeply, and I won't lie to you Kyle, Marty is dead, but there will always be a part of me that is Marty." He pulled Kyle closer, their bodies all but melding into one. "But he is dead, and my life goes on."

Kyle gazed into Andy's deep eyes. He saw the love that still existed for Marty, and he saw something else. Kyle knew how he felt about Andy, and wondered if Andy felt the same. He had no objection to sleeping with Andy, but he did want to know exactly where he stood. Kyle was not about to go up against the ghost of a lover gone.

Pushing Andy away, Kyle began the preamble to asking the question he needed an answer to. "I want to know something. I am going to ask you a question, and I want a straight answer. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Andy, how far is this going to go? Am I just some summer fuck, all forgotten about, never talked about again once you cross the causeway?" Kyle was very serious.

"A straight answer?" Andy kissed Kyle gently.

Kyle nodded.

"Let me put it to you this way," began Andy. "When I get home the first thing I am going to do is enrol in the fall semester at Seattle University. The second thing I am going to do is to march down to the Recruiting Centre and join the United States Marine Corps Reserve." He pulled Kyle on top of him. "And the third, and most important thing I am going to do ask a certain Sub-Lieutenant in the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets if he would like to spend the rest of his life with an almost, maybe, someday soon, 2nd Lieutenant in the USMC Reserve."

Andy smiled as he pulled back his legs and felt Kyle enter him. "Is that a yes?" he asked as Kyle leaned forward, staring into the face of the man he had come to love.

******

Tony lay beside Mark in the gloom of the Ropewalk, slowly licking the last traces of Mark's wonderfully sweet semen from his semi-hard cock. As Tony's tongue traced the vein coursing along the underside of his dick Mark groaned and raised his hips. "God, Tony, I love it when you do that," he moaned.

Slowly taking Mark's sensitive helmet into his mouth, Tony's tongue traced the smooth, crisp ridgeline of Mark's crimson mushroom. He released Mark's crown and began moving slowly, sensuously, upward, tracing Mark's treasure trail, rimming his navel, lingering at his rosebud nipples. Finally, he reached his goal and his mouth found Mark's parted lips.

Mark felt Tony's tongue explore the inside of his mouth, and tasted again his own semen. He reached down and felt the length of Tony's hard rod. His thumb explored the leaking crown, lubricating it with the precum that seeped in an almost never-ending stream from Tony's slit. He pulled away and then kissed the tip of Tony's nose. He gazed into Tony's deep brown eyes. "When I was ten my mother sent me to the local grocery for some milk," he said quietly. "Behind the counter was a skinny, black-haired Italian kid with the brownest eyes I'd ever seen."

"Yeah? Anybody I know?" Tony grinned, his hand tracing Mark's treasure trail.

Mark ignored him. "For the next four years I kept hoping we'd run out of milk. Then, one day, I saw him again. Only he wasn't skinny anymore. He was dressed in soccer gear, and there were two broads hanging off him, mooing at his every word."

"Sounds like somebody I do know," snickered Tony.

Mark reached down and cupped Tony's tight balls. He squeezed gently. "Tony, shut up. I'm trying to tell you that I love you."

"You don't have to tell me, Mark," whispered Tony. "I know you love me. Just as you know I love you."

Mark leaned down and kissed Tony. "I fell in love that day, and I never looked at another guy."

"When I was 10 years old," smiled Tony, "I was standing behind the counter in my father's store and this tall, skinny, blond-haired kid came in. He had a brush cut, and he was wearing red and blue Adidas shorts. When he reached over to take a bottle of milk from the cooler those shorts rode up and I saw his underpants. He was wearing white Fruit of the Looms and I felt the weirdest sensation. When I gave him his change he smiled at me. His blue eyes lit up and I thought I would die. Just drop dead, right there." Tony nuzzled Mark's neck. "The first time I fucked a girl, I was fucking her, but I was really making love to that blond-haired kid."

Mark pulled Tony close to him. "God, I hate that," he grimaced. "Having to play the big jock, fucking anything with a pulse, knowing that I wasn't in the least interested in fucking some girl. The first time I did it I went home and spent two hours in the shower, scrubbing and scrubbing, trying to get the stink of her off of my body." He sat up and began rubbing Tony's stomach. "I hate the pretence, Tony. I love you, and I always will, but I hate the pretending."

Tony nodded his agreement. "I hate it as well, Mark, but we have to pretend. If I went home and told my folks how I really feel, if I told them what I really am, they'd throw me out. And I could kiss my appointment to Annapolis goodbye."

Mark whooped and hugged Tony as tightly as he could. "It came?" his voice full of joy. "You're really going?"

Tony struggled from Mark's arms and sat up. "The letter came the day before we left to come up here." He took Mark's hand and rubbed it against his face. "I was a little afraid to tell you."

"Fuck, Tony, why? I knew you wanted it. I wanted you to want it." He hugged Tony again. "I think it's great!"

