Phantom of Aurora by John Ellison
Chapter 9

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With the galley full of caterers preparing the goodies that would be served at the Commanding Officer's Reception after the parade on Sunday Chef, with all the grandness and manners of the Sun King at his morning Levee, gave everybody the night off. His gesture fell flat in that Ray was normally off duty at 1800, Sandro would normally have been in Courtenay (he had stayed back to help with the preparations for the Commanding Officer's reception) and The Phantom left once the galley was squared away and the evening kye made.

After making his magnanimous gesture Chef had assumed the air of a martyr. He would stay behind and man the galley. As they left the Mess Hall Ray told the other two boys that Chef just wanted to keep an eye on the caterers and make sure that they didn't get into his stash of beer. The Phantom chuckled all the way home.

When he arrived home The Phantom found his mother standing at the ironing board, pressing his steward's jacket. On a wooden hanger, so they would not be creased, were his neatly hemmed serge trousers. "Ah, gee, Mum, you don't have to do that," he exclaimed.

"No, I don't, but I want to," his mother replied with a smile. "Sit down and have something to eat."

"I'm not hungry. I ate before I left."

"Well, sit and talk. We haven't done that for a long time, just you and me." She waved him to a chair.

"Where's Dad?"

"Out on the patio, polishing your shoes."

"Mum!" The Phantom wailed.

"You just leave him alone," replied Mrs. Lascelles with a soft smile. "He called an old buddy at the Base and got some sort of special parade polish. It's supposed to be a surprise. So be surprised."

"I will be, I promise, if you leave that." The Phantom pointed at the half-ironed jacket. "I can do it."

"No, I did it for your father. I can do it for you," replied his mother firmly. She sprayed water over the back of the jacket, and then applied the hot iron. "I used to do all of his uniforms, and his underwear. They were these huge old green things, baggy, but he claimed they were very comfortable. Just like the boxers you boys wear now." She finished the jacket and hung it up carefully. "You can put the buttons in later. Just make sure your hands are clean."

"Yes, Mum," replied The Phantom, smiling at his mother.

Mrs. Lascelles sat down and took The Phantom's hand, smiling warmly. "It brought back memories. When your Dad and I were first married there wasn't much money so I did all his things. He'd be out in the field all day and come home smelling of sweat and dirt, just the smell of a soldier." She giggled, remembering.

"I used to complain and one day I told him that he should change before he came into the house. There was a small porch at the back, but would he use that? No." Mrs. Lascelles continued to laugh quietly and The Phantom swore that a blush tinged her cheeks. "Not your father. He drove up to the house and stood on the front porch and took off everything he had on. He rang the doorbell and when I opened the door there he was, stark naked. I almost fainted."

The Phantom laughed heartily. "Dad? Jeez, the neighbours must have loved that."

"The Battalion Major certainly didn't. He was driving by on his way to church. He was a born again Christian, or something. My, the way he carried on. Your father, of course, thought it was all very funny. So did I, eventually."

"I guess he's a little disappointed in Brendan and me."

"Whatever for?" Mrs. Lascelles asked. She reached out and took her son's hand in hers. "He's very proud of both of you."

"Well, he hasn't come right out and said it, but I always got the feeling that he would really have liked one of us to join the Army. You know, follow in his footsteps."

The Phantom's mother thought a moment. "Phantom, your father and I love both you and Brendan very much. He understands that both you boys have to live your own lives and that the Army doesn't appeal to either of you." She beamed at The Phantom. "But then, I think he sort of got his hopes up when he saw your new haircut."

"You like it?"

She nodded. "It suits you. It makes you look older, though. Don't grow up too fast now, Phantom."

"I'll try not to," he replied, furrowing his brow, pretending to be serious. "Though I can't help getting older."

"Tell me about it." His mother patted her greying hair, stood up and turned the burner under the kettle on.

"Mother, can I ask you something."

She stared at him, giving him the old motherly fish eye. "Mother? Phantom, you only call me 'Mother' when you're in trouble. Or up to something. Which is it?"

He smiled at her and cocked his head. "Well, I'm not in trouble. So, I guess I'm up to something."

She sat down, and folded her hands in front of her. "I'm waiting."

"Well, I've been thinking," The Phantom began.

His mother rolled her eyes and shook her head. "The last time you did that you blew up the back bedroom with that chemistry set your Uncle George gave you for Christmas. Then there was the time you thought that the trees would look nice whitewashed, and ended up painting your poor cousin Tommy. Then there was the time . . ."

