Phantom of Aurora by John Ellison
Chapter 8

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Brian and Dylan walked a little unsteadily towards the gunners' barracks. While neither was anywhere near to being drunk, they were feeling no pain. Dylan, with the successful unveiling of his tattoo and his ready acceptance by the other cadets, was feeling better than he had all day, and not because of the booze he had on board.

Tonight had been the way nights in a mess should be, a bunch of matelots, shipmates, sitting around, having a drink, having fun. The spirits of camaraderie and brotherhood had sent Dylan into a euphoric mood, although Brian's continued sullenness towards him was a black cloud hovering over them and their continued relationship.

Dylan now realized that sticking his nose in Brian's business had been wrong. He should have kept his mouth shut. After all, Brian being with another boy was hardly news. Brian being with a girl was hardly news. What Brian did was Brian's business.

Casting an oblique glance at his friend, Dylan sighed inwardly. Brian was stony-faced, had not said a word to him all evening, and had actively avoided him, sitting out of his line of sight when they did the Zulu Warrior, as if seeing him naked was something new as well. They had played hockey together. They were in the same Sea Cadet Corps. They had slept together, in the same bed on their frequent sleepovers. Dylan had seen Brian naked more times than he could count. Brian had seen him naked more times than he could count!

Knowing that Brian was sexually active with both girls and boys had, at first, troubled Dylan. Their late night talks in the privacy and darkness of his room always resulted in the sharing of secrets, secrets that you could only tell to your best friend, your brother. They had told each other their deepest thoughts, and darkest secrets. Brian always told Dylan when he had scored with a girl, although he was scarce on details.

When he scored with a guy Brian never talked about it, although Dylan always knew, for there was a special twinkle in Brian's eyes, and a spring in his step after he'd been with another guy, which Dylan always wondered about. Why, if having sex with another guy was such a sin, an abomination, forbidden and condemned by everybody, did Brian look so bloody happy?

And why, Dylan wondered, had he opened his mouth this morning? He had never done it before. He had not said a word last summer when Brian and Ben had been an item, forever sneaking off into the bushes for some fun in the moonlight. Or when Brian had scored with Lacey Watson, the stud of North Bay Collegiate Institute? How Brian had managed to drag Lacey into his bed Dylan did not know. Lacey was everybody's ideal boy, tall, strong, handsome, and every guy in school wanted to be just like him!

And what about Tommy Wenzel, or Matt Damone, or Ed North or, hell, Brian had scored with at least a dozen guys Dylan could name. And not once had he taken Brian to task about his conquests; had never mentioned the conquests! Until this morning!

Dylan could not understand at all.

As they came abreast of the Headquarters Building, Dylan decided that he had to do something. He did not care if Brian slept with guys, girls or the ship's cat. He missed the tall, stocky, blond-haired boy, damn it! Dylan missed Brian terribly and he did not want something as silly as Brian getting a blowjob to destroy their friendship. He had to find a way to make the peace between them. He desperately wanted to be friends again.

In a way, Brian solved Dylan's problem. They were just passing Clothing Stores when Brian cut left into the shadows between the Head Shed and Clothing Stores. "I gotta piss like a race horse," he said as he unzipped and pulled out his penis.

Dylan joined Brian, standing beside him as the sound of their urinating broke the still, warm air. Without thinking Dylan glanced down at Brian's soft penis. He could never understand why guys did that, why guys just had to check each other out in the showers, or when they were changing for swim class! Which led Dylan to ask, "Jesus, Brian, did you see the dick on Harry?"

Dylan half expected Brian to ignore his question and smiled happily when Brian retorted, "The thing was awful hard to miss!" Snickering softly as he stuffed his drained penis back into his shorts, Brian turned and gave Dylan a wink. "What got me were Harry's balls! I don't know how he can walk with those things dangling between his legs!"

As they turned to resume their walk back to their barracks, Brian laughed aloud. "But fuck, Dylan, I would love to have a pair like 'em!"

"Oh, I don't know about that," replied Dylan with a pleased grin. "You're all right in the balls department." He squeezed the front of his gym shorts. "I'm the one with the small danglers!"

Brian snorted through his nose. "It's not the size that counts. It's how you use 'em!"

"You got that right," returned Dylan, laughing. "They sure worked for Cow-leen!"
Brian giggled. "Fuck, Dylan, if it had a pulse and got hard, it worked for Cow-leen!"

Both boys laughed so hard at the memory of their encounter with the local bad girl that they almost peed themselves. Colleen Crawley was the local mattress back home in North Bay. She loved the boys and getting into her pants - not a difficult task at the best of times - was almost a traditional rite of passage for the boys in their neighbourhood, a kind of way station on the road to manhood where everybody stopped at least once.

"I didn't really enjoy it," confessed Dylan quietly. "She's pretty loose down there."

Brian was forced to agree. "Neither did I," he admitted. "And to be honest, all the things I told you about getting into her pants?" He paused and looked at his friend. "I lied. I only did it once and I only did it because she wouldn't put out for the other guys if I wouldn't fuck her."

Dylan's eyes all but bugged out with surprise. "Really? And what guys?"

"Really," replied Brian glumly. "And if you want to know the truth, all the guys on the night shift at Tim Horton's!"

Dylan almost choked. "Shit, there were 12 guys on that shift! She did all 12?"

"Blew 11 and fucked me," growled Brian, clearly not amused. "She wandered in just before closing, had a coffee, and then offered to give every guy a blow job. But only if I fucked her!" He chuckled mirthlessly. "It was not a pleasant experience."

Impulsively Dylan slipped his arm around Brian's waist and gave him a sympathetic squeeze. "That was mean. Even for her."

Brian shrugged and spat derisively, "Women!" Then he put his arm around Dylan's waist. He needed the touch of a male. "Maybe my dad's right when he says that women are lucky sheep can't cook." He laughed at his own joke.

"It's good to hear you laugh, Brian," said Dylan slowly. "I'm sorry about what I said this morning. I should never have opened my mouth." Before Brian could reply he hurried on. "Please, Brian, please don't be mad at me!"
Brian stopped and withdrew his arm from Dylan's waist. He reached up and punched the boy's shoulder lightly. "I'm not mad any more, and I'm sorry I told you to fuck off. I didn't mean it. You're my best friend."

By now they had reached their barracks and Brian stopped and sat on the steps for a smoke before going to bed. Dylan sat beside him. "Is it going to happen again?" he asked quietly. "Is the guy going to come again?"

Brian took a deep drag on his cigarette. "If he comes, yeah, it's going to happen again," he answered quietly. He looked firmly at Dylan. "I want it to happen."

