Phantom of Aurora by John Ellison
Chapter 5

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The Phantom awoke feeling wonderfully refreshed and with an erection that surprised him, considering that after visiting Ray, and then Brian, he had been so excited with lust that his entire body seemed to be one raging, testosterone ravaged, hormone, that he had been forced to drop to his knees as soon as he entered the tree line across the deserted road from Aurora, open his jeans, and masturbate furiously.

His lust was so intense that he had stumbled twice as he made his way down the weed-strewn path toward the shack, his quivering body flushed with a heat so intense that he had crashed into the old hut, thrown himself onto the disintegrating bed and squealed and yelped his way to another, gargantuan orgasm.

For the moment spent, The Phantom had pedaled home and collapsed on his bed, so exhausted he could barely strip off his clothing and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Smiling like a cream-filled cat at the memory of last night, The Phantom reached down to begin his morning ritual. My Lord! he sighed as images of Ray and Brian flashed through his brain, had last night been glorious!

He slowly stroked his morning woody and rubbed his testicles for a while, then let his fingers move into the deep cleft between his legs, rubbing his anus and thoroughly enjoying himself. He tried inserting a finger but for some reason he was too tight. I have got to get me some more Vaseline, he thought as he moaned his frustration.

He began stroking his erection slowly, enjoying the sensations that roared through his body, wanting to make the feelings last as long as possible. He felt the wave of glory forming deep in his balls, felt it rise and crest, felt it crash from the gaping slit of his spasming helmet and spatter over his chest and stomach. He lay on his bed, breathing in great rasping breaths as the head of his penis pulsed and throbbed, his testicles emptying of his teenage nectar. This time he did not wipe himself clean with his hand. Instead he snatched up the briefs he had worn the night before and used them to wipe up every stray gobbet he could find, and then began licking and smelling his wonderfully soaked underpants. He was so caught up in what he was doing that he was only vaguely aware of someone calling his name.

There was light knocking at his door and he heard his mother calling him to breakfast. He quickly got off the bed and snatched up a pair of track pants. All he needed was for her to come barging in and see him sniffing his undies! He yelled that he was up and going to shower. He heard her footsteps retreating, and then she called out that he also had to dress for church and, please, do hurry.

Ten minutes later The Phantom appeared at the breakfast table, fully dressed in his best navy blue suit, a crisp, starched white shirt, mirror shined oxfords, and a tie he had borrowed from his father. He was promptly sent back to his room to change his socks, his mother's words ringing in his ears. "Really, Phantom, you're as bad as your father! White socks with a dark suit?"

Suitably chastened, The Phantom ate breakfast and listened as his parents planned a short vacation later in the month. He was not invited, as he had to work. His parents planned to fly out to Regina and attend Brendan's graduation from the Prairies School for Wayward Boys.

After breakfast the family walked to St. Peter's Anglican Church and attended Mass. The Phantom pointedly did not take communion. While he loved his church, its history and its traditions, he questioned its teachings and he abhorred its prohibitions and proscriptions against men and boys such as he.

After church they visited with the Jensens, who were also parishioners of St. Peter's. Mrs. Jensen apologized for Amy not being present. She was off island visiting with some friends from school, which suited The Phantom just fine. He would not have to worry about her shoving her hand up the leg of his drawers for a while. Off the island was just the place for her!

The Phantom noticed that Jeff, who was dressed in smart slacks and an open neck, crisply ironed shirt, seemed very pale under his glorious tan. The Phantom also noticed that Jeff was wearing loafers. With white socks! So much for making a fashion statement, he thought with a small, disapproving sniff. Robbie Jensen, who emulated his older brother whenever he could, was similarly dressed and being his usual pain-in-the-ass self.

Jeff seemed preoccupied with Robbie and aside from a brief greeting ignored The Phantom, which did not bother him in the least. He had never been close to the high school football star and was, in the event, happily scoping out a few of the younger male tourists who had attended the service. Jeff's brusqueness was more than made up for by the prime stuff loose this morning, which made The Phantom more than determined to go back to Aurora that night.

Enjoying the scenery, The Phantom was so engrossed in checking out a blond stud with a basket to kill for that he almost missed his mother inviting the Jensens over to the house for a barbecue.

The Phantom groaned inwardly. He had gone to school with Jeff but they had never been buddies. Part of the reason was that Jeff was the quintessential high school jock. He was the star and mainstay of the football squad, swam and, when he wasn't out shagging girls, he was shagging flies with the YMCA baseball team. His chiselled good looks, shock of curly black hair, and a perfect smile, guaranteed a different girl almost every night of the week.

The two boys had little in common. Jeff had been a year ahead of The Phantom in school and except for weekend sports meets, barbeques and neighbourhood gatherings the two boys seldom saw each other. Another contributing factor had been The Phantom's all but total lack of enthusiasm about sports. Jeff was a jock, who lived, breathed, slept, and built his life around sports. The Phantom, on the other hand, could not get enthusiastic about sports. As Jeff worshipped at the altar The Phantom sort of waved as he strolled past the temple.

While not without athletic abilities, The Phantom preferred and enjoyed sports on his own terms. He looked on all athletic endeavours as games, not gladiatorial contests where the team members came home with their shields or on them. He could never drum up the manic enthusiasm every coach in every school in the country demanded of their teams.

The Phantom swam on the school team, but only because he enjoyed swimming and was good at it. He played baseball because he happened to like baseball. If he, or the team, won a trophy or a championship along the way well, that was nice, but he wasn't about to fling himself onto a bed of mourning if he, or the swimming or baseball team, didn't win so much as a dickey-bird! The Phantom simply could not get excited about The Team the way Jeff did and frankly thought that there were better ways to spend a fine, sunny, summer's morning, such as standing outside the village church admiring the superb curve of a visiting tourists bottom as it strained against the fabric of his Bermuda shorts.

The Phantom was more than a little relieved when he heard Jeff beg off the invitation. He would have jumped Jeff's bones in a BC minute realizing that had he tried to put the moves on Jeff he would no doubt have had the living shit beat out of him in that same BC minute! The Phantom had every intention of going visiting tonight and he wanted to be as cool and relaxed as possible when he went over to Aurora. All he needed was Jeff Jensen cavorting about the pool in a racing Speedo. Jeff in a Speedo was enough to get The Phantom's balls boiling and he'd end up spending all his time beating off to the image of Jeff.