The Phantom reached out and squeezed his mother's hand. "Mother, I am very serious."

Her son's tone gave her pause. "Why, of course, dear. Please, go ahead."

"Okay, here's my idea," began The Phantom. "I start Grade 13 in September. If I keep my grades up I can go to the university in Victoria as an Untidy when I graduate from high school."

"You will not!" snapped Mrs. Lascelles, her eyes snapping with indignation. "You are a very tidy boy, though your room leaves a great deal to be desired."

The Phantom laughed until his sides hurt. "No, no. It stands for UNTD, University Naval Training Divisions. Untidy. If I get accepted the Navy pays for my university, and I serve five years as payback. As an officer."

"Oh." Then she laughed and reached over to stroke his face. "Your father would like that. And so would I." The kettle started whistling so she got up and made two cups of tea. She gave one to The Phantom who proceeded to dump two huge spoonfuls of sugar into it. Then he added a dollop of milk. She watched him and shook her head. "Just like your father."

She sat at the table, sipping her tea and looking directly at her son. "Are you sure?" she asked presently.

"Yes, mother, I am very sure," replied The Phantom, his voice firm and strong.

She nodded. "It's just that, well, you have never given us any indication that you might want to join the military. I suppose Aurora had something to do with your decision."

The Phantom nodded his head slowly as he replied, "In a way. I like the guys, and I have to admit that the Navy appeals to me. The Gunner - Leading Seaman Winslow - told me about the program and I asked him to get me some information and he did, although I don't think he was all hot to trot about me becoming an officer. I don't think he has much use for most of them."

"Your father never did," replied Mrs. Lascelles with small smile. "He always said that all they were good for was to take care of the paperwork and run up bar chits in the Officers Mess."

The Phantom giggled. "I hope he won't think that about me."

His mother leaned over and kissed The Phantom. "He won't. He'll be so proud he'll have to get a new hat six times bigger than the one he has." She sniffed delicately and wiggled her nose. "Good Lord, Phantom, you smell like liver. And onions."

"The main course on Saturdays."

"Well, your father used to come home smelling of his work, so why should you be any different." She pointed toward the kitchen door. "Go and shower. When you smell better come back down and we'll tell your father what you want to do. I'll bet you a fiver he starts to cry."

"Dad?"

"He's very sentimental. Under all that blubber he's really a big softy."

"Mother!"

******

While The Phantom's father did not cry, he did get choked up, and snuffled a bit when he heard his son's plans. The Phantom and his mother bickered about the so-called bet, and then decided to call it all off.

At 2300 The Phantom's father left for work in Courtenay and his mother, as she always did when her husband was away overnight, took one of her little pills and went to bed. The Phantom, left to his own devices, showered, gave himself his usual hand job, and dressed.

After leaving the house he went to the shack where he sat quietly, listening to the night sounds. He felt very happy. He had made up his mind about his future and he was about to go and do something he loved doing, making another boy very happy. Not that some of them needed any help. Brian and Dylan had finally found each other so he would give them a pass for the next little while, which he was going to have to do anyway since they would both be off on Monday to do their Venture Training, as would Val, who would be their training coordinator.

The two Yanks, Mark and Tony, were obviously serious, if all the whisperings and furtive touching meant anything. And Harry, who was not on his list, but could have been, had met his match in Stefan.

The Phantom giggled thinking about Harry and Stefan and wondered if they were doing anything together. Jesus, he thought, this place is getting like a mink farm. Not that he cared, for there were plenty of boys, and each one had a cock.

Which led The Phantom to think about the boys in Barracks 2. He would visit them, after Ray.

Ray, as he expected, was waiting and responded eagerly. He seemed to enjoy their foreplay, and having his underpants pulled slowly down which The Phantom, whose knowledge of sex was growing daily, thought was a turn on for Ray. A short time later, as Ray moaned and groaned his way to climaxing, he flopped forward, his mouth wide, breathing harshly and gasping, once again soaking the back of The Phantom's sweater, thrusting wildly as he blew his biggest load yet. After their signature farewell kiss and feel The Phantom crept his way through the washplace and entered Barracks 2.

Unlike the other barracks, this one was only half occupied and most of the double-deck bunks had been dismantled, with only single bunks lining the bulkheads, but it was, as with all the barracks, just this side of a rubbish tip, with dirty clothes and gear scattered across the mess table, the few empty bunks piled high with extra bedding, which, in a way, worked to The Phantom's advantage.