His tone said it all. The matter was closed and not subject to further discussion.

Dylan nodded his agreement. "Okay." He looked thoughtful, thinking about . . . Then he shook his head and stood up. "I better hit the rack. Breakfast tomorrow?"

"Sure." Brian reached up and gave Dylan's butt a pat. "Sleep well, my friend."

******

When Brian came into the Mess, Dylan was already undressed and in bed. Brian stripped down to his underpants and lay on top of his bunk, breathing softly. It was much too early for the night visitor to put in an appearance, assuming that he would. Brian desperately wanted to get his rocks off. The sight of all those beautiful cocks and naked teenagers in the Gunroom had been a major turn on and he was horny as hell!

For a brief moment Brian contemplated slipping into the heads and beating off, but if he did that he might not be primed if the visitor came by. He slipped his hands into his boxers, feeling the warmth of his semi-hard penis. Still, Brian thought, a hand job might just be the ticket. If he shot his wad now and the visitor came in later, why he'd last a lot longer the second time around!

Brian fingered his now erect penis idly, wondering if he could manage three loads in one night. A smile creased his face. Shit, three loads? Now that would be a first! He was about to get up and go into the heads when he heard Dylan's whispered voice calling his name. "Brian? Are you awake?"

******

Dylan heard Brian come into the barracks and undress for bed. He tried not to look as Brian lay in his bunk, fondling himself, but could not help himself. He watched Brian for several long minutes, and then lay back, with his hands behind his head, thinking.

What Dylan couldn't understand was why, if getting it on with a guy was so pleasurable, everybody condemned it and everybody made fun of guys who did it. Or worse. Being a fag, or a queer, was a death sentence. Guys got beat up for being queer. Guys got run out of town for being queer.

Dylan frowned. Yet, what about the guys who went with Brian? Letting him suck their dicks, and sucking his, because if he knew Brian sucking was a two way street and sucking dick was . . . queer, wasn't it? But, if letting a guy suck your dick was queer, then why did the other guys let Brian do it?

Or why did they do it to Brian? Dylan really could not understand at all, unless the answer was that when a guy was horny it didn't matter who was hanging off his dick so long as somebody was!

Frowning a little, Dylan let that thought sink in. Then he had another, more ominous thought. He had known Brian from the time they were six years old, and they had been together constantly ever since. Yet, in all the years they had been friends, all the times they had slept at each other's house, not once had Brian put the moves on him.

Dylan raised his head and looked down the front of his supine body. He couldn't see much as he was wearing a white T-shirt and briefs. Except for the small lump in the front of his underpants his clothing hid his body. He laid his head back down. Maybe it was because his dick was small? Well, not all that small. It was as big as Brian's was when it was soft, something he knew because they had been comparing dicks every so often to see how much they were growing.

And it did get bigger when it was hard. But then, Brian had been with guys who had a dick the same length as his and Dylan thought that dick size didn't mean much to Brian. No, it was not that.

The more he thought of that aspect of their relationship the more Dylan began to think that it was his own attitude that had precluded any sexual activity between them. Brian never forced himself on anybody, and Dylan had to admit that he'd been pretty churchy about Brian's activities.

Being a good Catholic boy, Dylan reasoned that he couldn't very well be otherwise, now could he? The Church loudly condemned boys having sex with boys. Of course, the Church also condemned boys having sex with girls. The Church, in fact, condemned sexual activity of any kind outside of the Sacrament of Marriage. This included masturbation, which was a sin.

Thinking about sinning in this matter caused Dylan to snicker quietly. If beating your meat were a sin what would the priest make of him humping his pillow?

It was all so damned silly. Getting off, shooting your load was wonderful. The feelings could never be adequately described. Just thinking of getting himself off was causing Dylan to raise a boner, and he wondered what it would be like, how it would feel to be with another boy. And he did wonder, for there had been times when he'd had these . . . feelings, these emotions, which he could not understand.
Not that Dylan had ever acted on those feelings. He couldn't just go outside and invite the first guy who came along to suck his dick, now could he? He couldn't put the moves on his classmates because they would spread it all over the school and he'd be dead.

What Dylan could not understand was that Brian, who was into guys, and sex with guys, his best friend, had never seemed interested in him.

Which was too bad, really, because if Dylan was going to fool around with another boy, who better that to fool around with than your best friend? Best friends helped each other out. Best friends understood and best friends never, ever betrayed you.

Dylan tossed and turned a bit, his mind a maelstrom of unanswered questions. Paramount was the why of it. Was getting your dick sucked so glorious? He had fucked Colleen, which had been marginally better than humping his pillow. He beat off regularly. Both acts brought him a great deal of pleasure but, still, what was it about getting blown that . . . Impulsively he raised his head and spoke.

"Brian, are you awake?"

******

Brian cringed at the sound of Dylan's voice. He initially thought to pretend to be asleep. He had a bone on that wouldn't die and was not in the mood for a late night bull session. In the end Brian felt that he had no option. Dylan, who normally dropped right off when he went to bed, would stew if he were not answered. He might even lie awake and try again, which was something Brian most certainly did not want. He wanted Dylan quiet and asleep when the night visitor came calling.

There was also the fact that he had treated Dylan shabbily all day. Brian felt bad about that, as bad as Dylan felt for opening his mouth this morning. Dylan was his friend and if he wanted to talk, well ... "I'm awake."

"Can I come over, just to talk?"

"Yeah." Brian sat up a bit. If he had to listen to Dylan mumble yet another apology he might as well be comfortable. He felt his penis start to shrink, which was blessing in a way. Talking to Dylan was one way of getting his mind off of his dick.

Brian heard Dylan's soft steps as he left his bunk. He saw that Dylan was wearing a somewhat baggy pair of white briefs, and a white T-shirt that was too large for his body. Brian also could not help but notice the slight bulge underneath the fabric of Dylan's Jockeys.

Dylan settled himself on the edge of Brian's bunk, his briefs-covered butt flush against his friend's leg. Dylan noticed that while Brian had moved into a half-sitting position, his hand was still tucked inside his boxers. Dylan sat quietly, his hands folded in his lap, saying nothing, trying to gather his resolve and courage to ask the question he wanted answered.

Brian grew impatient with Dylan's silence. If he wanted to talk, then let him talk! When Dylan continued to sit quietly Brian decided to break the ice. "Aren't you hot in that rig?" he asked, referring to Dylan's thick T-shirt.