When they got home The Phantom and his dad spent their time cleaning up the back garden and pool area. They set up the tables and umbrellas and then The Phantom's dad flashed up the barbecue. He fancied himself a gourmet when it came to grilling a steak, which had to be just so before he would deign to cook it. He puttered about, getting out the steaks, selecting just the right cuts of meat, and preparing them for grilling.

Around three the Jensens drove into the driveway. The Phantom was surprised to see Jeff uncoil himself from the car. From his front door he had a heart-stopping view of the quarterback's tight, round, footballer's ass as he bent to get some food and napery from the trunk. When The Phantom expressed his surprise at Jeff's presence he mumbled something about his plans for the afternoon falling through.

They all traipsed through the house and out into the pool area. Robbie, hyper as usual, immediately wanted to go swimming. Jeff agreed to go in with him if he'd shut up and not fool around too much. Robbie agreed and The Phantom led them up to Brendan's room. "You guys can change in here." He opened the door and motioned them through. "I'll go change and meet you downstairs."

The Phantom went into his room, stripped down and put on the baggiest pair of shorts he could find. Fuck, he thought when he saw himself in his bedroom mirror, I'm as bad as The Gunner. Then he wondered if The Gunner wore baggy shorts for the same reason he did. No, he decided, not The Gunner. The man had no interest in men, or boys. With a small sigh of regret over The Gunner's straightness, The Phantom went down the hall and used the john.

As he passed Brendan's room, The Phantom noticed that the door was slightly ajar. He thought nothing of it and went on and did his business. When he was finished he walked back down the hall and as he passed the door to Brendan's room he heard a distinct moan. Curious, he pushed the door open a bit. What he saw left him slack-jawed in shock.

Jeff was lying naked and spread-eagled on the bed. Robbie was also naked, and was kneeling between Jeff's legs, bent over, with his mouth on the top half of Jeff's hard cock, which looked to be about seven inches long, and very thick. Robbie's left hand was clasping the bottom half of Jeff's flushed, veined shaft. With his right hand Robbie was tickling and fondling Jeff's large, Grade A, prime Canadian balls.

As The Phantom watched, Jeff threw his head back and lay open-mouthed, with low growling noises rising from his throat. With one hand he gently cradled Robbie's head and with the other he stroked his brother's pink, little boy, bubble butt. Robbie's head began to bob up and down at a faster pace and almost immediately Jeff's body tensed. He moaned Robbie's name. Robbie moved his mouth upward, concentrating on the tip of Jeff's penis, sucking fiercely on the smooth, red, mushroom-shaped head.

Jeff's body trembled and he thrust gently upward, whispering Robbie's name as he pumped his load into his brother's eager mouth. The Phantom, who had jacked up and was busily playing with his erection, watched as Robbie swallowed gout after gout of Jeff's awesome load, so huge that the boy could not swallow fast enough and small streams of creamy, thick, semen dribbled from his mouth.

When Jeff, moaning deliriously as Robbie continued to suck his shrinking cock, finally finished shooting, Robbie straightened. His thin, boy cocklet, a pink and white shaft crowned with a perfect rosebud of a helmet, bounced up and his small, little boy balls, which were contained in a hairless, low- hanging sac, ascended and descended gently as he breathed. Robbie smiled wickedly and threw himself on Jeff's body, kissing him passionately. Jeff's mouth opened slightly and Robbie's tongue deposited the remains of his own eruption in his mouth.
Robbie's pink, perfect butt began to bounce up and down as he ground and rubbed his three-inch cocklet against his brother's semi-hard dick and through his thick, rough patch of black pubic hair.

Jeff wrapped one arm around Robbie, holding him tightly. With his free hand he rubbed and kneaded Robbie's sex-flushed, peach-shaped butt. Robbie began to hump faster and Jeff's fresh drained member hardened again. He was moaning and growling as each thrust of Robbie's cocklet crossed his crimson helmet.

Robbie began whimpering as he thrust his hips faster and faster. Suddenly he seemed to freeze, his body stiff. A low, keening squeal escaped his throat and he thrust his hips strongly upward, shuddering as his dry orgasm overwhelmed his body. Moaning and whimpering, Robbie continued to make tiny thrusts until his orgasm ebbed.

Much to The Phantom's surprise Jeff's piss hole gaped and first one, then another, then another small, thick blob of semen spurted out. He watched the two brothers hold each other close, both boys breathing deeply, their bodies slick with sweat and Jeff's seed. Jeff's eyes were closed, with Robbie's head resting on his broad chest, a contented smile on his face.

The Phantom backed away from the door as quietly as he could, rushed into his bedroom and snatched up the briefs he had used the night before. He pushed down his swimming trunks and fisted his rampant, sex-flushed organ, pumping furiously and bringing himself to a massive orgasm within seconds.

Jesus Christ! The Phantom thought, sitting on his bed, his hand continuing to slowly pump and caress his shrinking penis as he enjoyed the after effects of his mind-numbing explosion while in his mind a picture formed. A look of stunned surprise crossed his face as he thought, Jesus Christ. I thought I was weird. But this is too much. Jeff and Robbie?

Robbie and Jeff? Jesus Christ!

******

The Phantom heard Jeff and Robbie pass by his door. He quickly wiped himself with his soiled briefs and pulled up his swimming shorts. He took a few deep breaths and went downstairs to the pool. He swam a little and watched a lot.

Robbie seemed totally unaffected by what Jeff and he had just done. He swam, he cavorted, and he played the fool, doing a handstand on the edge of the pool, splashing Jeff and his parents. He was a now a typical 12-year-old boy enjoying himself on a hot summer day.

Sitting at the edge of the pool and dangling his feet in the cool waters of the pool, The Phantom wondered idly why Jeff was wearing a pair of baggy shorts instead of his usual skin-tight Speedo. But then, considering the blowjob Jeff had just received, wearing baggy shorts was probably a good idea.

Jeff was very quiet all afternoon. He allowed Robbie to tease him unmercifully. He swam with his little brother, playing the part of the older brother to perfection, putting up with just so much of Robbie's nonsense and then ducking him when he became too obstreperous. From time to time The Phantom noticed Jeff pale, always when he was engaged in a wrestling match with Robbie. Jeff would mutter something and Robbie would nod. Then they would move away, swim about, and begin skylarking again.