Rob, David and Ryan had created a little space of their own separated from the rest of the barracks by a clothing rack and a bunk piled high with blankets and empty suitcases. It was easy enough to see that Rob and David worked in Clothing Stores. Where the other cadets had two complete sets of Class IIs they, and Ryan, had four, each hung neatly on the clothing rack. Extra boots and caps were stored under, and over, the uniforms.

Directly in front of him The Phantom saw the three sleeping boys. The thin issue coverlets covered Rob and David. Ryan lay on top of the bed, half on his side, half on his back, one arm hanging over the edge of the bunk, the other flung back. He had crooked his left leg in his sleep and the leg band of his loose fitting briefs gaped open. His sleep-tossed top sheet and coverlet lay on the deck beside his bunk.

The Phantom glided forward and looked at the sleeping Ryan. He seemed very small in the bunk, a not quite formed man/boy, with the coal black hair and slightly olive skin of his French-Canadian ancestors. He had a round, handsome, almost pretty face; with dark, wide eyebrows over his sleep closed eyes.

Kneeling down, The Phantom gently pushed the light blue cotton fabric of Ryan's briefs around and over his soft, pink, smoothly tapering penis, which ended in a ragged piece of slightly wrinkled skin. Ryan's testicles, though small, were well formed, and contained in a silken-skinned hairless sac. A small copse of curling, stray hairs gathered at the base of Ryan's penis.

Placing two fingers and his thumb around Ryan's thin penis The Phantom gently pulled the foreskin down, revealing a round, well formed head. The excess foreskin gathering in rippled rolls under his fingers. He stroked upward, hiding the curving head, then down. As he did so Ryan's penis hardened and thickened, his foreskin stretching, the now smooth sheath of flesh still protecting, except for a round, neat hole directly over the slit of the neat, little, arrowhead-shaped head that crowned Ryan's thin, deep pink shaft. The Phantom began to slowly masturbate Ryan, gently pumping Ryan's four inches of warm flesh, watching intently for any sign of the boy awakening.

With each downward movement of The Phantom's hand the silky sheath of Ryan's penis drew back to reveal the shiny, deep purple knob, the foreskin forming a tight collar of red-tinged flesh surrounding the curving glans. With his thumb The Phantom slowly and deliberately gathered the clear liquid that oozed slowly from the gaping slit that marred the beauty of Ryan's smoothly flowing helmet.

Ryan's testicles began to tighten, and his hand trembled slightly. His body shuddered and he pulled back slightly. His hips gave a quick jerk and a stream of thin, milky white fluid flew from his dick and gathered in small pools across the fabric of his briefs. As The Phantom's fingers held him loosely Ryan jerked again, and again, an ever-diminishing ribbon of sperm squirting out. The Phantom continued to pump as Ryan's dick, his orgasm over, began to shrink. He continued his slow, rhythmic pumping, squeezing Ryan's soft dick until only the smallest drop of semen seeped out of the thick roll of foreskin that hid Ryan's plum-coloured mushroom.

As The Phantom gently covered Ryan's penis and testicles with his semen stained briefs, his hand brushed against some of the still warm, immature seed that spotted the cloth. He licked the juice, noting that it lacked the potency, the power that the other boys had.

Slipping quietly from the sleeping area and into the heads, The Phantom stood in front of a urinal and fumbled his hard, straining, aching erection from his tight fitting jeans. With a few quick strokes he brought himself off, his ejaculation so powerful that his hips thrust violently forward. His heart was thumping loudly in his chest, and he all but stopped breathing until the last of a huge geyser thudded into the pisser.

When he was finished shooting, The Phantom finger-cleaned his tender, acutely sensitive glans and sat down on the deck, sucking his semen from his finger until there was no more. After perhaps ten minutes he returned to the sleeping area. He had promised himself that he would reward the three boys for rejecting Little Big Man. He only hoped his dick was up to it.

Of the two remaining cadets Rob was by far the handsomer. The Phantom decided to save him for last and turned his attention to David, who was laying flat on his back, snoring softly, his mouth ajar. The Phantom pulled back the thin coverlet and saw that David, contrary to regulations, was naked. His slim, firmly muscled swimmer's body was completely hairless, except for the close cropped brown hair on his head. There was thin, hard stubble, marking his pubic area and David's thick, three-inch, circumcised penis hung over a loosely hanging set of decent sized testicles.