Dylan started at the sound of Brian's voice. "Uh, I'm fine," he muttered as he squirmed a bit. He was slightly embarrassed, hoping that Brian would not think it queer of him to be sitting on his bunk with a boner. He was thankful that the T-shirt he was wearing hung low enough to cover his crotch. Without thinking, however, he reached down and felt the curving head of his penis and asked his question. "What's it like? What's it really like being with a guy?"

Surprised at Dylan's question, Brian had to think a bit before he answered. He pulled himself into a full sitting position. "Well, you fucked Cow-leen, didn't you?" he asked.

Dylan nodded slowly. Of course he had fucked the girl. Half the guys in the North end of town had boffed her at least once!

"Well, how was it?"

Dylan did not reply. He shrugged and made a sour face.

Well, there went that particular analogy, Brian thought grimly. Obviously the earth had not moved for Dylan. He thought a moment and tried a different tack. "All right. When you hump your mattress, or your pillow, how good does it feel when you cum?"

"Oh, wow!" exclaimed Dylan breathlessly, hoping that Brian would not notice that he was blushing furiously.

Brian took his hand from his boxers and placed it on the back of Dylan's neck. He began to gently massage the soft, warm skin under his hand. "Multiply what you felt by a hundred," he said, his voice filled with awe. "Think of every time that you have ever cum since you started cumming. Put them all together, Dylan. That's what it feels like." He reached out with both arms and pulled the trembling boy to him. "That is what it feels like," he repeated.

"Was that what it was like when the guy did you?" Dylan asked hesitatingly. He reached out and embraced Brian. He rested his head on Brian's shoulder. "Was that what it was really like?"

"It was . . ." began Brian, nodding slowly. He could feel Dylan's soft, blond hair rub against his cheek. "He told me that he would take me across the river." He squeezed Dylan ever so gently. "And that is what he did! I felt things, felt pleasures, I never felt before." He pulled Dylan as close to him as he could. "I can't explain it any better than that, Dylan."

A strange feeling came over Brian as he embraced his friend. In all their years together they had never done anything and now . . . he slid his hand down the side of Dylan's warm arm. Then he brushed his lips gently across Dylan's forehead. He had slept with Dylan many times and this was the first time he noticed how pleasant and clean his friend smelled.

As he held Dylan, Brian considered his next move. Dylan was a virgin when it came to boys. Should he make a move? Or should he . . .? He lowered his head slowly, waiting for Dylan to respond. If Dylan wanted to have sex with him, he would do it. Somehow the thought of sex with Dylan was not like it had been with the other boys. With them it had been sex, fucking around a bit, loosening each other up, getting their rocks off. But with Dylan it was different. Before it had been mechanical. Now he felt warm. Peaceful. He liked the feel of his friend's body. He liked how Dylan smelled, how his soft hair brushed his face.

The thought that was forming in Brian's mind grew. He realized that what he was feeling for Dylan was much deeper than friendship. He realized, now, as he held Dylan close, that what he had wanted all these years was sitting beside him. All those years, when they had shared a tent on their camping trips, when they had shared a room, and sometimes a bed, when their hockey team played an away game, when they had slept over at each other's house . . . all those years they had done nothing, had never touched each other. And now . . .

Brian slipped his hand under Dylan's baggy T-shirt and rubbed his firm, warm stomach. He felt the silken hair of Dylan's treasure trail and stroked the soft hairs slowly, each time rubbing his hand across the head of Dylan's erect penis, which was jutting up above the wide elastic band of his briefs. Brian lowered his head slightly and his lips found Dylan's, hearing his friend moan softly as their lips met.

Emboldened, Brian continued on, moving his hand lower, feeling the thick bulk of Dylan's erection under the smooth fabric of his underpants. He cupped the tight sac containing Dylan's smooth ovals, and rubbed his thumb slowly up and down the length of the bulge in Dylan's briefs, feeling the warm flesh throbbing.

As a tremor of pleasure passed through him, Dylan raised his head and initiated a kiss. Their kiss was deep, and full of passion. He barely heard Brian telling him to stand up. He knew what Brian was going to do for him and he knew that he wanted Brian to do it.

Dylan stood up slowly, feeling the softness of his underpants rubbing gently against his thighs as Brian pulled his briefs down. He felt Brian's hot breath against his hard penis as it bobbed gently, standing straight out from his body.

Brian reached around and slowly rubbed Dylan's lightly furred thighs and then began to knead and fondle his perfect, hairless, mounds. Dylan's penis throbbed with his heavy breathing and a small, perfect drop of clear fluid gently oozed from the tiny slit in his deep pink, curving, mushroom-shaped glans. Brian moved his lips closer.

A low moan escaped Dylan's lips as Brian slowly ran his tongue and lips around the head of his dick, and then slowly sucked it into his warm, moist mouth. Dylan continued to groan softly as Brian sucked gently, his tongue laving and circling his shaft and following the smooth lines of the curving ridge of Dylan's crisply formed glans. Dylan could feel the most wonderful sensations growing deep within his body as Brian began bobbing his head, pivoting from side to side, up and down his rigid pole.

Dylan felt Brian's strong hands caressing his bum. Low growls rose in his throat as one of Brian's hands left his behind and began to pull and roll his balls gently. He began to thrust his hips, wanting his dick deep in his friend's welcoming mouth.

Brian could hear Dylan's harsh, heavy breathing. He closed his eyes, his mouth savouring the sweet taste of Dylan, welcoming the soft, urgent thrusts that presaged Dylan's explosion. He heard a low grumble rise from Dylan's throat as his shaft thickened and his mushroom expanded. Suddenly, without warning, he felt Dylan's dick spasm and a thick, heavy stream of cum pulsed down his throat. He swallowed hungrily, moving his head and sucking eagerly on the top two inches of Dylan's spewing organ. He swallowed avidly as Dylan's pee slit expelled stream after stream of his sweet ejaculate.

When Dylan gave one, ultimate thrust, and his penis ceased it's manic throbbing, Brian withdrew. He sat back against the bulkhead, hugging his knees, watching as Dylan slowly sank onto the bunk. Dylan whimpered and leaned forward. Brian held him close and then reached down to feel the swollen crown of Dylan's penis. He heard Dylan suck in his breath sharply. "Sore?" he asked.

Dylan nodded. "A little tender." Then he reached up and wrapped his arms around Brian's neck. "Now I know," he whispered softly.

******

They sat holding each other for what seemed like hours until finally Dylan pulled away. He kissed Brian gently and smiled softly. Still smiling he gathered up his briefs and slowly returned to his bunk.