"It means I won't see you for almost a year. I have to report next June, and I don't get leave or anything while I'm a Plebe. I don't know, after what's happened, if I can wait that long before I see you!"

Mark put his hands on Tony's shoulders. "You listen to me, Antonio Eugenio Valpone, I didn't spend four years pounding calculus, and trig, and the mechanics of fluids into your thick Wop skull for nothing. I didn't put up with your whining and moaning every time we had to pull an all-nighter just to have you turn around and have second thoughts. You're going to Annapolis if I have to drag your skinny, hairy ass every inch of the way."

"You really mean that?"

"I mean more than that, because when Ensign Valpone, Class of 1981 graduates, I am going to be there, watching. I am also going to take him into the Cadet Chapel and tell him how much I love him, and ask him to marry me."

Tony almost choked. "Guys can't get married."

"Maybe not in the conventional way. But I'm going to put a ring on your finger, Tony, and I am never going to be away from you again."

"Jesus, Mark, you're serious." Tony wanted desperately to know that Mark was not joking.

"Deadly serious," affirmed Mark. "So serious that I took my grandfather's signet ring out of the bank. It's in my locker. I had our initials engraved in it. Will you wear it?" Tony hugged Mark passionately. They lay down and ground their hips together, their hot erections pulsing as they rubbed together. "I'll take that as a yes," Mark murmured as he felt Tony's fingers probing his puckered, pink, entrance.

******

In Barracks 2 Rob slept lightly, awakening to the slightest sound. He could hear David snuffling and muttering in his sleep. As he sat up and adjusted his erection Rob could hear Ryan murmuring softly. Rob looked around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed sadly. The night visitor had not come and Rob was desperate for release. He had gone to sleep stroking and jerking himself, hoping that the night visitor would return. The front of his tight briefs were wet with precum, his dark, rough, pubic hairs clotted with the sticky substance.

Leaving his bunk, Rob went into the heads where he stripped off his soaked briefs and washed his boner, barely touching his firm, curving helmet, afraid that if he did he would shoot his load. He returned to the mess deck and, as quietly as he could, pulled a pair of boxers from his locker. As he was pulling them on he glanced over and saw that Ryan was lying flat on his back, not an ideal position to be in when drunk.

Rob knew that he could not leave Ryan as he was so he walked over and, as he bent turn his young friend on his side, he glanced down. Under the thin black cloth of Ryan's briefs Rob saw that Ryan had a hardon, about four inches, rising and falling, straining against the fabric as he breathed softly. At Rob's touch on his shoulder Ryan stirred, then reached out. He pulled Rob down and kissed him. For a moment Rob was too surprised to react, then he began to pull away. Ryan pulled him closer, his tongue searching for, and finding, Rob's. This time Rob did not try to pull away.

Ryan released his grip on Rob and his hand moved down, feeling Rob's thick thigh, then finding the slit in Rob's boxers. As they kissed Ryan's hand found Rob's cock and began pumping it, his thumb crossing and re-crossing Rob's quivering helmet. Rob reached down and slowly rubbed Ryan's small boner. Ryan shivered and opened his soulful, black eyes. Their lips parted and Ryan grinned shyly. "Always wanted to do this with you," he murmured, his words slightly slurred.

Rob nodded and reached down. He lowered Ryan's underpants and his hand found the slim, smooth, tapering penis. He pushed Ryan's foreskin down, revealing the perfectly shaped, plum-coloured helmet. He stroked Ryan's cock and on each upward stroke a small drop of clear, thick, precum oozed through the tiny opening left in the gathered foreskin. Ryan raised his hips, moaning, stroking Rob's boner and matching his pace to Rob's.

Lowering his head and parting his lips, Rob slowly took every inch of Ryan's erection into his mouth, stopping when his nose was buried in Ryan's sparse, bush of coal-black pubic hair that surrounded Ryan's throbbing penis.

Ryan's body arched and tensed. His hand gripped Rob's cock. "Rob, gonna . . . shoot . . . gonna . . ." he groaned through clenched teeth.

Rob sucked faster. Ryan's dick twitched and a small dribble of weak liquid dribbled out of his slit, quickly followed by two fierce, firm, jets that exploded in Rob's mouth. Ryan's hips jerked and bucked as he strove to drive his dick even further into Rob's mouth.

Ryan's eruption set Rob off. He felt the surge of glory rage upward from his balls and he began cumming so hard his brain all but shut down. Stream after stream of thick juice flew from his slit, covering Ryan's stomach and coating his pumping hand.

When Ryan stopped jerking, Rob slowly withdrew his mouth from his softening dick, which fell softly over his hairless balls, twitching as the flow of pleasure ebbed away. Ryan withdrew his hand and raised it to his lips. His tongue darted out, and he tasted for the first time another boy's exquisite fluid. He smiled and motioned Rob to lie down. They kissed and Rob's tongue spread what little of Ryan's ejaculate that was left in his mouth along Ryan's tongue.