The Phantom remembered that David was the mainstay of his home unit's swimming team, a powerful winning dolphin in any competition. Obviously he shaved his body to gain a few precious seconds. He leaned down and nuzzled David's testicles, which tightened immediately. He sucked David's short, smooth shaft and spongy glans, feeling David's penis harden and lengthen, enjoying the sensation as seven hard inches tried to fill his mouth. The Phantom knew that he could never take in the entire thick, pulsing organ but he was bloody well going to try.

Fisting the thick base of David's hard cock, The Phantom deep sucked the upper half and head, combining his spit and the precum that flowed in ever increasing amounts from David's sex-gorged helmet to lubricate the quickly pulsing organ.

David began bucking and squirming, his balls so tight against his lower belly that they almost disappeared. He began growling, the sound barely audible, his breathing laboured. He began thrusting in tight little thrusts, murmuring softly. Suddenly, David's whole body tightened and his body arched, pushing his dick deeper into The Phantom's tight sucking mouth. He jerked and his balls exploded, slightly salty cum flooding The Phantom's mouth, so much so that he could not swallow fast enough and a thin jet flew from his mouth with such force that splattered along the length of David's turgid, crimson-fleshed organ.

When David's dick stopped pumping The Phantom licked and sucked him clean. He could not believe the amount of spunk that David's balls had produced. His belly seemed filled with it. His own hard dick, frictioned by the cotton underpants he was wearing, was jerking and trembling and his testicles were filled with boiling semen. Before he could even touch himself his body began to spasm and he was engulfed with mind-blowing ecstasy as his penis spurted a steady stream of warm, sperm-filled semen, flooding his briefs, coating his lower belly, and clotting his pubic hair with large globs of it.

Breathing heavily, his body tingling and trembling, The Phantom pulled the coverlet back over David's naked body. As he left the barracks The Phantom massaged the front of his jeans, caressing his warm flesh with the warmer juices of his body.

******

The Phantom slipped into the shadows and sat, his back against the weather beaten wooden wall of the showers that joined Barracks 1 and 2. He removed his woollen ski mask and breathed deeply. He uncovered the face of his watch and noted the time. He had blown three cadets in less than 45 minutes and ejaculated twice. He was debating his next move when the lights came on in the heads, shining through the windows and lighting the area.

Directly above The Phantom's head was an open window. Curious as to who would be up and about at this early hour, he eased himself up and peeked into the room. The Phantom stifled a snicker when he saw, barely ten feet away, Ryan standing at one of the sinks. He was naked, and washing his crotch, making slow, circling movements with the cloth he held in one hand, cupping his testicles with the other.

As Ryan scrubbed his penis began to harden. He reached down, pulled his foreskin back and passed the washcloth over his still enraged, purple-coloured glans. Ryan had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face that The Phantom had ever seen.

The Phantom eased himself down, waiting patiently. Presently the light went out and he was in darkness again. He shook his head and smiled. They never ceased to amaze him, these boys that he pleasured. Ray had given up all pretence of being asleep, as had Brian. Both boys knew exactly what was happening to them, and both of them made every effort to maximize the pleasure he gave them. Val and Tyler were hardly different. Val had obviously been waiting for him the last time he had entered the Chief's Mess. As for Tyler, well, he may have talked himself into believing that he'd had a wet dream, which seemed to be the normal excuse, but tonight would tell the tale.

And another thing, The Phantom thought, they never talk about it. Except for Sylvain and André, he had not heard a whisper of recrimination or anger, and Sylvain and André had reduced it all to a guy thing: guys get hard in the night, guys dream, and bingo, off goes their nut. Both of the French-Canadian cadets had bragged about the size of the load they had shot. And had never mentioned it again.

The Phantom knew that getting a blowjob from a guy carried no bragging rights. Whether out of fear, or desire for more, there were certain things guys did not talk about, ever. They feared talking about the blowjobs, or the butt fucking, or the hand jobs, they gave each other, because to do so would label them queer, faggots or homos. They feared talking about it because, with very few exceptions, they wanted more of what they were getting from or doing to the other guy. To compensate they would go out of their way to be as masculine as possible, playing sports, pretending to chase girls, the whole nine yards.

The pretence of it all was really quite funny. With the exception of Brian, who had been on the giving end, as well as the receiving end, they were all quite content to lie back and enjoy what was being done to them, and pretend the next morning that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

As far as he was concerned The Phantom thought that he was like the guy who robbed banks because that's where they money was. He went to Aurora because that's where the cocks were. And he was honest enough to admit it, at least to himself.

Standing up, The Phantom replaced his ski mask and headed for the Staff Barracks.