The Phantom, whose eyesight was better than 20/20, so much so that it was off the optometrist's scale, watched Jeff's face closely. He saw more than brotherly love in Jeff's warm, brown eyes. He also saw a look of fear cross Jeff's handsome face every time he and Robbie wrestled. It took him a while but The Phantom finally realized what was going on. The little bugger was groping his older brother every chance he got! And I thought Amy was the slut in that family, mused The Phantom unkindly. No wonder Jeff's wearing those shorts!

When the beer-drenched steaks were finally ready they gathered around the huge redwood picnic table to eat. Robbie finally settled down and sat as close to Jeff as he could. He ate a prodigious amount of food. Jeff picked at his steak, claiming not to be hungry.

After eating, the adults sat, chatting and drinking. Jeff and The Phantom were allowed to have a beer. Robbie, bored, went into the house and turned on the television. Within minutes he was sound asleep on the couch.

The two teenagers moved away from the adults, not wanting to listen to the police gossip that always seemed to dominate their conversation. They sat on deck chairs, talking about nothing at all. Jeff asked how the job was going. The Phantom asked how Jeff was spending his summer. Then they fell silent. Jeff sipped his beer, finished it, and went to get another.

When Jeff returned he opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and sat back, sighing heavily.

"Jeff, if you want to talk about something, please go ahead," offered The Phantom gently. He guessed that Jeff's conscience was bothering him. "But if whatever it is you want to talk about is embarrassing you, please, we can play cards, maybe watch TV, or something."

Jeff looked at him and smiled weakly. "Can I ask you a question, Phantom?"

"Sure."

"Did you and Brendan . . . did you, uh . . .?" he stammered.

"Fool around?" finished The Phantom. It was obvious that Jeff needed to unburden himself.

"How did you . . ." Jeff began, his surprise evident on his face. He took a huge swig of beer, his eyes wide with fear.

"Jeff, Brendan and I never did anything," said The Phantom quickly. "Brendan was always Mr. Big Man on Campus, Mr. Stud. He never tried anything with me. All he ever did was beat off every night like some grunting water buffalo. He'll make a good Buffalo Fucker."

Jeff laughed so hard he cried. "Jesus, Phantom, he bragged about how much pussy he was getting," he managed as he wipe the tears of laughter from his yes.
"The only pussy he was getting was if he grew hair on the palm of his hand," grumbled The Phantom.

Jeff leaned over and patted The Phantom's knee. "You're okay, Phantom," he said quietly. "I'm sorry now we did not get to know each other better."

You have no idea how sorry I am, thought The Phantom.

Jeff looked around and saw that the adults were still deep in their own conversation and not paying any attention to the two teenagers sitting in the shadows. He looked questioningly at The Phantom. "Damn it, I have to tell someone," he muttered to himself and then asked in a half-whisper, "Will you promise not to repeat what I tell you? Please Phantom?"

The Phantom looked into Jeff's eyes. You poor prick, he thought. He nodded. "I promise."

Jeff took a deep breath. "Robbie, Robbie and me, we . . . we do things together," he said slowly, his eyes darting around the pool area. He clasped his hands and looked down at his feet. "We do stuff."

"All brothers do," replied The Phantom playing dumb. After witnessing the scene on his brother's bed he knew exactly what stuff Jeff and Robbie did together. He continued on, pretending to be oblivious to what Jeff was trying to say.

"My brother thinks I'm a dork. When I was little, he wouldn't fool around in the pool with me, wouldn't pitch a ball to me. I think he resents me. Before I came along he was the fair-haired boy. Then I popped out and, well, you get the picture." The Phantom shrugged. "But then, I think he's a jerk, so I guess we're even."

"That's not what I mean," replied Jeff tightly.

The Phantom deliberately waited for several seconds before answering. "Jeff, if you're doing what I think you're doing, maybe it's better that you don't tell me." He couldn't help letting his perverse streak shine through, thinking, Jesus! So you're boffing your brother. Big deal, I suck a mean cock and there are two guys across the harbour that won't sleep tonight if I don't come calling. Fuck, I'd even suck yours if you'd let 'em!

Jeff looked at him, stricken. "Phantom, I love him," he said, his voice a low moan. "I love him more every day. Fuck man, I love my little brother in a way that I shouldn't. I'm doing things with him that are against the fucking law! If my dad found out he'd kill me! No, he'd put me in jail! He hates queers and faggots. He's always going on about how no son of his is a faggot. He's always boasting about me, about how popular I am, what a good athlete I am!" He stood up suddenly. "I gotta go to the can."

As Jeff hurried into the house, The Phantom stared after him. Hell and sheeit! This is getting too heavy. He stood up and followed Jeff into the house.

******

The Phantom found Jeff sitting in the big chair in the living room, staring at Robbie's sleeping form. He sat on the arm of the chair and put his hand on Jeff's broad shoulder. "Jeff, you're not the first guy in the world who has fallen in love with his baby brother. You won't be the last."

"Phantom, you don't, you can't, understand how I feel!" Jeff's face contorted with the inner pain he felt. "You can't know what it's like to love someone and know that at the same time it's forbidden. It's ripping my guts out inside. What makes it worse is that he loves me. I mean he really loves me. He wants to be with me all the time. I want to be with him all the time. You can't know what that does to a guy."

"Why not?" asked The Phantom harshly. "Do you think that you have a monopoly on loving someone?" He stood up and pointed his finger at Jeff. He was a little tired of Jeff's self-pity.

"This isn't about Robbie, or what you do with Robbie. It's about Jeff," The Phantom pointed out harshly. He sat down in front of Jeff and crossed his legs. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw that Jeff's shorts, baggy and wide, were in his direct line of sight, as were Jeff's perfectly proportioned penis and tight, hairless scrotum. The Phantom could also see little tendrils of pubic hair curling around the base of Jeff's dark, fleshy shaft.

"You can't get it out of your mind that you are fucking your brother," The Phantom continued, trying to not to look at the delicious sight confronting him. "You can't get it out of your mind that for a long time, while you were fucking some broad, you were really thinking of some guy. Am I right?"

Jeff coloured and nodded grimly.

"On all those away games, when you shared a bed with another guy, you wanted to reach over and see what was under his Fruit of The Looms, or maybe give him a feel and see how big his dick would get. Right?"
Jeff nodded again.

"Your problem Jeff, what is really busting your ass, is that for years, you have known that you were gay. For years you fought to keep the feelings deep inside, to live up to - no - to be the image everybody has of you. And then along came Robbie."