For a long time they lay there, kissing softly. Finally Rob pulled away.

******

Across the harbour The Gunner tossed and turned, trying to sleep. He had returned, finally, from AURORA, a little the worse for wear from the booze that Father insisted they all drink in quantity. He had stripped off and showered, then picked up the telephone. As he expected, there had been no answer at the other end.

He had paced the floor, muttering, trying to decide what his next course of action should be. He had to confront Joel. He had to know if their relationship was over. He had to know just what it was Joel wanted from him. The Gunner knew that Joel had made it very plain that he was not going to become some Navy groupie, following him from ship to ship, from port to port.

Eventually, surrendering to the effects of fatigue and alcohol, The Gunner had stopped his pacing and gone to bed, lying on top of the covers, naked. More and more he wanted to leave the Navy. Joel was a part of it. The Navy itself was a part of it. The old ways, the old traditions were gone, only the barest vestiges kept alive, in the Sea Cadets, in the Old Guard reserve units. Hell, there was even a rumour that Ottawa wanted to replace "Heart of Oak" with a new Naval march. Ottawa wanted to have a contest, for fuck's sake!

Reaching out, The Gunner felt . . . nothing. No sweet, warm body against his. No steady, warm breath against his cheek. No soft penis pressing gently against his thigh. No gentle hand resting over his genitals. No . . . Phantom.

As he tossed and turned The Gunner realized that he was totally, completely in love with Phantom. He loved Joel, but he was not in love with him. Damn Andy, he thought angrily, why did you have to open that can of worms?

Unable to sleep The Gunner got up and went out to the lanai. He held his head in his hands, breathing deeply. He wanted Phantom. With all his heart, with all his soul, he wanted the boy. Phantom wanted him. Two damned souls each wanting the same thing, with no hope of ever having it.

Phantom could not understand that their relationship, what little there was of it, could not and would not proceed they way he wanted it to proceed. The boy could not understand that The Gunner lived his life according to a code of honour. So long as he was in any way responsible for Phantom, he could not permit their love to be anything more than what it was.

The Gunner's personal code would not allow him to have sex with Phantom. It would not allow him to have sex with the Twins. It did not matter that they wanted it. It did not matter that he wanted it. What mattered was that when he looked at himself in the mirror in the morning he could truthfully say he had never taken advantage of them.

He hated being a role model. He hated his overbearing sense of responsibility, but he was a product of his training. Time and time again it had been pounded into The Gunner, as a lowly recruit, as an Able-Bodied Seaman, as a Leading Gunner, that you never, ever, for any reason, used your position or your rank to influence those in your charge. You never, ever, abused your authority, your power over those same people. It did not matter what you felt, what you wanted. It was a "Thou shalt not", exclamation point, end of story, case closed.

As he thought of Phantom The Gunner's slowly stroked his soft organ. He felt himself rising and he began to slowly stroke his penis to full erection. His breathing became raspy as his hand moved up and down on his rocklike cock. He began moaning and grunting as his balls tightened and the wonderful feeling engulfed him. As he approached the precipice he threw his head back, and grimaced as the sluice gate of his dick gaped open and his semen spurted, splattering the flagstones of the terrace.

He continued to pump, his hand passing over his red, hard, helmet, his body screaming in ecstasy. Finally, he could stand no more and he released himself. His dick began to soften, a last drop of cum oozing slowly from his slit. When his breathing slowed he lowered his head, cursing silently. Damn, damn, damn, he thought, I just jerked myself off, but it wasn't my hand on my dick, it wasn't Joel's hand on my dick.

He stood up and walked toward the shower. It's not Joel that I want. I want . . . I want a 17-year-old kid with light brown hair, emerald eyes, and slightly jugged ears. He turned the shower on and stepped into the cubicle. "God damn, Phantom, God damn . . .!" he breathed. "God damn . . ."

******

In his bedroom in the large Victorian house The Phantom lay on his bed, slowly stroking himself to his second orgasm of the evening. The first had been in the shower, shortly after he and his parents had arrived home. After his shower they had sat by the pool as The Phantom regaled them with stories of what they had gotten up to on the sailing trip. He did not mention that they had been naked most of the time, nor did he mention that he had slept with The Gunner.

His parents had laughed uproariously at Harry's discomfiture when Kyle had smacked him on the behind. They laughed even harder when he told them about stealing Andy's underpants and raising them on the makeshift flagpole. Later, after his mother had gone to bed, he and his father had shared a scotch, and another laugh as he told him all about the mooning episode.

Finally, it was time for bed, and The Phantom showered before retiring. He soaped himself and his hand automatically found his dick. He closed his eyes and remembered feeling the soft, smooth, cock and heavy balls he had cupped only last night. He stroked himself slowly, glorying in the feeling of exquisite pleasure that welled through him, his legs almost buckling as he shot a stream of his thick semen across the shower stall.