******

Val was lying on his bunk, feigning sleep. At The Phantom's first touch he raised his hips and pushed down his plaid boxers, freeing his throbbing erection. Though a little surprised The Phantom lowered his head and began sucking on Val's wonderfully musky balls. When The Phantom transferred his attentions to his delicious dick, Val began a slow, steady, thrusting, thoroughly enjoying himself.

As he neared his climax, Val began muttering softly in Sicilian and his thrusting increased. Suddenly his body stiffened, then arched and with a strangled cry of "Madonna!" his penis began pumping massive streams of his semen into The Phantom's embracing mouth. He finished with one last, determined thrust, and then lay back, his face grimacing, trying not to scream out as the warm, sensuous mouth and tongue ravaged his sensitive helmet-shaped glans. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Val pulled away. "Fuck guy, please, enough," he whispered. "It feels too good."

The Phantom smiled and pulled up Val's boxers. Val immediately rolled on his side and pulled his pillow over his head. Impulsively The Phantom ran his hand up the back of Val's underpants, feeling the rough hair coating his legs, and the smooth roundness of his hard ass.

Instinctively Val crooked his leg, and The Phantom fingered his love trail and still tight balls. He ran his finger along Val's ass crack. Val clenched, then relaxed, groaning softly. As much as he wanted to have another go-round with Val, The Phantom withdrew his hand and moved across the room to where Tyler lay.

Unlike Val, Tyler was asleep, breathing steadily and slowly. A small bubble of spit that had formed on his lips expanded and contracted as he breathed. The Phantom reached into Tyler's white briefs, and slowly withdrew his soft penis and tightly hanging testicles, then without foreplay he lowered his head, engulfing Tyler, the soft dick hardening in his mouth, forming the bullet-shaped, wonderfully warm, erection.

Almost immediately Tyler responded, once again bucking and thrashing, overcome with the pleasure coursing through him. He began pounding the bed then, as his excitement increased, the bulkhead, his fist keeping time with the sucking rhythm of The Phantom's mouth. His thrusting drove his rock hard penis deep into The Phantom's throat.

Tyler began his muttered cum cry, biting his lips to keep from screaming as the dam of pleasure he felt within burst.

A deep, strangled growl rolled from Tyler's throat as his body arched and thrust upward and his dick pumped stream after stream of his thick, sweet nectar down The Phantom's throat. Gulping convulsively for air Tyler continued to thrust, almost weeping as the fire raged, then banked. He collapsed, gasping as The Phantom's lips continued to massage his slowly shrinking penis and then, with a sharp groan, pulled himself away, the pleasure overwhelming the helmet-shaped head of his penis excruciating, and more than he could bear.

The Phantom quickly replaced Tyler's now soft genitals in his briefs and slipped away into the night.

******

Cory was dreaming. He could see, in his mind's eye, a drummer, a drummer pounding a rhythmic beat on a huge, malformed drum. He could see the drummer's hands holding gigantic drumsticks. The pace changed, discordant, with no rhythm, just noise. He awoke with a start and sat up, shaking his head to clear the sleep from his brain. There was pounding, but not from a drum. Someone was pounding on the thin wallboard against which his bed abutted. Puzzled, Cory listened to the muffled sounds and then pressed his ear against the bulkhead.

While indistinct, he could hear a muffled voice, moaning and gasping. Cory knew exactly who was on the other side of the bulkhead. He also knew that Tyler was having one hell of a sexual experience.

As he pressed his ear closer against the bulkhead Cory's hand unconsciously slipped into his boxers, and he smiled wildly as he heard Tyler's orgasm reach its inevitable ending, heard the muffled cry of "Ohfuck OhfuckohfuckohFUCK," as Tyler peaked in orgasmic ecstasy, and then the silence as Tyler came down from his climactic high.

Cory, who was no stranger to orgasms, or to cum-cries, lay back down and chuckled. Good old Tyler, he thought, Sheldon Straight Arrow by day, Manny the Masturbator by night. Who would have thunk it? He was about to file what he had just heard away in the little known facts about well known people file when he heard a door open, then close quietly, then the door leading to the outside open, and close.

At first Cory though nothing of the door closing, and with Tyler finally quiet, he could finally get some sleep! He plumped his pillow, not giving the strange noise a second thought, about to dismiss the whole thing as just a noisy self-administered hand job in the night when he sat up again, jumped out of bed and pulled Todd from his rack. "Todd, wake up, now!" he whispered fiercely, shaking his brother violently in his excitement and then pulling him from his bed.