Brian remained sitting until he heard Dylan's smooth, even breathing. Then he reached under his pillow and pulled out his cigarettes and matches. He left the barracks and sat on the steps, waiting. The night was very still, without a hint of a breeze. As he smoked, Brian smiled. Dylan had experienced his first blowjob. With luck, he would experience much more.

Smoking quietly, Brian waited, listening for the sound of the footsteps that would announce the arrival of the one he needed to speak to. His reverie was broken by the sound of voices. He raised his head and saw Sylvain and André, chattering and gesticulating as they rounded the corner of the barracks. Apparently the Toad Watch had the Mids tonight.

Sylvain saw Brian sitting alone on the barracks steps. "You are up late," he said, his English slightly accented.

"I can't sleep in there," replied Brian as he waved his hand back toward the barracks. "It's like an oven." He saw Sylvain nod his understanding and continued. "I came out for a smoke."

"You should not smoke," said Andre firmly as he came up and sat on the bottom step. "It does things to your body!"

"Such as?" asked Brian, surprised at André's comment.

André giggled. "It makes your pee-nis shrivel."

Brian snickered at the young French-Canadian's feeble joke. "For all the use it gets it might as well," he replied sourly. He gave Sylvain a look. "You smoke, don't you?"

Sylvain's handsome face clouded. "I do not!" he snapped, resenting the maudit Anglais's implication that his penis was shrivelling. He glared at André, who was giggling helplessly at Brian's crack. "Venir le long de, André!" he snarled. "Nous n'a pas de temps pour asseoir bavarder avec ce garcon ignorant! Nous avon des Ronds pour finir!"

Brian, who spoke not a word of French, still knew that Sylvain was not pleased at a joke being made at his expense. He did know what ignorant meant but chose not to make an issue of it. What was the use of Sylvain being a goofy fuck if he could not demonstrate it from time to time?

André stood up and followed Sylvain as he bustled along the barracks walk. When the taller French cadet was far enough ahead André turned and grinned at Brian, then held out his hand. His thumb and forefinger were perhaps three inches apart. He nodded his head toward the retreating Sylvain and grinned wickedly.

Brian laughed at André's gesture and then settled back. He glanced down at his wrist but he had not worn his watch. Laughing at his stupidity he shook his head. All he could do was wait. He looked up into the sky, which was very dark, and studded with stars. It was very late and if the visitor did not come soon he would have to turn in.

"You should be in bed, pretending to be asleep," came the voice from the darkness.

Starting, his eyes wide, Brian looked around. He could see nothing. "I was waiting for you," he said slowly, trying to see into the shadows.

"Why?" asked the voice a trifle petulantly. "I told you that I would come again."

I know that voice, thought Brian. I know it, but I don't know whose it is! He tossed his all but smoked cigarette into the spitkid that was placed at the foot of the stairs. "I have a favour to ask," he said with trepidation.

"I'm listening." The voice was flat now, almost devoid of emotion. Brian swallowed. In for a penny, in for a pound. "I helped a friend tonight. But I didn't take him across the river."

"And you would like me to?"

Brian nodded. "Yes. Tonight was his first time."

There followed a lengthy silence. "You must love Dylan very much," the voice said presently.

The statement really spooked Brian. A shiver ran down his spine and he broke out in a cold sweat. How could he know? How could he . . .? "I, uh, yes, I do," he managed to whisper. "I just didn't know it until tonight." He peered into the darkness. "Will you take him across the river?"

"And you?"

"I want to, yes. But, please, take Dylan across first." Brian stood up and nodded toward the barracks. "He's in the bunk two down . . ."

"I know where Dylan sleeps," the voice said quietly. "Go inside. Go to bed."

Brian did as he was ordered. He hurried inside and shut the door. A few minutes later The Phantom stepped from the shadows, smiling broadly.

******

Mark and Tony were heading for their barracks when they were hailed by their Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Broadhurst. It was readily apparent, though hardly surprising, that the officer was very close to being drunk. "How was the party?" he asked, slurring his words and swaying slightly.

Mark hid a grimace. "It was fine, thanks," he replied, thankful that Broadhurst had one over the mark. The man was of the "Do as I say, not as I do," school of discipline and, while he was notorious for his binge drinking, he would not countenance the cadets having a jar or two in their off hours. At least he would not be able to smell the booze on their breath.

The Lieutenant was not all that interested in how his cadets had passed the night. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "Mark, do me a favour," he mumbled as he tossed the keys to Mark, "Check out the boat for me, will you?"

"Shall I bring the keys back to you, sir?" Mark asked as he deftly caught the keys with one hand.

Lieutenant Broadhurst waved away Mark's offer. "No, you keep them. We aren't going anywhere until after Divisions." He started to walk back toward the Wardroom.

Tony gave the departing officer a sour look. "One of these days the brass is going to get wise to that lush," he said with a grimace. "And I don't appreciate him asking us to do his job!"

"Considering the condition our noble Commanding Officer is in, he'd probably fall overboard," returned Mark with a chuckle. "You go ahead to bed. I'll check out the boat."

As Mark began to walk toward the Dockyard, Tony called after him. "Screw that. It won't kill me to look over the boat."

The two Americans walked down to the Dockyard where they greeted the Duty Hands on the YAGs and then boarded their own boat. After checking the upper deck and the wheelhouse they unlocked the hatch leading to the after berthing deck and climbed below.

They did a walkthrough of the engine room, the galley, the small cabin the officers used and returned to their own berthing area where Mark settled himself on the blue faux-leather bench that lined the port side of the compartment. He yawned and stretched his arms along the back of the bench.

Tony sat beside Mark, so close that their bare legs were touching. He laid his head back so that it was resting against Mark's left arm and snickered. "That was quite a party the boys had for us," he said. "I haven't laughed so hard in a long time." His body shook with laughter. "The songs were great, and that Zulu song was something else again."

Mark joined in Tony's laughter. "I never knew that taking my clothes off could be so much fun. And that little dance you did!" Both boys laughed at the memory of Tony bending over and mooning the Gunroom. Mark felt his leg pressing against Tony's warm thigh. He glanced down and saw the slight bulge in Tony's shorts. Then he did something that he had only dreamt about doing for years: he put his hand on Tony's leg, just below the bottom edge of his shorts.

Tony smiled and embraced Mark. Their lips met and for a long time they kissed softly. Tony's hand slipped under the leg of Mark's shorts and he felt the warm, swelling bulk under Mark's soft, cotton briefs. "Took you long enough," he said when they parted to catch their breath.