Once in bed The Phantom lay there, visiting once again the beaches at Texada and Harwood. In his mind's eye he devoured the sleek, smooth teen cocks the cadets so brazenly presented to him. He ran his tongue around his lips, in his fantasy running it up and around the satiny helmets of those beautiful cocks, savouring, tasting, the hard maleness of each and every one of them, but most of all The Gunner's.

The Phantom cursed an unkind fate that had caused The Gunner to wake up before his dick hardened. The Phantom had wanted to feel that hardness, wanted to feel the man's huge balls tighten. His mind reeled as he imagined the taste of that wonderful velvet cock, and as his own cock spasmed and the huge stream of his second orgasm splattered across his chest.

He moaned again, the imagined taste of salt, and gunpowder, an indescribable something, filling his mouth. He groaned, revelling in the ferocious afterglow of his orgasm, vowing, swearing, determined, that one way or another, he would make The Gunner fulfil his fantasy. He would, somehow, find a way to make love to the man he wanted above every other man or boy. He would, somehow, find a way to make that man make love to him. Somehow.

******

Promptly at 0600 the tannoy growled and the strident bugle notes of "Reveille" echoed through the Gunroom. This lasted all of ten seconds before Harry's size 14 boot flew through the air and crashed into the speaker, knocking loose a wire somewhere inside and silencing it.

The cadets began crawling out of their pits. Harry, as usual, grumbling the loudest. He adjusted his morning woody, ran his fingers over the picture of Stefan that hung over his bunk and headed for the showers. Nicholas, Greg and Two Strokes were not far behind.

The Twins, being the Twins, sputtered and coughed, groaned, threw pillows at each other and then arose. Cory admired Todd's morning woody and asked if Mrs. Fist had come calling during the night. Todd made a face and opined that she had, and a very pleasant visit it had been, too. He then commented that Cory's morning woody seemed a trifle limp.

Cory, although in a high dudgeon, refused to rise to the bait. With as much dignity as he could muster he grabbed his towel and was about to head for the showers when he noticed that Jon's bed had not been slept in.

Chris, who was lying under the covers taking care of his morning woody, was very put out when Cory shook him, disturbing what had promised to be a very satisfactory hand job. "God dammit, Cory," snapped Chris. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Fred and Thumper shuffled by, both only half-awake. Todd waited until they had disappeared down the corridor leading to the showers. "Leave that thing alone. Let it grow," he said with a grin.

Cory shot his brother a dirty look. He had much more important things to worry about than the state of Chris's dick. "Jon's not in his bed and it looks like it hasn't been slept in."

Chris sat up with a start. He stared at Jon's empty bed. "Yeah, come to think of it, he wasn't there when I came in." He got up, his morning glory deflated.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" demanded Todd angrily. "I warned you not to fool around with him."

"Todd, calm down," Cory said, rubbing his brother's bare back. "Chris, what did you do to Jon?"

Chris looked around, making sure that no one else was in the room. "I gave him a blow job," he whispered. "Nothing else. He never said anything while I was doing it, and when he shot his load he zipped up and said he had to go. That's all."

Todd returned to his bunk space and pulled on his gym shorts and a T-shirt. He sat on his bunk and began pulling on his running shoes. "Well we have to do something. Cory, get dressed." Todd tied his shoes and looked at Chris. "You stay here in case he comes back while we're gone."

"But I want to help," began Chris, pulling on his clothes. "I did it, he's my responsibility."

Cory held up his hand. "Chris, some guys can handle it, some guys can't. Let me and Todd find Jon and then we'll go from there. Okay?"

Chris sat on his bunk, nodding his agreement, a look of devastation on his face. "Find him, please Todd, please Cory," he whispered. "He's very special . . . I mean . . ."

Todd patted Chris' shoulder. "Stay here, we'll find him." As they left the Gunroom he muttered to Cory. "I just hope Jon hasn't gone and done something stupid."

******

As it turned out, the only thing stupid that Jon had done was to sit on the beach and watch the lights of Comox shimmering across the dark harbour. He had barely slept, and was dozing when the Twins found him, his back against the cold, stone wall of the Ropewalk.

Jon awoke at Todd's light touch on his shoulder. He blinked, saw the Twins staring down at him, and smiled. "Hi, guys. What's up?"

"Are you all right, Jon?" asked Todd, a note of concern in his voice.

Jon nodded. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"Jon, you didn't come back to the Gunroom last night. You didn't sleep in your bed," said Cory. "Did you spend the night out here?"

Jon struggled to his feet and put his arms around the Twins' shoulders. He had a shit-eating grin on his face. "Guys, I had some serious thinking to do." He gave the Twins a hug. "I know what I want to do now and I am perfectly fine."

Cory exchanged glances with Todd. Sometimes it was best not to probe too deeply. "You must be knackered," said Cory, as he and Todd led Jon toward the Gunroom.

"Why don't you get your head down until Divisions?"