"Yes, along came Robbie," said Jeff quietly. He raised watering eyes to look at the Phantom and asked, "Remember that storm we had last winter?" Before The Phantom could reply, Jeff shook his head and took in a deep breath. "He came into my room. He said he was scared and wanted to sleep with me." Jeff hung his head, and then shook it. "He looked so damned . . . cute, so fucking lovable. He was wearing those little boy briefs they all wear, with fucking bears on them! He had this tight little butt and a cute little bump in the front."

Jeff ran his hand through his short hair. "Jesus, Phantom, he looked so beautiful. Not girl beautiful, just beautiful. I couldn't say no."

"So, what happened?"

A fleeting, warm smile crossed Jeff's face as he said, "He snuggled up to me real close. He was so warm, and felt so soft and Christ, how sweet he smelled! He put his head on my shoulder and I could smell, I guess, just the cleanness of him. He hugged me real close and when he cocked his leg over mine I could feel his knee against my balls, and his little boner through his underpants, as he rubbed against my leg. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't.

Jeff's eyes filled with wonder. "He felt so tender, so helpless I just squeezed him as tight as I could. Then he put his hand on my chest and started rubbing me. The more he rubbed the lower he got until fuck, man, he was down the front of my Jockeys. He felt me get hard, and he kissed me like I never got kissed before." His face fell as he added, "You can guess the rest."

"Yes, I suppose I can." The Phantom leaned forward and hugged his knees, taking a closer look at Jeff's parts.

"And ever since then, he's been driving me crazy." Jeff stifled a sob. "He wants it all the time. I mean, he jumps me in the morning. He sucks me when I get home from school. He sneaks into my room when everybody else is in bed." He coughed and coloured. "He likes to suck me off."

A look of shame crossed Jeff's broad, handsome features. "I um well, I suck on him too. He's a little mad at me because I won't fuck him." He shook his head. "He's too young for that. So we do other things. Christ, the kid is only 12 and he knows more positions that I do."

"Never underestimate the benefits of a classical education. Or schoolyard sex-ed," replied The Phantom with a straight face.

"Thanks, Phantom, I really needed that."

"No, you didn't," replied The Phantom, chastened. "I'm sorry. That was mean of me." He leaned back and rested on his elbows. "You know, Jeff, in a way you're lucky. You love Robbie. He loves you. He expresses his love by having sex with you. Some of us aren't that lucky."

Jeff sat up with a start. "You?"

The Phantom nodded. "I love someone who will not allow himself to admit that I exist, at least not in that way. He talks to me. He ruffles my hair. He goes out of his way to be kind to me. Sometimes he looks at me and I can see something in his eyes that tells me that he knows exactly what I feel for him. Maybe he's afraid to give in to his feelings. Maybe he's not as gay as I want him to be." He sighed heavily. "All I know is, he's never going to do with me the things you do with Robbie."

"Jeez, Phantom, I didn't even think you were queer," replied Jeff, completely surprised at his friend's admission.

"I am." The Phantom sat back and leaned on his elbows. He gave Jeff a strong, level look. "At least I think I am. I've been with another guy, so that makes me queer. You've been with Robbie so that makes you queer. I admit it. You might think about admitting it, if only to yourself. You'll feel a lot better. And you won't hate yourself."

Jeff leaned forward. "Is it Sam?" he asked, whispering.

The Phantom shook his head, and then chuckled ruefully. "No way. We were jerk-off buddies. He pumped me. I pumped him. That's as far as it went."

"You mean you didn't . . .?"

"Blow him? No way. To tell the truth, he's pretty ugly, all foreskin and purple knob. He wasn't that queer and frankly after seeing his dick I didn't want to put my mouth on it," The Phantom finished with a grimace and shuddering slightly.

Jeff fingered the broad, pale pink, mushroom-shaped crown of his penis "Sounds like you prefer a nice, clean-cut Canadian boy," he said with a grin.

The Phantom considered this for a moment. "Come to think of it, yes, I suppose I do. They look nice. They smell nice and clean. So, yeah, I think I do prefer a nice clean-cut Canadian boy."

From the back garden came Jeff's mother's voice, calling Jeff and Robbie. It was time to go home. Jeff stood up and walked to the sofa. He picked up his sleeping brother, cradled him in his strong arms and gently kissed Robbie's forehead. Then he looked directly at The Phantom. "I love him, Phantom, but, can I call you? Maybe we can get together, for a Coke, or something?"

The Phantom nodded slowly. "Yeah, for a Coke, or something."

******
For most of Sunday night Cory was the hero of the Gunroom. His ass had received so many congratulatory slaps that it was raw. Harry declared he was in love with him, and kissed him again. Todd beamed with pride whenever he looked at his brother and Val bestowed the ultimate accolade. He brought out the grappa. He poured a stiff shot and warned Cory to take it easy. "It's good stuff, but it's strong," he cautioned.

Cory took one gulp, choked, sputtered, and it seemed as if his entire body turned red. "Jesus!" he gasped. "What is this? Gasoline?"

"That, my man, is Pop's prime grappa. It's famous throughout Saskatchewan. Guaranteed to put hair on your chest and lead in your pencil," boasted Val. "Good for ague, influenza and impotence. Kill or cure, guaranteed." He joined the other cadets in laughter.

"Well, I don't have the ague, I don't have influenza, and I am most definitely not impotent." Cory smiled wickedly and waggled his eyebrows at Val, who took as step back.

"Plus he's got as fine a set of balls as I've seen in a long time," hooted Harry. "Do they always hang that low?"

"Only when I'm horny," rejoined Cory.

Val took another step back.

"I guess getting felt up by The Gunner does that to a guy," said Two Strokes.

"He did not feel me up!" replied Cory hotly. "His hand slipped! All he touched was my belly."

"Hey, Cory, I was only kidding." Two Strokes held out his hands in a placating gesture. "Hell, he'd never do that to you, or to any of us for that matter. He's too straight."

"Fuckin' aye on that!" snapped Cory. He chugged the rest of the grappa, stood up and stomped from the Gunroom. Todd hurried after him.

"What's bugging his ass?" asked Two Strokes to no one in particular. "Hell, I didn't mean anything by it."

"You don't have to," said Tyler, who had been listening. "All it takes is a word, and then well . . ." He shrugged. "Cory admires The Gunner tremendously." He poured a huge shot of grappa into a glass. "A lot of the other boys do as well."