Todd landed on the deck in a heap. He had only been asleep for a little over an hour and, exhausted from their marathon in the Ropewalk with Chris, was not at his best. "G'way, Cory, I'm not in the mood," he mumbled, pulling his covers over himself and curling up on the deck. "Go wake up Chris. He's always in the mood to play. Fuck off."

Cory resisted the urge to kick Todd. He dropped down and shook him again. "You fuck, get up, now! Somebody just did the dirty on Tyler!"

"Wha . . .?" Todd knuckled the sleep from his eyes and look up to see he brother looming over him. "Cory, what the fuck are you talking about?" he demanded crankily.

"Somebody just did Tyler." Cory shook Todd again. "Get up, dammit, we can catch the guy if we hurry." Cory stood and hurried from the Gunroom.

Todd uncoiled himself and followed Cory outside. Cory was perhaps 50 yards away, peering intently into the darkness, cursing, his white boxers stark against the blackness of the starless night. Todd gingerly made his way to his brother's side.

"Fuck, piss, shit, CUNT!" swore Cory heatedly. "We're too late. The fucker is gone!"

"Cory, just what is going on?" demanded Todd, surprised at Cory's language. Cory rarely swore.

"Some bastard just gave Tyler a fuckin' mind-blowing, ball-blasting, underwear-ripping blow job is what is going on!" Cory returned harshly. "I heard I all!"

Cory stomped back to the barracks, cursing as the gravel he was walking on savaged his bare feet. He plopped down on the cement stoop, staring angrily, cursing, as he removed a sharp stone from his heel. Todd sat down beside Cory and waited until the tirade subsided. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

Cory explained quietly, in detail what he had heard. "So, someone just did the number on Tyler," he concluded firmly.

Todd shook his head. "It could have been Val, you know."

Cory glared at him. "Todd, why would Val blow or jerk, Tyler, then leave the Mess and go wandering off into the night?" he asked impatiently, his tone expressing his obvious exasperation. "Why wouldn't he just crawl back into bed? He sleeps what, six feet from Tyler?" He stuck his hand into the slit in Todd's boxers, rolling his balls gently. "I heard Tyler cumming his nut. I know what I heard afterwards. Somebody was in the Chief's Mess and gave Tyler a blowjob. It wasn't Val."

Todd spread his legs, giving Cory more room to play. He nodded his head. "I have to admit, what you say makes sense. Which is a first. Ouch!" Cory had squeezed tightly at that slur. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," whimpered Todd.

Cory released his grip and resumed his fondling, "So. The question is, what happens next?" he asked. Then he snickered. "For someone who wasn't in the mood you've got a hell of a boner in here."

"We wait. We watch, and we wait." Todd slipped his hand into Cory's boxers. "Talk about boners." He squeezed Cory. "We watch and wait, because he'll be back. Maybe not tomorrow, but, he'll be back! He'll be back because this guy likes cock. My guess is that he's done Val, and now Tyler. Val at least once before, right?"

Cory nodded. "Yeah. At least once before." He thought a moment. "Not that I blame whoever it is. Both Tyler and Val have pretty impressive weapons." He squirmed in delight as Todd's warm hand stroked him gently. "You keep that up and you'll get what the, what did you call him?" he murmured.

"The phantom?" Todd began to slowly draw his finger up and down his brother's firm, erect penis.

"Yeah, the phantom. Why call him that?" Cory growled low, feeling the tingling sensation building in his testicles, which were beginning their retreat upward.

"Well, we have to call him something," offered Todd. "We can't very well call him Clive, or George."

"Okay, the phantom he is," agreed Cory. "And if you keep doing what you're doing you'll get what he got."

"What's that?" Todd shuffled closer to Cory and his fingers encased his brother's throbbing erection.

"A handful of something warm and sweet." Cory grinned and cocked one eyebrow. "Although from what I think I heard it wasn't a handful the phantom got, more like a mouthful."

Todd returned the grin. "I can do that, if you'd rather."

******

The Phantom, unaware of his near encounter with the Twins, hurriedly returned to Barracks 2. He had one more visit to make before his night ended. He found Rob lying loosely curled under the covers, breathing quietly, and hugging his pillow tightly. As he drew down the thin cover The Phantom saw that Rob's knees were drawn up, stretching his loose, baggy white boxers across what had to be the most magnificent ass resident in HMCS Aurora.