Mark did not reply. He pushed his hand under the waistband of Tony's shorts, feeling the thick hardness hidden there. He began to gently squeeze Tony's erection, marvelling at the bulk of it and the way it throbbed with every breath that Tony took. Tony responded by placing his lips against Mark's, his tongue tracing the outline of Mark's full lips. Mark moaned as Tony squeezed his erection through his shorts. "Jesus, Tony, that feels so good!" He pulled away and slowly pushed Tony's T-shirt up and over his head.

Tony lay back as Mark undressed him, raising his hips as his friend pulled down first his shorts, then his tighty-whiteys. He groaned and sucked in his breath as Mark leaned forward and kissed the tip of his penis, and stiffened as Mark's tongue swirled around and around his heated glans. "Are we going to do what I think we're going to do?" he managed to croak as Mark's tongue savaged the small knot of skin on the underside of his helmet.

Once again Mark said nothing. He pulled away and stood up. Through hooded eyes Tony watched as the young blond god who was his Chief, his friend, and, he hoped, soon to be lover, slowly slipped down his shorts, then his briefs, revealing his rich, golden pubic bush and warm, perfect, circumcised penis.

In the pale moonlight streaming through the scuttle Mark's hair gleamed like fine-spun gold. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing his firm, muscular chest. Mark looked down at Tony and then pulled the young Italian to his feet. "We are going to do what we should have been doing a long time ago," he murmured.

They stood together, their hard penises grinding together, their hands exploring each other's firm body. Tony was the more muscular, and had a thicker body that Mark. His coal black hair, tousled when Mark removed his T-shirt, hung fetchingly over his broad forehead, partially hiding his deep brown eyes.

Mark reached down and ran his finger along Tony's thick, six-inch erection, gently wiping away a pearl drop of precum that had oozed from the magnificently formed helmet. They resumed their embrace, their firm chests touching, their warm, mushroomed-headed penises rubbing gently, sending small tornadoes of pleasure whirling through their bodies.

"I used to dream of you," gasped Tony as Mark's hand rubbed up and down his heated shaft. "I used to beat off pretending that it was you doing me."

Mark rubbed his strong chin against Tony's face. "I have wanted you from the first time I saw you. I have dreamed of you. I have watched you, when we played football, when we stripped for swimming; I memorized every detail of you. At night, I dreamed of you. Every day we were together I wanted you. You used to drive me crazy!"

Tony silenced Mark with a kiss. "We're not dreaming now," he murmured as they sank slowly onto the hard leather bench.

******

The Phantom sat quietly in the tree line a few yards from the entrance to the Staff Barracks. His breathing was returning to normal and for the first time in almost an hour his penis was soft. The back of his sweater was soaked with saliva, which Ray had deposited as he collapsed onto The Phantom's back, writhing and thrusting as his penis spewed forth its sweet tasting gift. The Phantom also had two cooling loads of semen soiling his boxers, the first courtesy of Ray, and the second thanks to Brian.

The Phantom grinned at the memory of his activities thus far. He had sucked three sweet dicks and with luck, would suck one more before going home. He squirmed uncomfortably as a small ribbon of his semen oozed down the inside of his leg. Ray had been unusually enthusiastic tonight. He had made no pretence of sleeping and not only had he grunted and groaned his way to an awesome eruption he had, as he began his orgasm, suddenly reached out and pumped The Phantom through his jeans.

Lost in the throes of an absolutely mind blowing eruption, The Phantom had increased his sucking on Ray's spewing dick, which drove the boy wild. He fell, as limp as an old dishrag across The Phantom's back, his hips making small, sharp thrusting movements as stream after stream of his semen squirted into The Phantom's mouth. Ray, soaked in sweat and sucking avidly on the dark wool of The Phantom's sweater, refused to withdraw, refused to let go of his visitor's softening organ. The Phantom had never experienced anything like it!

The Phantom had moved on to the gunners' barracks where, as Brian had asked him, he had taken Dylan across the river. Dylan, thankfully, had buried his head in his pillow as he growled and groaned, striving for release. The Phantom had done things to him that drove Dylan to the edge and beyond, rimming him, sucking his balls, taking him to the edge three times before Dylan finally exploded, writhing and bucking with abandon and thrusting his hips violently into The Phantom's mouth.

Fortunately Dylan's penis, which was just over four inches when hard, was just the right size for sucking so The Phantom had allowed Dylan's frantic, manic thrusting as his engorged helmet spewed forth thick jets of wonderfully thick, sweet, boy juice.

From Dylan, The Phantom moved on to Brian who, unbeknownst to him, had been listening avidly to Dylan being taken across the river. Brian was primed, his penis hard and throbbing when The Phantom knelt beside his bunk. The Phantom used the same techniques on Brian as he had on Dylan, which reduced the boy to a quivering wreck before he finally let loose. Brian had then, during their post-orgasm necking, tried to unzip The Phantom and asked to blow him.

The offer had been tempting. The Phantom had never been blown and Brian seemed anxious to remedy this situation. In the end The Phantom decided that while he did want a blowjob, he did not want it from Brian. He wanted what he had given Brian and a stand-up face fuck was not the same. He did allow Brian to knead and rub his hard penis through his jeans until he shot his load into his boxers. The Phantom had to admit that Brian gave a very satisfactory hand job.

After leaving the gunners' barracks, The Phantom had been of two minds. He wanted to visit the Chiefs Mess again but he also knew that the night was waning rapidly. He had deliberately delayed coming onto the Spit because he knew of the movie being shown in the Drill Shed, and of the party in the Gunroom. While the movie would end in plenty of time for the cadets to meet their bedtime curfew, a party in the Gunroom could go on until all hours of the night. He had slipped through the shadows carefully and half-expected to see the Gunroom ablaze with lights. He was pleasantly surprised to see that all the windows were dark, and the lights out. Still, he hid in the tree line, listening, watching carefully for any sign that the cadets were still about.

When he was satisfied that the way was clear, The Phantom had started to rise when he thought he heard a yell, far off, from deep in the woods that covered the southern end of the Spit. He dropped to the ground and lay prone, breathing slowly, and listening carefully for the slightest hint of sound that would indicate that someone other than he was out wandering. He heard nothing except for the rough sound of a critter scurrying through the undergrowth and his own barely controlled breathing. He peeled back the cover of his watch and glowered. He could not waste time! He glanced hastily around, saw nothing, rose up, and darted into the Staff Barracks.

******

The Twins lay on the thick woollen sea blankets they had brought with them from the Gunroom, their warm bodies forming a "T". Todd's head was resting on Cory's firm stomach. Cory's arm was draped across his brother's chest and from time to time he would mischievously pinch Todd's nipples.