Val, who was watching and about to warn Tyler about the potency rating of the grappa, saw the look on his friend's face, and said nothing.

Fred put in his oar. "You make it sound like Cory's in love with him."

Tyler took a drink of the grappa, grimaced a black look at Val, stared at Fred, and then shook his head slowly. "In a way, he is. Maybe that's what bugging him."

"Ah, fuck, man. We all have heroes," Harry chimed in. "We all have guys we look up to, who we want to be like." He held out a plastic mug and waited while Val poured him a drink. "Sometimes it's a teacher, a coach, or a sports hero. Sometimes it's a rock star." Harry sat down beside Fred. "Look at the guys who think the sun shines out of Elvis Presley's ass. They dress like him, they talk like him, and they wear their hair like him." He took a sip of his drink. "Jesus, Val, what does your dad put in this?"

"Grape juice," said Val truthfully.

Harry looked at him doubtfully. Then he continued. "I know some guys who would kill if you said a word against the King. They'd also cum their shorts if they ever actually met him."

Tyler chuckled. "Only you, Harry, could put it so succinctly." He turned to Fred. "You see, Fred, by inferring that The Gunner did anything wrong makes Cory angry and upset. In a way Cory is in love. I suppose you could say he has a tremendous crush on The Gunner. He is not alone, you know, and if some of the other guys heard you they would probably get just as pissed off. It's not sexual. It's way beyond sex."

"Well I never felt that way about anybody," sneered Two Strokes.
"Nobody at all?" asked Val, his eyes darting in Tyler's direction, seeing the empty glass in his hand.

"Which probably explains why you can be a proper little shit at times," interjected Tyler as he held out his glass for a refill. He saw the look on Val's face and raised his glass slightly. "Just do it, Val. Don't lecture me, just put another drink in the fucking glass."

******

Cory sat on the concrete slab, his elbows on his knees, his chin cupped in his hands. Todd sat down beside him and put his arm around his shoulders. Cory shrugged him away. Shit, thought Todd, he's got it worse than I thought.

Todd put his arm around his brother's shoulder. "Cory, you shouldn't let something like this get to you. Two Strokes didn't mean anything," he said, his voice warm and calm.

"So? He shouldn't have said what he said!" Cory turned his head and glared at Todd. "The Gunner did not feel me up!" His face was almost purple with the anger he felt. "I was jumping around and he was trying to hold me down."

"I know, Cory. I was there, remember?"

"Then you know what happened. You should have said something!" Cory insisted angrily.

Todd sighed. "Cory, nobody thinks anything bad happened. I really do not think Two Strokes meant anything by what he said."

"Two Strokes is a jerk!" snapped Cory, standing up. "And so are you!" He barged into the Gunroom and Todd could hear him yelling. "You can all go and fuck yourselves! And the horses you rode in on!"

******

Todd got up and went back inside. He saw Cory slam through the door to the Petty Officers Mess and heard an echoing bang as he passed out the door at the other end of the barracks. Tyler, Val, and Harry were sitting at the Mess table, nursing their drinks. Two Strokes and Fred were curled in their beds, pretending to be asleep.

After switching off all but one of the overhead lights Todd joined the other cadets at the table. Val silently passed him a mug of grappa. Harry poured a little water in it. Todd nodded his thanks and took a deep drink.

"Is he going to be all right?" asked Tyler.

Todd nodded. "Eventually, yes." He debated whether or not to try to explain Cory's actions.

"Todd, I'm going to Royal Roads in September. When I become a naval officer, it might help me to understand my men better if you tell me what is going on." Tyler reached over squeezed Todd's shoulder. "I promise. It will go no further than this Mess."

Val and Harry nodded their agreement.

"I said no further than the Mess!" repeated Tyler a little louder.

Fred and Two Strokes sat up, then got out of bed and sat down at the table.

"Okay, Tyler. No further than the Mess," said Fred.

Two Strokes thought about the night of the storm, when they had all sat around, shooting the shit, exchanging confidences. No matter what he thought, or suspected, about the Twins, he knew instinctively that part of that night was part of this night. He was one of them, a member of the Mess. "My word of honour," he swore. "No further than the Mess."

Val passed the bottle to Two Strokes and Fred. After they had poured their drinks, Todd spoke. "A long time ago something happened to us. We were not hurt physically and nobody touched us." He took a long slow drink. "A family friend took us to Stanley Park and, well, he tried to get Cory to do things to him. We were eight years old. Ever since then Cory has never allowed an adult male to get close to him, or allowed himself to get close to an adult male. Not my dad, not my uncles. I am the only one he has let get close to him. Now someone comes along he can relate to, someone who is never going to hurt him, someone, as you said Tyler, he admires. For the first time in a long while Cory feels comfortable with being with an adult and then, to have him . . ."

"To have him accused of doing something the other man tried to do hurts," finished Tyler.

Todd looked at Tyler. "So, you understand, then?"

Tyler nodded. "Just common sense, Todd."

"Which this place doesn't have!" growled Harry. He stood up, pushed down his shorts and stepped out of them. He threw them in the corner by his bunk. Wearing only his white briefs, he sat down again. He reached for the bottle of grappa.

"Uh, I'd go easy on that stuff, Harry," cautioned Val. "It's pretty potent."

"Mother's milk, m'boy, mother's milk," replied Harry, doing a fair W.C. Fields impersonation. "I was raised on slivovitz and beer. Back home we'd put this stuff in my baby brother's bottle." He poured a huge drink and cut it with an ounce of water. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. This place." He looked at his messmates. "I am 18 freaking years old. We are all of us 18 or close to it!"

Actually some of the Staff Cadets were barely past 16, but since Harry was half in the bag, and on a roll about something, everyone thought it best to let the big moose ramble on.

Harry downed a large gulp of grappa, grimaced, and then continued. "We're all over the age where we can go to the bathroom by ourselves. I even manage to wipe myself without any help." He grinned. "Back home I run a tractor. I drive a car and the truck. My mother let's me pick out all my own clothes. If I go out, she doesn't follow me around. My dad, he just says not to bring back anything I didn't take with me when I left the house. Here, you can't shit without an officer telling you how to do it, or worse, watching you do it to make sure you do it the right way.