Rob's dark brown hair, slightly damp from the heat, loosely covered his high, wide forehead. A thin sheen of sweat covered the immature growth above his pink, well-defined lips. Rob's broad, square-jawed face, relaxed in sleep, glowed softly with the peaches and cream complexion of a wonderfully healthy young male and was lightly dusted with a light brown shadow of a beard. He had the hard, muscular body of the natural athlete; his broad chest smoothly and crisply muscled, with clearly defined abs. His stomach was flat and firm, with just a hint of a treasure trail disappearing into the broad elastic band of his boxer shorts.

The Phantom eased down Rob's leg and ran his hand up Rob's curly haired inner thigh, then under the wide leg opening of his boxers. Rob was already hard, his testicles drawn tight and warm against his body. The Phantom felt the storesman's smooth, tight, five-and-a-bit-inch penis that ended in a firm, curving helmet. His thumb crossed the top of Rob's penis, drawing a large dollop of precum around and over the mushroomed crown, rubbing gently at the knot of scar tissue directly under the head where it joined the pulsing shaft.

Rob moved and slowly stretched his legs out, allowing The Phantom's hand freer access as he fondled his tight ball sac, feeling the tight circle of hair that disappeared between the boy's legs. Then he reached into the wide slit in Rob's underpants, bringing forth his wonderfully formed erection. He quickly took Rob's throbbing cock in his mouth, sucking gently as he moved down to bury his nose in Rob's rough, springy, pubic hair.

The Phantom smelled the magnificent aroma of Rob: sweat, fresh washed teenager, clean, faintly bleachy boxers, body oils and the delicate musky odour that all males have.

Rob began thrusting slowly, pushing his erection, iron covered with silk, deep into The Phantom's mouth, a slow inch at a time, then withdrawing, then pushing forward, his body trembling, his muscles tightening with each gentle thrust. Rob was breathing heavily, his body arching, each thrust an exercise in self-restraint as he struggled to obtain maximum enjoyment from the wetness and warmth surrounding his jerking cock.

As a thrill of exquisite delight flashed through his body, The Phantom ran his tongue along the blood-engorged vein that ran along the underside of Rob's penis, then pulled upward, sucking and licking the glorious dick that filled his mouth, his tongue washing clean Rob's smooth- skinned, spongy helmet.

Rob whimpered softly, then his face contorted and his mouth formed a small "O" as his hips pushed upward and his cock slit opened and a thick gobbet of his bittersweet sperm filled The Phantom's mouth.

As Rob's cock pumped gusher after gusher The Phantom held it tightly in his mouth, swallowing slowly, enjoying every pearl drop. As the flow of semen diminished Rob began to move his hips in small little jerks, trying to withdraw, the sensitive head of his penis unable to tolerate the touch of The Phantom's mouth.

The Phantom allowed Rob's still throbbing dick to fall from his mouth, the top of it rubbing against his chin as it fell down between Rob's spread legs. He reached down and held the soft, warm, still twitching organ, about to return it to its hiding place in Rob's boxers when Rob's hand moved, covering his. Rob threw his free arm over his eyes, as if afraid to look at the boy who had just given him such pleasure. "Thanks for coming back," he murmured.

"You heard?" asked The Phantom. Then he realized the stupidity of his question. Of course Rob had heard him pleasuring David.

Rob nodded his head. "Will, um, will you come back?"

"I will. If you like."

Rob nodded vigorously. "Oh, yeah, man. I like."

******

It was Sunday morning. Der Tag had arrived and in every barracks turmoil reigned as the cadets cursed, swore, whined and cried as small defects in their uniforms and boots became apparent, requiring immediate attention, so much so that each barrack pulsed with unaccustomed activity as needles and thread were plied, boots polished, Irish Pennants snipped, cans of spray starch hissed and irons filled the close quarters with steam.

In the Gunroom, the Twins, by Appointment, Bespoke Tailors and Suppliers of Uniforms to the Gunroom, and wearing only white boxer shorts, had been up since before the crack of dawn when they were awakened by the shouting and tumult created by the Venture cadets returning, 24 hours late, bug and mite-bitten, scratched, sunburned and in foul moods, made fouler when they found the new white Class II uniforms on their bunks.

Stuart, and the Baby Buffer, Steve, immediately shook the Twins awake. "You gotta help us!" begged Stuart. "There is no way we can do our boots and get these fucking uniforms tiddly without you."

"Yeah, come on, Todd, you gotta help us," echoed Steve.