"Yeah, get some sleep. You'll feel better," agreed Todd.
Jon chuckled and took his arms from around their necks. "I feel great. I appreciate your concern, I really do." At the door to the Gunroom he turned and his hand brushed first Todd's, then Cory's face. "I wish now . . ."

Todd stopped him. "Chris is waiting inside. You want to talk to him?"
Jon nodded, turned and entered the Gunroom.

The place was bedlam as the other cadets hurriedly cleaned into sports gear. Locker doors were slammed, muttered curses made the air blue. Jon ran his fingers across the back of Chris' head. Chris looked up and paled. He watched silently as Jon slowly removed his cut-offs and T-shirt, then reached in and took a towel from his locker. "Feel like a shower?" he asked with a shy smile.

Chris nodded and slipped out of his boxers. He picked up his towel and walked with Jon down the corridor.

******

The day progressed as normally as it ever did. The assembled cadets, minus the Americans and the YAG crews, grumbled their way through callisthenics, then returned to their barracks and cleaned into the uniform of the day. At breakfast the Twins and Chris sat together, devouring a mountain of bacon and eggs. Jon passed by and smiled warmly at Chris. He knew instinctively that he could not change his routine and sit with Chris. He sat down with Two Strokes, Fred, and Thumper.

The Americans came in en masse. They were all dressed in short, khaki, tight fitting shorts and short-sleeved, blue denim work shirts. Mark and Tony waited until their people had passed down the food line, then, filled trays in hand, joined Tyler and Val.

Nathan, a tray piled high with bacon, eggs, and toast, in his hands, stood in the middle of the Mess Hall, looked around, and then moved to where the Twins and Chris were sitting. He politely asked Todd's permission to join them.

"No!" snapped Cory.

"Yes," smiled Todd at Nathan and then growled at his brother, "He asked me, not you, fuck wad, so keep quiet."

Cory glared at his brother.

Nathan thanked Todd and sat down. He asked Cory to pass the salt, please.

With ill grace Cory handed Nathan the salt. "Shouldn't you be out sailing, or something?" he asked icily.

"We sail at 0900 for exercises at sea." He shrugged. "Replenishment at sea, a jackstay transfer. The usual."

"So, Nathan, how do you like Canada?" asked Todd, deliberately stirring the pot.

Nathan smiled at Cory as he answered Todd's question. "I like it fine. I just wish I could stay longer." His gaze slid over Cory. "And I really would like to get to know people better."

Cory gave Nathan the evil eye and stood up. His chair toppled over with a crash. "I do apologize," he snarled through clenched teeth as he righted his chair. He hurried to the dish racks, put away his dirty dishes and left the Mess Hall.

"Well, that went well, I think," said Todd blithely. "Eat your food, Nathan, before it gets cold."

"Well?" gasped Chris. "He was so cold I almost froze my balls off."

"What am I going to do?" asked Nathan, pushing his plate of food away, his appetite gone. "He won't even give me a chance."

"Ah, but he did speak to you. I grant you he was barely civil, but he did speak to you."

"And I'm supposed to feel good about that?" asked Nathan doubtfully.

Todd nodded. "It's a sign that he's still in one of his snits. If he were really pissed off at you he would have left as soon as you sat down. He can be very rude when he puts his mind to it."

"So I just keep coming back, hoping that one day, maybe years down the road, he'll actually speak to me decently. Is that it?" Nathan shook his head.

Todd grinned and leaned forward. "Nathan, if you do what I tell you to do I guarantee within twenty-four hours he'll accept your apology. And he'll let you love him."

Nathan glanced uneasily at Chris who smiled and nodded. "Listen to him, kid. I did."

Todd grinned and bent forward. In a low tone, so that he could not be overheard by anyone other than Nathan and Chris, he began to spin a web in which he hoped to trap his obstreperous brother.

When Todd finished speaking Chris looked at him, a puzzled look on his face. "But Todd, we don't have a barracks gate!"

******

At 0830 Greg opened the Ship's Office and began his daily routine. The mail run from CFB Comox had been by and he sorted the variety of envelopes and packages addressed to the Ship and the Ship's Company. Mail addressed to a cadet was placed in the box reserved for their particular Mess or barracks. Officers, and Senior Staff, had individual boxes.

After sorting the mail Greg opened all the official envelopes and logged the contents. Then he placed it all in a huge pile and carried it into the Executive Officer's cabin. Number One, along with the Commanding Officer, read every piece of official mail that came in.

Shortly after nine the Executive Officer entered the office and, with apologies, gave Greg a list of names and a covering note. "Put that all in proper Navalese, will you young feller?" he asked. "When you've typed it up all shipshape and Bristol fashion, bring it in and I'll sign on the dotted line. And don't look so downcast. I have reason to believe you'll like what you read." With a large grin he was gone, off to discuss the day with the Commanding Officer.