They had slipped away from their barracks as soon as Thumper had returned from his nightly ritual in the heads and stolen away to this special place, a small, grassy clearing deep in the woods that blanketed the southern end of the Spit, and made warm, passionate love, their lovemaking so gentle and tender that each brother had, if anything, fallen deeper in love with the other.

Todd was blissfully happy and staring at the carpet of stars overhead, his hands loosely crossed and resting on his stomach just above his soft, dark blond pubic bush, enjoying his brother's warmth and the soft caress of Cory's hand on his chest. He was half asleep, and wishing that this special moment would never end.

With his free hand Cory was idly fingering his soft penis, playfully tickling the warm, mushroom-shaped crown. He loved these moments afterward, these all too precious moments when he and Todd were together, after Todd had made magnificent love to him, these moments alone, their bodies warm and close.

Cory smiled happily and then frowned. He fiddled a bit more and his frown deepened. His helmet was no longer sensitive, and had lost its deep pink colouring. The tingling feeling that was always a part of his afterglow of pleasure was gone. His penis was most definitely not responding, as it should. He looked questioningly at his brother. "Todd?"

"Yes, Cory?"

"It's dead!" Cory declared firmly.

Todd sighed. He never knew from one minute to the next if Cory was serious or up to his usual nonsense. He turned his head and looked intently at Cory's penis, which was snoozing comfortably across his right leg.

The damned thing looked perfectly normal. "It is not dead," Todd said as he settled back against his brother's tummy. "It's sleeping." Then he grinned. "Mind you, brother dear, I would not be surprised if the thing was dead!" He rubbed his hair against the soft skin of Cory's stomach. "God knows, considering the workout it has had, it should be comatose!" He heard Cory growl a protest, ignored it and carried on. "You have shot your load three times, for Christ's sake!"

"So have you," returned Cory with a giggle.

Todd's nod confirmed Cory's statement. "Well then, if mine isn't dead, neither is yours."

"You're sure?" asked Cory, feigning his doubt.

"I'm sure. Let it get some sleep and then, like the South, it shall rise again, triumphant," replied Todd with just a hint of laughter in his voice. He closed his eyes, determined to enjoy the euphoria he felt. There, that ought to shut him up, he thought.

Cory snickered and sighed contentedly. He did so love his brother, but not enough to shut up because he was bursting to tell Todd his latest bit of gossip.

"Todd?"

Todd groaned. Not again! "Yes, Cory?"

"Somebody gave Brian a blowjob a couple of nights ago," Cory said casually, as if such a thing was a common occurrence, "But not Dylan." He made a face. "Dylan is such a dickhead, passing up a blow job, but he did, so that's that. And if you want my opinion, Val also got a blow job, although I can't be sure but he was certainly acting funny this morning and..."

Todd, who had only been half listening to Cory's inane chatter, sat up with a start. "What did you say?" he asked slowly, interrupting Cory's monologue.

Cory patiently repeated his titbit of gossip.

Todd looked incredulous, although he did wonder if Cory was off in La-La Land again. "Brian? Our Brian? Brian Venables, the Guard Petty Officer?"

"No, Brian Baru, King of the Scots!" retorted Cory, giving his brother a withering look. "How many Brians are there around here? Of course Brian the Guard Petty Officer! The same Brian who used to sneak over to Boatswain Stores with Ben."

"Yes, yes, YES!" snarled Todd. "I know all about that! Ben, a nice kid, from Newfyjohn, not bad, nice dick and so-so balls! Brian and him used to sixty-nine in there whenever they were on watch together."

"How did you know that?" asked Cory, surprised. Todd rarely paid attention to gossip.

"You are not the only one who listens when seated on the throne! Please get to the point!" grumbled Todd. Jesus, Cory could be so obtuse and exasperating at times!

"Well, if you must know," began Cory with exaggerated patience, "the point is that someone gave Brian a massive blow job, but not Dylan because he said no. The same someone did Brian twice. I'm not sure if it was twice in one night, or two nights in a row. Anyway, Brian told Dylan that it was awesome and that . . ."
"God Damn It, Cory!" roared Todd.

Startled at his brother's outburst, Cory shrank back. Then he squirmed, sat up, gave Todd a kiss on the ear, and hugged him. "Yes, Toddy?" he whispered.

Todd pushed Cory away. "This is not the time the time to get frisky!" He held Cory at arm's length. "Now, tell me everything!"

Cory shrugged, lay back, and crossed his hands on his stomach. "Well, as I said, I went for a walk, as I sometimes do in the morning before everybody gets up, and I happened to be passing Barracks 8. The windows were wide open - you know how hot it has been lately - and I heard Dylan snarling at Brian about getting a blowjob. Brian, I mean, not Dylan, and . . ."

"You just happened to stop and listen!" completed Todd with a sniff.

"Of course I did," replied Cory calmly. "People who listen at open windows hear some interesting things about normally very uninteresting people!"

Todd resisted the urge to hit his brother. "Please, do go on," he said tightly.
Cory continued blithely on. "Dylan was being all Holy Joe about someone beating Brian off - it's a sin, you know - and Brian said, no, he got blown, twice. He kept going on about crossing the river, whatever that means, and how wonderful it had been. It really did sound interesting. Anyway, Dylan said something I couldn't hear and Brian told him to fuck off!"

A thunderous look crossed Todd's face. "That means it's one of us," he said ominously.

Cory, being Cory, immediately mistook his brother's meaning. "Us?" He cocked his head, a quizzical look on his face. "Oh, no, it can't have been one of us. I haven't been anywhere near Brian, although I might if the time and place were right, even though he is a bit of rough trade, if you know what I mean." He prattled happily on. "Dylan, now, I also might consider. Or Nicholas. God is he yummy. Then again, maybe Two Strokes. He's small but his dick is cute, but then again, since he did fuck that girl, maybe not. I most definitely would like to get better acquainted with Kevin the new gunner? Now he has a body on him! And that smile! Not to mention the way his basket pooches out the front of his bells." He grinned lasciviously. "Phantom! Definitely Phantom, and also Val, although he . . ."

Jesus H. P. Christ, swore Todd mentally. He's off and running! He growled and gave Cory a good shake, interrupting Cory's list of wannado conquests. "For Christ's sake, shut up and listen! You are so aggravating at times! If I didn't love you so much I'd kill you!" He shook Cory again. "You're going on like some lovesick girl!"