"Back home I can go into the fridge and take out a beer, no problem. On Sundays my Pops and my brothers and me, we sit around on the porch, pass a jug or three, smoke cigarettes - except for Pops, he uses a pipe - and we have a hell of a time. Here we have to hide our booze and hope to hell no one finds out about it. Sneak out behind the fucking barracks for a smoke and get caught and shit, Tyler or Val get their asses in a sling for letting us - get that - letting us do it. And don't get me started on sex." He took another slug of grappa, stood up and started pacing. "I'm 18 fucking years old! I beat off - and no cracks from you, Todd!"

Todd made a face and shrugged. "I'm not saying anything, Harry."

"Good. Now then, I beat off. Val does, Tyler does. Thumper, God love 'im, does nothing but beat off! Cory does; Todd does; Fred does and so do you, Two Strokes, and don't bother to deny it!"

Two Strokes, fascinated, had no intention of denying anything. He smiled. "Sure do. It's gotta be fed and it won't eat hay."

"Fuckin' aye," roared Harry with a large grin. "We all do it and that's the point, guys, we all do it! So what happens? Poor old Gunner comes truckin' down and gives us all a lecture on it and hands out shot mats. And who sent him? The officers. The Old Man, Father, whatever you want to call him. We are cadets; we do not do such things. We're all good boys."

"And that's the point Harry is trying to make," said Tyler slowly. "We are all still boys, little boys to the officers."

"You got that right!" agreed Harry. "We are little boys to them. The officers get all bent out of shape if we beat off. Fuck 'em. Maybe I should tell 'em who taught me to beat off. My older brother, Nicky, that's who, and I had fun doing it!"

Harry, for all his boasting, was roaring drunk. He sat down beside Todd and put his arms around his shoulders.

"Harry, you are very, very drunk," grinned Todd.

"Todd, I are very, very so!" Harry replied with dignity. "But I ain't finished yet. In September Tyler goes to Royal Roads. In two years he'll be on the bridge of a destroyer, the man in charge with 250 guys depending on him. Do they consider that here? No. He's a little boy so he can't go out on a YAG and drive the fucking thing. Ya gotta have an officer to make sure he doesn't hit anything!" He grimaced his disdain and disgust. "Everything we do has to be looked after by an officer, from taking a swim to firing off the cannons, even though we did fuck that one up." He stopped and looked apologetically at Todd. "Fuck, Todd, sorry, no offence, guy, no offence."

"None taken, Harry. None taken."

Harry kissed Todd on both cheeks. "See that? If an officer saw me do that he'd shit! Why, he'd think I was queer or something! What he doesn't know is that it's part of my heritage. My people are from the old country. Kissing is a way of life. We kiss at weddings, at funerals, every time the family gets together. Big wet ones, on both cheeks, on the lips. Men, women, kids, everybody kisses. Every day of my life I've kissed my Pops. I kiss my brothers. Try that around here and see what happens." He reached around and pinched Todd's bum. Todd jumped and squealed. Then he laughed and poked Harry in the ribs. "See, Todd knows I don't mean anything by pinching' his ass." Harry looked around Todd's back and grinned. "Which is a nice lookin' one, I might add."

"Thanks, Harry. I think."

"You are welcome. Todd knows I am not goin' to try anything funny. But the officers, hell, they'd have me on the next flight home if they saw me do it. Or whacking a guy on the fanny! Shit, if I had a buck for every time I got whacked on the ass by another guy I could pay off every fucking mortgage in the family, and still have money left over."

Harry slumped, and then straightened. His voice was very low, and very steady. "What the officers forget is that little boys, and sometimes, big boys, need to be shown affection." Harry's eyes expressed his anger, and his sadness. "But big boys can't show it, because they're afraid to. Show a little affection to anybody, to another guy, and everybody thinks you're queer! I don't blame Cory for getting pissed off. I don't know what happened to him, and I don't want to know. All I know is that for the first time in a long time an adult has shown him affection, with no strings attached, is not trying to put the moves on him, and we make fun of him. That ain't fair." He slumped dejectedly.

Tyler stood up and walked to where Harry was sitting. He put his arms around him and, with Todd's help, brought him to his feet. They led him to his bed. "Harry, I think it's time you had a nap. All right?" said Tyler affectionately.

Harry nodded blearily and allowed himself to be put to bed.

Tyler and Todd returned to their seats. Val smiled at Tyler and Todd. "Thus speaks a man we all dismissed as nothing but a football jock."

"Strong like bull, smart like streetcar!" roared Harry.

"Harry, go to sleep," ordered Tyler.

"Yes, Chief," Harry bellowed. "Little shit," he muttered drunkenly under his breath.

The cadets smothered their laughter.

Tyler waited until the laughter subsided and then filled a glass for each of the cadets. He looked strangely wistful as he began to speak. "What Harry was trying to say is that he, we, are no longer little boys. The officers do not realize it. They are trying to make us be what they think our parents want us to be. At the same time they say that they are fair but firm. Little boys must have discipline. Little boys must be taught to be men!

"We hear them crying at night, the younger ones, and we do nothing to comfort them. Men don't do that. So we let them cry, because everybody says it's good for them." He stood up and stretched. He looked at Two Strokes and Fred. "We may never understand why Cory acted the way he did. What we all, as senior Cadets, must understand is that each and every cadet is different, with different feelings, different outlooks and, as in Harry's case, have different traditions that we, who know fuck all about those traditions, dismiss or ridicule."

"Sometimes my mouth is like the way I cum," said Two Strokes lewdly.

"What?" Tyler had a shocked looked on his face.

Two Strokes held out his hands and shrugged. "Big and too quick." He turned to Todd. "I didn't know that Cory was so emotional about these things. Nobody did. Maybe it's about time we all started to think about those things. You all think I'm a prick. I am, I guess, in a lot of ways. Tyler is right. We have to start thinking about what makes the other guys the way they are, what hurts them, what makes them happy. We're supposed to be here for them, not for us. Maybe it's about time we started remembering that." He stood up and walked to where Todd was sitting. He held out his hand and, when Todd took it, embraced him. "I'll make it up to Cory, Todd. I'm not such a prick as all that."

"I know you will, Roger," replied Todd, using Two Strokes' proper given name. "I never thought you were that big of a prick. A little one, maybe, but not a big one."

Two Strokes punched Todd's shoulder. "I'm going to bed."