Greg put a fresh piece of paper in his trusty Olympic and started typing, barely absorbing the hand written words on the piece of paper Number One had given him. As he typed his eyes scanned ahead, reading the list of names. As he read his typing speed dropped, then stopped. He jumped up, reading every word carefully. "Holy Shit!" he whooped, pumping the air. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy SHIT!"

In the Commanding Officer's cabin, Number One took a sip of his tea. "It would seem that someone agrees with our choice of candidates."

The Commanding Officer cocked his head, listening with his one good ear as Greg whooped and hollered. "He might have expressed his agreement a tad more quietly." Then he grinned broadly.

For the next hour Greg typed furiously, checking each page, rechecking each page and, when he was satisfied that the papers were error free, carefully stapled the typed pages together. He carried the finished document to Number One's cabin and placed in carefully on the Executive Officer's desk.

Number One harrumphed, glanced at Greg over the rim of his reading glasses and then, as Greg waited with increasing impatience, carefully read the document. Satisfied, he unscrewed the top of his fountain pen and, with a flourish, signed his name. Greg picked up the document and smiled. Number One returned the smile. "Scratch, I expect great things from you in the next three days."

"Sir, I'll do my best."

"As you always do, my boy. As you always do."

When he returned to the Ship's Office Greg flashed up the photocopier and ran off enough copies of the document for every cadet whose name was on the list, plus enough copies to post on all the notice boards that littered the ship.

He left the office and went next door to the Regulating Office, where Jon and Two Strokes were idling away the day. He hugged the startled Regulating Petty Officers and planted a big wet kiss on each of their cheeks. "Read it, read it," Greg exhorted happily. "Read it and rejoice!"

Two Strokes, stunned, and thinking that Greg had been sniffing the Gestetner fluid again, slowly read the document. His eyes widened as he read the General Order nominating the listed cadets for promotion. "Well, I will be fucked and sent to Heaven," ejaculated Two Strokes when he had finished reading. "You, me, and Fred nominated for Regulating Chief Petty Officers, and Thumper for Petty Officer First Class."

"And will you look at the others names!" Jon waved the paper at Two Strokes. "Harry for Chief Bandsman, Greg for Chief Writer, Nicholas for Chief Yeoman of Signals, Rob and Stuart, and Chris, Chiefs and, God alone knows why, the Twins. Imagine, the Twins as Chief Gunnery Instructors."

Two Strokes grabbed Jon and hugged him. "And look, look at the others. Ray is nominated for accelerated promotion to Cook Petty Officer First Class. Brian, Gunnery Petty Officer First Class; Dylan, Gunnery Petty Officer; Steve, Boatswain Petty Officer and little Ryan, Engineering Petty Officer!"

Two Strokes and Jon hugged and danced around the office, laughing and slapping each other on the back. "We have to find Fred and Thumper. Come on, let's go and congratulate our fellow Chiefs."

Two Strokes was halfway to the door when Jon stopped him. "Roger, these are nominations. We have to write the qualifying exam, then do the practical exam and then we have to endure the Selection Board."

Two Strokes laughed and hugged Jon. "Bollocks! We're in. It's all smoke and mirrors, and we're in."

"Maybe so," agreed Jon doubtfully. "But I'm still digging out my old manuals."

******

Of all the cadets in AURORA only one was disappointed at the news of the nominations for promotion. Little Big Man was furious that his name had not been included on the list of eligible cadets. He stood in front of the Ship's Company Notice Board and glowered at the order convening the promotion board, and at the closely typed list of names. Two Strokes and Jon, who were sitting at the desk playing cards, at first paid him no notice. Little Big Man was, after all, essentially a non-person. They both knew that he was not to be trusted in anything.

Little Big Man muttered under his breath. Two Strokes thought he heard the word, "faggot", and his head snapped up. "Did you say something, Petty Officer Greene?" he asked coldly.

"Yeah," snarled Little Big Man. "I said it pays to be The Gunner's pet and a faggot. All the queers are on the list."

Two Strokes, followed by Jon, stood up and stared menacingly at Little Big Man. "My name is on the list," Two Strokes growled menacingly.

Jon paled at the word. Faggot. His heart pounded rapidly. He and Chris had been alone in breezeway flats and nobody could possibly know what had happened between them. He asked quietly, "Are you suggesting that Roger or me is a faggot?"

Little Big Man saw the looks on the faces of the other two cadets. "Did I say that?" he asked calmly. "Did I?" Little Big Man knew that he was in shit with most of the cadets. They all hated him, didn't they? Still, there was no reason to antagonize the Regulating Staff. "I didn't mean you two," he continued placatingly, his voice smooth. "I know you're not queer. I meant those butt-fucking Twins. And Rob and Ryan."

"I thought Rob was your friend." Jon breathed a silent sigh of relief. If Little Big Man did not know about him and Chris, then no one knew.

"That gearbox? My guess is he's been fucking Ryan up the ass for years."

Two Strokes reached out and grabbed Little Big Man by the front of his gunshirt. "One day, Petty Officer Greene, that tongue of yours will hang you."