"What did you say?" yelped Cory. Before Todd could answer he grabbed his brother around the waist and pulled him down. They began rolling and flailing, Cory trying to hit Todd, Todd trying to fend Cory off. "Call me a girl, will you, you son of a bitch?" Cory howled indignantly. He was stronger than he looked, as Todd well knew. "Call me a girl, you bastard!"

Cory rolled on top of Todd, and sat astride his chest, pinning him to the ground. He raised his fist. "Take it back, Todd!" he demanded loudly. "Take it back or I'll . . ." He suddenly lowered his fist. He had suddenly realized exactly what his brother had said. "What did you say?"

"Only if you promise not to hit me!" replied Todd, cringing. Cory nodded.

"I said that you were going on like a girl."
"No, before that," snapped Cory. "What did you say before you called me a girl?"

Todd was about to retort that he had not called Cory anything, but thought better of it. "That if I didn't love you so much I would kill you?" Todd was not exactly sure which part of his statement Cory was pissed off about.

Cory smiled and then gently lowered himself, covering Todd's naked body with his. Rolling around in the muck had been arousing and his penis was once again rock hard. He ground his erection seductively against Todd's warm stomach. "Yeah, that's it," he all but purred. He kissed Todd then laid his head on his brother's shoulder.

Todd squirmed. As much as he enjoyed Cory's way of making up, he had to make his brother understand the implications of his discovery. "Uh, Cory, could you let me up?"

"What's the matter?" asked Cory, resisting. "Don't you like it?"

"Yes, I do!" Todd pushed Cory, who rolled off of him and lay at his side.

Cory, irrepressible as always, and not at all angry, waggled his eyebrows. "If you play your cards right I can make you feel much better." He reached over and gave Todd's low-hanging testicles a gentle squeeze. "Much, much better."

Todd allowed Cory's fondling. At least it shut him up and if Cory was thinking about getting laid he wasn't thinking about beating him up. He did, however, ignore his brother's obvious suggestion. "Cory, you have to listen to me! Please?"

While disappointed, Cory knew that Todd was serious about something. He released his brother, sat up, and assumed a stern air. "Playtime is over." He squared his shoulders. "What?"

Todd turned and looked at his brother, his face serious. "When I said 'us' I did not mean you and me. I meant that if someone is sneaking around in the middle of the night giving blow jobs, and I bet Brian is not the only lucky guy, then it has got to be a cadet." He sat up and hugged his knees.

"So?" responded Cory idly. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, Oh!" The implications of what Todd was saying were beginning to dawn on him.

"Yes, 'Oh'," Todd said quietly, a pensive look on his face. "Think about it, Cory. It has to be a cadet because all of the civilian workers go off the Spit at 2000, maybe 2030 or so if Chef keeps Phantom back for something special." His looked changed to one of worry. "Once Phantom goes ashore there are no civilians present. None!"

"Then the mysterious someone is a cadet," murmured Cory. "Has to be," he said with a slight nod of his head, concurring with his brother.

Todd nodded. "It has to be," he repeated. "There is simply no one else it could be and that, Cory, is bad for us." He reached out and took Cory's hand. "Sooner or later someone is going to say something to the wrong person and then God help us. The fickle finger of fate will be shoved right up our collective asses. Sooner or later the word is going to get out and just guess who everybody is going to think of first!"

Cory groaned. "Us!"

A strange look came into Todd's eyes. He sighed heavily. "Yes, Cory, us!" He chewed his lip, thinking. "Which means, Cory, we are going to have to find out who it is."

"We are?"

Todd drew Cory close to him. He kissed him deeply. "We have to," he whispered as Cory responded to the kiss. "Starting tomorrow we . . ." He felt Cory's hand drift slowly down his stomach and then between his legs. He moaned as they fell slowly to the blankets.

******

The Phantom slowly closed the door to the Chiefs Mess and waited while his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the small compartment. His senses took in the all too familiar smells of a room occupied by teenaged males, the odours of sweat, slightly smelly socks, soiled underpants and, surprisingly, alcohol. Smiling as his nose tingled at the rank aroma, The Phantom thought that if the two cadets who were sprawled across their bunks had been drinking, so much the better. Their inhibitions would be loosened and their sleep would be deep.

He ran his eyes around the mess, taking in the sight of Val, who was lying on his back, his mouth gaping. On the other side of the room Tyler, who usually burrowed under his blankets and sheets like a mole, was also sprawled atop his bunk, his arms and legs spread wide. His mouth was slightly ajar and there was a small drop of drool hanging from the corner of his lips. There was an enticing mound pressing against the fabric of his tighty- whiteys.

Unable to decide which of the two senior cadets to visit, The Phantom hesitated. As he stood, his back against the door, Tyler snuffled and rolled in his sleep. It was decided. The Phantom would visit Val again.

Soundlessly The Phantom slipped further into the cabin and knelt on the deck beside Val's bunk. He stared at the boy's placid face, and listened to his deep breathing. Then, as gently as he could, he reached over and pulled down the front of Val's boxers. When Val did not move The Phantom buried his nose in the Chief Gunner's wonderful testicles, feeling the soft hairs that covered Val's sac like a delicate carpet tickle his nose.

Once again, The Phantom smelled again the musk and sweat and body oils that gave Val his distinctive, intoxicating aroma. As The Phantom licked and sucked Val's magnificent ovals his penis rose slowly, becoming thick and very hard, a crystal bead of precum oozing slowly from the incised slit that crowned his glans. The Phantom lowered his head and slowly sucked every inch of Val into his mouth.

As his dick was encased in the warm wetness Val abruptly stopped snoring and gasped. He slowly pushed his hips upward, low moans rising from his throat. He could feel his penis jerking and pulsing as the sucking motion began to drive his senses wild. A hand caressed his balls, which began to tighten and retreat upward as the hand probed deep between his legs, pulling gently at the soft black hairs that sparsely carpeted the pathway leading to his tightly puckered rosebud. A low, keening wail escaped his lips as a finger brushed slowly across his entry, and a shudder of delight rippled through him. He thrust his hips higher, willing, demanding, that the all-encompassing mouth take all of him.

As Val began thrusting and grunting, The Phantom withdrew his mouth, concentrating on the top half or so of Val's iron hard erection. He sucked rapidly, matching with his lips Val's manic thrusting. Val was unable to control the sensations that rampaged through him. The sucking mouth drove him wild and his thrusting became even more desperate. The great pleasure began to roll through his body, wave after wave of exquisite, all-consuming pleasure, crashing down upon him. His hips rose higher than he ever thought possible as his entire body stiffened.