As Two Strokes crawled into his rack Fred approached and shook Todd's hand. "In a way I understand how Cory feels," he began, his voice low. "I have an uncle, who loves me more than life. He's always there when I need him. Ever since I can remember he's always treated me like a real human being, and not a little boy. He talks to me, not down to me. He's never done anything wrong, never touched me, except when I was little and he paddled my ass when he thought I needed it, which I did, of course. So, Todd, yes, I understand because I would get very angry if someone said things about him like Roger said about The Gunner. Which is going to happen."

"How so?" asked Todd.

"Well, he's coming to our final parade in August," replied Fred, pulling back his covers and climbing into bed, "and the first thing he's going to do when he sees me is kiss me on the cheek and whisper that he loves me. He always does that."

"How is that going to raise eyebrows?" asked Val. "I'm Italian. We kiss all the time, too."

"Well, he'll be in full uniform. Dress whites, sword, and medals," explained Fred. "My uncle likes to show off all his gongs"

"He's a naval officer?" asked Two Strokes.

Fred shrugged. "Just a Vice-Admiral. He's Royal Navy. Didn't I tell you?" He pulled the covers over his head. "G'night, guys."

Tyler shook his head and looked at Todd. "What about Cory? Should we go looking for him?"

"No. When he gets this way its best to leave him alone. He'll come home when he's ready."

"Better be soon," said Two Strokes, glancing out the window. "It's starting to rain."

******

Wrapped in a thick sea blanket and covered with a rubber poncho Todd sat on the concrete stoop, waiting for Cory to come back. He was partly sheltered from the light, cold rain by the overhang above the door and was, in fact, not too uncomfortable. He was cold, but relatively dry and he was quite prepared to wait until dawn if necessary.

The night was, as usual, very quiet. There was no moon and when Todd looked skyward he could see the rain clouds skittering darkly across the paler sky. The rain had driven the night crawlers and critters into their burrows. It was so quiet that Todd imagined he could hear the soft purl of the waves as they washed the beaches surrounding the Spit.

It was long past Lights Out, the cadets were all abed and the only illumination came from the low-watt bulb in the fixture beside the door. He sat there patiently shivering. After what seemed like hours he heard a soft footstep.

"You sit there much longer and you'll get piles," said Cory softy as he appeared out of the mist of rain and rounded the corner of the barracks.

"You sound like Aunt Gemma." Todd smiled and shuffled over to allow Cory to sit beside him.

"As long as I don't look like her," returned Cory as Todd pulled the blanket around his shoulders, then removed the poncho and draped it over both of them.

They sat quietly together, bodies touching, each drawing warmth from the other. "Are you angry with me?" asked Cory presently.

"I was, I got over it," replied Todd. He wrapped his arm around Cory's waist and pulled him closer. "You feel better now?"

Cory pressed his lips close to Todd and kissed him tenderly. "Have you been waiting long?" Cory asked softly.

"Since before 'Last Post'."

"You're cold. We should go in. You might catch pneumonia." Cory snuggled closer to his brother.

"What about you, door knob?" returned Todd. "All you're wearing are shorts. You must be frozen!"

"I'm fine, Todd. I found a dry place." Cory pulled away from Todd and smiled at him. "You going to yell at me?"

"No. I suspect that you did your own yelling at yourself." He pulled Cory to him. "You're wet, and so are your shorts."

Cory jerked his head towards the barracks. "Are they angry with me?"

Todd shook his head. "The others are fine. I told them a little about Stanley Park." He waited for the explosion, which did not come and, cautiously, continued on. "We talked about what happened and other things. They understand a little."

Cory reached under the blanket, undid the snap on Todd's shorts and pulled down the zipper. He slipped his hand in Todd's shorts and felt the end of his penis. He rubbed his thumb tenderly over Todd's chilly helmet. "It's cold, your shrinkage problem is back, and your balls are shrivelled."

"You try sitting out in the rain for hours and see how your parts look." Todd glanced at Cory. "Is this an 'I'm sorry and I want you to hold me grope' or a 'dare I hope for more grope?' If it's more I am not going to have a shrinking problem in about one minute."

Cory giggled and squeezed Todd's stiffening penis. "A little of both. I want you to hold me and I want to solve your shrinkage problem. See, it's solving itself."

Todd moaned softly as Cory's hand squeezed and stroked him to erection. He reached around and found Cory's zipper. He pulled it down and slipped his hand in Cory's damp shorts. "You should talk about a shrinkage problem." He began stroking and gently pumping Cory's cold three inches, which began to lengthen under his warm touch.

Cory nuzzled Todd's neck. "We haven't done this for a long time. It feels nice."

"No, we haven't," agreed Todd. "But then, we did find other things to do." He began to breathe deeply as the warm, familiar feeling began to grow in his guts. Cory could always bring him off quicker than anyone else. He knew just the right places to stimulate. He began to squeeze and stroke Cory in time with his brother's hand.

Cory and Todd had been masturbating one another since they were ten. Just as Todd knew just which part of Cory's penis was most sensitive, Cory knew just which part of Todd to toy and play with to bring him over the edge.

Each brother cupped the other's helmet, squeezing and stroking, stimulating their pulsing domes with the precum that oozed from the slits. Their breathing became heavier, each boy labouring as the intense pleasure began to wash through their bodies.

As Todd's penis pulsed and squirted his seed into Cory's hand, he grunted and bit his lip to keep from crying out. Cory buried his head in Todd's neck as his own body trembled and his dick spasmed, shooting his thick cream into Todd's hand. As wave after wave of ecstasy passed through them Todd held Cory tightly, continuing to grunt as more and more his sperm gushed out. Cory whimpered and trembled until finally, they were both spent.

They sat together as the pleasure drained from their bodies and their penises began to shrink. Cory sighed contentedly, and then withdrew his hand. He raised it to his mouth and began licking Todd's semen, cleaning every morsel from his fingers and palm.

Todd lifted his hand and breathed deeply, smelling the sweet, sweet odour of his brother. Then he too cleaned his hand with his tongue. "That was great," he said presently. "Better than for a long time."

"It was good for me, too. I needed it." Cory reinserted his hand and felt Todd's sticky penis. "I am sorry, Todd. I should not have lost my temper."

"Cory, it's cool. The guys understand. We had a long talk about a lot of things. I had to tell them a little about Stanley Park."

Cory nodded his understanding. "I am not upset, Todd. The story had to come out sooner or later. I don't care what they think of me. I don't want them thinking badly about The Gunner."

"They don't. They know nothing happened, just as we both know nothing is going to happen."