Jon grabbed Two Strokes' arm. "Let him go, Roger. He's not worth it. Let him go."

Little Big Man struggled vainly as Two Strokes' hand closed tightly. "Lemme go, Roger! You have no right to touch me."

Two Strokes shook off Jon and raised his fist. "You're a mean, vicious little prick, you know that? You're also a liar. Take it back. Take it back about Rob and Ryan. Now!"

Little Big Man held up his hands. "Okay, okay, calm down. I'm just pissed off that they're on the list. I won't take it back about the Twins. They're queers, and you can't deny it."

Two Strokes pushed Little Big Man up against the notice board, knocking down several of the printed notices. "What the Twins are, or are not, is none of your fucking business." Two Strokes' voice was very low and heavy with menace. He lowered his face until it was within an inch of Little Big Man's. "I give you fair warning. If I ever again hear you say one word, just one word, against the Twins, or Rob, or Ryan, or any other cadet, I will come looking for you." He slammed Little Big Man so hard against the notice board that it fell down with a resounding crash.

"You wouldn't dare!" whispered Little Big Man, knowing full well that the look in Two Strokes eyes meant that he would.

"Try me." Two Strokes released Little Big Man and pointed towards the door. "Get out. And remember what I told you. One word and I guarantee that you will regret it for the rest of your life."

As Little Big Man scuttled from the office Two Strokes turned to Jon. "Sorry about that, Jon. Lost my temper."

Jon smiled wanly. "He does that to people."

"Are you all right? You're awfully pale," said Two Strokes, his voice full of concern. For some reason Jon was as pale as a sheet and he had been quieter than usual all morning.

"Me? Yeah, I'm okay. I didn't sleep too well last night." This was essentially the truth. Sleeping on the beach had not been a good idea. He bent down and began to clean up the wreckage. "Help me with this, will you?"

"You work too hard. You should learn to relax more," commiserated Two Strokes as they lifted the notice board back into place.

Jon smiled. "Yeah, Roger, I guess I should," he agreed, wondering if Chris would want to go for a Coke later on tonight.

******

When The Phantom arrived for work he found jubilation reigning in the galley. Chef was puffed up, an overweight pouter pigeon strutting his stuff. The two Makee-Learns, Randy and Joey, were grinning like loons. Sandro was happily stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce, humming the Imperial Russian Anthem in a quite respectable baritone. When The Phantom asked what in hell was going on Ray hugged him, then kissed him full on the lips.

The Phantom was so startled he did not at first pull back. Actually, he rather liked it, so much so that he felt the head of his dick start to tingle.

Ray pulled away and told The Phantom about his accelerated promotion. He was so excited that he stuttered. The Phantom whooped and hugged Ray tightly. Then he figured, what the hell, and kissed Ray. For a brief moment their lips parted and their tongues met.

Blushing, feeling himself hardening, Ray pulled back. He smiled at The Phantom. Well, I'll be damned, he thought. He grinned widely, mentally thanking the green-eyed boy. For the kiss, and a lot more.

"So, what's everybody all excited about?" asked The Phantom. "Ray's the one that is being promoted." He returned Ray's smile, wondering what in hell he was up to. There was a look in Ray's eye that spoke of deep secrets suddenly revealed.

"Because, you ninny, what happens to my boy happens to all of us," boomed Chef. As Chef explained it, Ray's impending promotion, accelerated at that, was a reflection not only on Ray, but also on himself, and everybody in the galley. Everybody who worked with Ray had, in his own way, contributed to Ray's abilities. " . . . Even those two skinny-assed skates, who should be doing up the sandwiches," Chef finished.

Joey and Randy looked at each other's asses and grinned.

"Whatever it takes, Ray, I'll help you," The Phantom told ray sincerely. "You want me to go over the manual with you?"

Ray shook his head. "Chef is going to do that. But, Phantom, thanks. I really appreciate everything you've done for me. You're a good friend." He hugged The Phantom again.

"So are you Ray, so are you," murmured The Phantom, rubbing Ray's back.

Chef, uneasy, broke up the love fest and ordered everybody back to work. Later, when Ray came over to have Chef approve some menu changes, Chef asked him what he thought about The Phantom.

"Phantom's a friend. That's all he is," replied Ray quietly. "He's a good guy. I like him, a lot."

Chef nodded, satisfied that nothing untoward was going on. He grinned. "For a minute there I thought you'd be making The Gunner jealous, so I did!"

Ray giggled. "Him? Chef, he's so straight he's got a ramrod for a backbone. Besides, Phantom's not that way."

"And you'd know?"

Ray sat down and bent forward to murmur confidentially. "Chef, most of the time, well, all of the time, when we were away, Phantom and The Gunner, they were together. They slept together. But nothing, and I mean nothing, happened. That's the God's truth, Chef."

Chef considered Ray's words. The he snorted. "Just a bunch of guys doing manly things in manly ways."