As his body spasmed, Val began muttering oaths and supplications in Sicilian, the language of his childhood, the string of oaths spat out in harsh grunts with each titanic pulse of semen that flew from his engorged penis. So consumed was he that Val continued to thrust convulsively, vainly attempting to draw from a now empty well. He whimpered and sobbed as the moistness that had brought him so high, that had sent him soaring to heights of passion he had never known, was withdrawn, replaced by a gently, rasping tongue that cleaned and licked the horribly sensitive head of his penis. Val's penis twitched spasmodically, refusing to submit to the inevitable ending.

The Phantom, sated with the exuberance that Val had displayed, quickly pulled Val's boxers over his slowly wilting penis. He sat back and watched as the Val's face relaxed, his eyes lowered and his breathing resumed its normal rhythm, and he began to snore softly. Smiling, The Phantom left Val's side and turned his attention toward the Cadet Master-At- Arms.

******

The Twins lay cuddled together, their hands making soft, caressing strokes across each other's body as they enjoyed the last vestiges of their lovemaking that seeped slowly from their flushed bodies.

Cory sighed a happy purring sound. Of the dozen or so lovers he had had over the years Todd had been, and still was, the best of them all. He was a careful, considerate, and very caring lover, and knew just how to please his brother, rarely failing to bring them both to simultaneous orgasm.

Todd had also enjoyed a long, slow warm-up, snuggling, fondling, kissing, before gently inserting his sex into Cory, never rushing or thrusting savagely, waiting patiently before commencing the ultimate act of love. Cory adored him for it.

After their lovemaking they always lay together, snuggled together like two puppies, just enjoying the feelings that had overpowered them, enjoying the slow draining away of their euphoria.

For Todd, making love to another boy was a ritual act of worship, a mystical joining, not only of bodies but also of souls, an act so powerfully glorious that it could never truly be described or expressed in mere words.

Unlike so many of the other boys - more than Todd felt comfortable admitting to - Cory understood, as did Chris, now, that making love was something that both parties had to enjoy in order to experience the penultimate pleasure. Making love was a special gift that one boy gave to another, a gift that was so special that few experienced in their lifetimes. When he had told Chris that dogs fucked Todd had been trying to impress upon the boy the importance of their coming act, their joining of two spirits. Chris had understood and reciprocated with Cory.

Todd began to think of Cory's wish list of boys, inwardly nodding his approval, although he did wonder which of them would be of the slam-bam-thank-you-man school, interested only in shooting their wads and then rushing away without so much as a thank you, or worse, slamming their dick into your mouth while they called you every name they could think of to justify in their own minds that what they were doing was just giving in to urges they could not control, to justify that what they were doing did not make them a queer. Todd sighed at the hypocrisy of the boys he'd been with. It was all right to be blown, but it was taboo to blow. Yet they come back time and again because they liked what was being done to their dicks.

A sudden thought struck Todd. Cory, for all his talk, was a most reluctant seducer. He never made the first move, and never allowed anyone to debase or demean him. Cory was very, very careful in his choice of lovers and in retrospect Todd could understand him wanting to be with The Phantom. There was a slow, smouldering sensuality behind those emerald green eyes. Finding out just how sensual The Phantom was, and what was bulwarked behind the cloth barricade of his Fruit of the Looms, would be an adventure that Todd would gladly share.

Todd could feel Cory's long, tapered fingers riffling through his dark pubic hair and smiled. Cory would next move down and start rubbing the head of his penis. Cory was so predictable at times.

A small frown creased Todd's forehead. He could understand Cory wanting The Phantom. He could understand Cory wanting Kevin, who was a stunning young man. But Two Strokes? Todd could think of no redeeming quality that would lead him to want to take the tall, thin Regulating Petty Officer to his bed. As far as Todd was concerned the only redeeming quality about Two Strokes was the fact that he was circumcised!

Todd could not understand Cory at times. What was so intriguing about Two Strokes that would make Cory mention him? And why not Harry, who was the ultimate male, the Grail, so far as Todd was concerned. Harry had figured large in many of Todd's dreams, dreams that would forever be unfulfilled because Harry, for all his bluster, was firmly and determinedly straight.

Cory's fingers began toying playfully with the curving mushroomed tip of Todd's penis, breaking his reverie. Todd rolled slowly away and sat up. He looked around for his clothing, which was scattered all around the small clearing. "We have to get back," he murmured regretfully. "We've been away far too long."

"But, Toddy . . ." Cory whined. He was very comfortable and saw no reason to leave just yet. "It's still early." He reached out and squeezed his brother's soft penis. "I could stay here with you forever."

"It is very late," replied Todd firmly. "We are not at home now and we have to get back." He stood up and began dressing. "I need some sleep, even if you don't. This morning we have a lot to do."

"Such as?" Cory grumbled and began to look for his clothes. "It's Saturday. We have a half holiday and I personally have very little to do but sleep in and hug my pillow."

"You have a great deal to do, my little man," replied Todd dryly. He saw the ominous look on Cory's face. "Not too onerous, really, but someone has to clean out Alfie's locker." He grinned wickedly. "Greg is moving into the Gunroom today, you know."

"So, Tyler decided, then?" Cory pulled his gunshirt over his head. "When did that happen?"

Todd threw his brother's shorts at him and said, "Tyler told me just as the party was breaking up. He also told me that Alfie is going home today."

Cory fumbled his shorts up his legs. "Really? Is he walking? There are no White Knuckle flights until Monday morning."

"The Gunner used some pull with the Movements Office." Todd held out his hand and pulled Cory to his feet. "Alfie is going home first class, Air Canada, direct to Windsor. The Gunner even arranged for a staff car to take Alfie down to Victoria to meet the flight."

They gathered up their blankets and began walking along the narrow pathway that would take them out of the woods. Once they had cleared the trees Cory sniffed loudly. "We also need to shower," he said dryly. "We smell of Eau de Dry Spooge."

Todd laughed and smacked Cory's bottom. "After what we did I am not surprised. First we shower, then we sleep." He stopped and pulled Cory up short. "There is also something else we have to do."

"What is that? If you think I'm going to roll and stow Greg's undies for him you've got another think coming. He might have a nice ass and a decent set of parts that does not mean that I am going to . . ."

"Greg is not who I am talking about, Cory!" said Todd sharply. He held Cory's arm tightly. "We have got to start keeping our eyes and ears open. We have got to listen to what the other guys are saying."

Cory thought a moment and nodded. "I understand." He gave Todd a concerned look. "You are really worried about this mysterious stranger going around making the boys happy."

As they resumed their walk towards the Staff Barracks Todd gestured toward the darkened barracks ahead of them. "This