Cory sighed heavily. "Yes, I know. I don't even know if he's gay." He snickered. "Wouldn't that be a pisser, falling in love with him and then finding out he is gay but doesn't fool around with boys our age?"

Todd laughed softly. "It would serve you good and right, wearing your heart on your sleeve like that."

"I guess it was pretty obvious." Cory grinned and shook his head. "Jesus, I acted like a little kid with his first crush."

"You did that," agreed Todd. "But the guys think it's just a crush. They think it's not sexual."

"You're kidding?"

"I am quite serious," replied Todd. "The others know that you have a crush on The Gunner. Once I told them about Stanley Park, they all agreed it was just you responding to him being kind to you."

Cory considered this. "It is not a crush," he said firmly. "I want The Gunner to be with me, to do things with him." He gave Todd a squeeze. "I want it to happen Toddy, but we both know it won't. At least not yet."

Todd raised an eyebrow. "Why would you think that?"

"I think it's because The Gunner thinks that I am a kid Sea Cadet. When he doesn't think that anymore, when he knows I am a man, then that is when I would like it to happen. I know it sounds crazy, but that's the way I feel." Cory stood and held out his hand. "Can you understand?"

Todd stood up and hugged Cory. "What I understand is that you want to be his equal. What you want is for him to love you as a man, not a boy. It's deep, but it's what you want."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I love him, but not the same way you do. I wouldn't say no to him if he asked. I love him for the way he treats you, and me, too. I love the way he talks, the way he looks. I love him because you love him. I'd like to sleep with him, just once. Just to know how lucky you were, if it happened."

"You're as nutty as I am," opined Cory, softening his words with a warm smile.
Todd reached for the door handle. "True. But then I have a nice ass so I can be as nutty as I like about another guy."

"Who told you that?"

"Harry."

"Harry? Our Harry?" asked Cory, incredulous.

"Yep. Our Harry. He pinched it too." Todd pulled open the door and walked inside.

"Wait," whispered Cory fiercely. "What do you mean he pinched it? What do you . . . damn it, Todd!"

******

After a quick shower the Twins retired to their separate beds. Todd drifted off to sleep, marvelling at the depth of love Cory had for The Gunner. Cory drifted off smiling contentedly, secure in his brother's love and knowing that one day, he wasn't sure of how or when, he would have another man's love.

******

A few hundred yards away in the Gunners Barracks, Brian lay tossing and turning, listening intently for the soft gliding footsteps that would herald the promised arrival of the man or boy who had visited on him such pleasure that he boned up every time he thought of it.

Brian had been so enthralled with the painful pleasures that had coursed through his body that he had lain for over an hour afterwards, basking in the glow of it and, later, had for the first time in many years, a wet dream, blowing a load so massive and pleasurable that he awoke with a startled yell.

The rest of the day had been as bad. He walked around with a semi for much of it, so fearful of touching the sensitive crown of his penis that he was almost afraid to pee. His dick had been so sensitive that he had had to put on boxers, not being able to bear the slightest friction caused by briefs.

With growing impatience, Brian listened to the rain beat against the metal roof of the barracks. He had to lie on his side, to prevent his erection, which was jutting out from the front of his boxers, from rubbing against the starched fabric of his sheets. It took all his willpower not to reach down and fondle his red, blood-engorged glans.

Brian heard the door to the Mess creak open and held his breath, hoping it was . . . He sighed in disappointment as the Duty Roundsman tramped through. He lay back again, listening to the night sounds. He could hear Dylan snuffling and muttering two bunks over so he sat up and saw Dylan's coverlet-covered behind pumping up and down as he humped his mattress.

Almost immediately Brian had cause to regret his voyeurism. He felt his balls contract and his dick throb. He barely had time to reach under his pillow and encase his spewing penis with the old T-shirt he kept under there. He shot load after load, trembling and gasping as his body became engulfed with pleasure.

When his testicles were finally empty, Brian flopped back against his pillow, his T-shirt-shrouded penis pulsing as it slowly recovered from orgasm. He cursed under his breath as he wiped himself clean. "Shit, fuck, piss," he muttered, punching his pillow. "Shit, shit, shit!"

******

In the Cooks barracks Ray tossed and turned, waiting impatiently for the night visitor. His erection throbbed painfully and his testicles seemed on the verge of exploding. His tight briefs rubbed the sensitive underside of the helmet-shaped head of his dick, causing him extreme pleasure. He wanted desperately to cum and while he knew that he could obtain gratification with a few strokes of his hand, he also knew that he would much rather have his balls and dick sucked to extinction.

He had showered carefully and put on fresh underpants in anticipation of what he felt sure was to come. Now, as he lay there, listening to the rain pattering against the windows, Ray could feel the dampness as his precum seeped in a seemingly never-ending stream. Twice he had gotten out of bed and stumbled into the wash place where he splashed cold water on his face. He listened impatiently for the soft steps that would herald the arrival of the only person he had ever had any kind of sex with.

Ray was no stranger to masturbation - what boy his age was - but he had never had sex with anyone before. Back home all the girls, because of his short height and baby face, thought that he was cute. Which was the kiss of death so far as Ray was concerned. The girls might think him cute; they didn't date him.

Not that Ray would have been allowed to date just anyone. His life was complicated by his family's strict, evangelical religion. Back home in Ottawa his father and mother always had an obscure biblical passage handy to condemn just about any pleasurable thought or deed he might have.

Back home, Ray shared a room with his two brothers, one older, one younger. He had never seen them naked. They were required, in accordance with the biblical proscriptions against nudity, to be fully clothed at all times, to the extent that they all went to bed wearing underpants under their flannel pyjamas.

Neither Ray nor his brothers dressed or undressed in each other's presence. In order to prepare for bed Ray had to lock himself in the bathroom and change there. In the morning he waited patiently, clothes in hand, outside the bathroom while his brother changed for school behind the locked door.

Sins of the flesh were strictly forbidden. Upon reaching puberty both Ray and his older brother were regularly questioned on their conduct and thoughts. An unexplained stain on their underpants, which their mother checked carefully when she did their laundry, was cause for a beating. To make matters worse they were required to "confess" their sin to the entire church congregation, after which they would be prayed for, the hope being that they would overcome the temptations of the Devil, real or imagined.

Everything Ray had learned about sex he had learned in the schoolyard, or in furtive whisperings with his more knowledgeable friends. He had early learned to suppress any and all feelings he might have for other boys.

Ray had also, from the day the first, spare hair had sprouted