Ray stood up and punched Chef's meaty arm. "If you don't count being buck-assed nekkid most of the time. Bye, Chef."

"What . . . WHAT?" roared Chef as Ray scurried into the dining hall to set the tables.

******

Lunch was a jolly affair. By now every cadet knew about the Promotion Boards, and there was much backslapping, hand shaking and high fives all around. Harry held court, not only with the Band members, but also with the Sea Puppies and the General Training Cadets.

Tyler, as Master-At-Arms, insisted on his Regulating Staff lunching with him. Val, as Chief Gunnery Instructor, lunched with the Twins, Chris, and Brian. Stuart and Steve hosted a particularly rowdy table of Boatswains. Nicholas, not to be outdone, feted his Signalmen.

When Kyle, Andy and The Gunner came in for lunch they were cheered, and inundated with invitations to sit at a particular table. "Sorry, guys, we can't," The Gunner said to Val. "Andy and Kyle are on the Board, and I have to scrutinize the examinations. I also get to mark the candidates when they do their Drill Practical."

"Without fear or favour?" asked Todd, grinning hugely.

The Gunner nodded. "No favourites! You are all on your own. Just remember, I am only satisfied with the very best." He laughed hugely and moved on.

Todd frowned. "Shit. He'll check us out from top to bottom, if I know him."

"Cheer up, at least he won't check to make sure you've got clean underwear on," said Val, laughing.

"Well, I am definitely doing a laundry tonight," said Chris. "I'm not taking any chances."

"Do it right after supper. We absolutely must have a party tonight," replied Val.

"We're running low on supplies," said Cory. "We used the last of the vodka last night."

"Not to worry," Todd motioned The Phantom over to their table.

"What?" The Phantom asked, surprised at his sudden popularity.

Todd slipped his hand up the back of The Phantom's wraparound apron and began to rub and knead his ass. Under The Phantom's thin, cotton, cook's whites Todd could feel that he was wearing boxer shorts. "We need a favour, Phantom, a big favour." Todd grinned and rubbed.

"What . . . what kind of a favour?" The Phantom squirmed as Todd's hand went between his legs and began rubbing his balls.

"We'd like you to, um, borrow some booze for us. Just a couple of bottles," smiled Todd. He could feel The Phantom getting hard.

"We'll replace it later," giggled Cory, watching with growing amusement as Phantom tried very hard not to react to Todd's probing hand.

The Phantom was breathing very heavily. "I can . . . uh, I can get it from home." He couldn't stand it any longer, afraid that he'd cream his boxers. He moved a step back.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Val, who had not seen where Todd's hand had been.

"Asthma," said Chris, giggling. He had seen where Todd's hand had been.

The Phantom glared at him. "I do not have asthma. It's just hay fever." Jesus, now I'm lying for the Twins! "I can get all you need. My Dad has cases of it in the basement. He gets tons of bottles for Christmas and such. But how will you get it?"

"Easy. Rob has to go to base later on. You can go with him, pick up the stuff, and then come back." Todd had a ready solution for any problem.

"Rob doesn't have to go to base," said Cory grinning at the nice-looking bulge pooching out the front of The Phantom's apron.

Todd held up his hand and waggled his fingers. He grinned wickedly. "Even money says I can convince Rob that he does!"

******

At 1630, while The Phantom and Rob went off to raid Chief Lascelles' liquor supply, the Twins, together with Chris, went swimming. The beach was very crowded, as the Americans had returned, so they spread their blankets far up the sloping embankment, giving themselves a wonderful view of the swimmers. Cory noticed that Nathan was nowhere in sight.

"We should be studying, you know." grumped Chris as Cory rubbed more sunscreen across his bare back. "We do have an exam tomorrow."

"So, go study." Cory ran his hand down Chris' back and into his swimming trunks.

"Cory, as much as I like it, the swimming beach is hardly the place to feel me up." Chris squirmed as Cory rubbed his soft butt cheek.

"Besides, Nathan might get jealous," laughed Todd.

Cory bristled, then withdrew his hand and gave Todd the finger. "Remember last night? The night you had a meeting with Mrs. Fist and her daughters?" Todd grinned and nodded. "Well you're meeting with her again, asshole," snapped Cory. His face darkened. "And while I'm on the subject, whatever possessed you to give Phantom a monster feel in the Mess Hall? Really, Todd, there is a time and a place for such conduct, but really, the Mess Hall?"

Before Todd could answer, Chris guffawed. "He likes to get a rise out of straight guys!"

"He did that," replied Cory sourly.

Chris and Todd roared with laughter. Cory assumed a hurt air and contented himself with checking out Mark and Tony's baskets. He sighed happily.

Jon, bare-chested and wearing a pair of dark blue gym shorts came down the path. He hesitated when he saw the Twins with Chris. Then he walked directly to where they were sitting and asked if he could join them. "Sure. Why not?" Todd asked, pointing to the sandy beach.