Todd glared at the two apparitions, one tall and thin, and the other short and thin. They were both clad in puke green, soiled, issue boxers. Stuart's fair skin was chafed and red, and there were several angry red bite marks on his chest. Steve, shorter and stockier than the Buffer, was just as dishevelled. He normally took great pains with his personal appearance but this morning, for all intents and purposes he looked like a bag of shit. And smelled like one.

"Jesus, Stuart, you stink!" griped Cory, getting out of bed. He sniffed loudly. "What were you guys sleeping in? Cow shit?"

"You try humping your ass all over Mount Washington in a heat wave for seven days and see how you smell!" retorted Steve.

From out of the blue a pillow flew through the air and hit Stuart on the back. "You guys got nothing better to do than to wake the whole fucking world up?" snarled Greg. He sat up and shook his head clear. "And what is that Godawful smell?"

"Us," admitted Stuart.

From the far end of the Mess Harry gasped ostentatiously. "You guys smell like a whorehouse in distress."

"Ah, come Harry, give us a break. Please?" begged Stuart.

"Okay." Harry rolled over and stuck his hand down the front of his briefs, thinking of Stefan.

Todd sighed heavily and looked at Cory, who shrugged. "What the hell, we're up now anyway."

"So is the whole fucking Gunroom," muttered Two Strokes from the depths of his bunk. He was roundly ignored.

"First thing you do is go take a shower," Todd ordered. "I am not touching either of you smelling like that!"

"And burn those drawers!" Cory shooed the two Boatswains towards the showers. "How did you manage to get skid marks on the outside of your shorts?"

Stuart and Steve stripped off, giving the Twins a bird's eye view of their wind and sunburned bodies, lobster red except for the square patch of stark white skin where their underpants had protected their bodies from the elements and as the two Buffers hurried into the showers Chris rolled groggily out of his bed.

"Go back to sleep, Chris, you don't have to get up for hours," said Todd.
Chris stretched and scratched, yawned mightily, stood up, shook the sleep from his brain and absently scratched at his crotch. "Guess who gets to supervise the work party setting up the parade square." He pointed his thumb at his chest. "Little me, that's who."

"Not so little last night," murmured Cory. He began rummaging in his sea locker, snickering to himself.

Sputtering and snorting Greg crawled out of bed. "I might as well get up if the whole world is going to be tramping through here."

Cory turned from his sea chest and was rewarded with the sight he had been aching to see since Greg moved into the Gunroom: Greg's morning woody. Cory's eyes hungrily caressed Greg's wonder jutting from the slit of his boxers, almost seven circumcised inches of brown and coral pink, perfectly proportioned hardon, with a gentle curve to the right.

"Don't get any ideas," warned Todd, seeing the look on Cory's face.

"I can always dream," was Cory's murmured reply.

Greg had overheard the muttered words. He slipped out of his boxers, ran his fingers down the underside of his morning wood, smiled enigmatically at Cory (who was watching his every move), and winked lasciviously. He then picked up his towel and headed for the showers. As he passed Cory he reached out and gave Cory's testicles a gentle squeeze. "You can always dream, Tiger."

Cory was so shocked at having the tables turned on him that his mouth dropped open and he stared at Greg's departing back.

Todd guffawed loudly at Cory's discomfort. The louder he laughed, the angrier Cory became. Finally, Cory lunged, and they fell in a heap on the deck, arms and legs flying.

Calling each other every vile name they could think of the Twins rolled on the floor, engaged in a first class domestic.

The noise attracted Stuart and Steve who stood, dripping from their shower, staring at the Twins rolling around on the deck. Stuart looked over and saw Two Strokes and Thumper, each propped on one elbow, lying in bed, enjoying the scene. "You going to do anything about this?" he asked."

"Why?" Two Strokes asked calmly. "If those two ain't fuckin' they're fightin'." Two Strokes glanced at Thumper. "Bucket of cold water, maybe?"

Thumper shook his head. "Too far to walk to get it."

"Well, hey, you're the fucking Regulating Staff. Aren't you supposed to do something about cadets fighting?" demanded Steve. "They might hurt themselves."

Two Strokes sighed heavily. He looked over at Thumper. "He's right you know. We really should stop them."

By now the whole Gunroom was awake. Fred and Jon rolled their eyes and shook their heads. Harry, pretending that nothing unusual was going on, picked up his towel, stepped around the battling Twins and ambled into the showers. Nicholas sat up in his bunk. "Whatever you do watch out for that little fuck's left hook," he warned. He rubbed his chin, remembering the contretemps after the infamous ball game. "Cory's stronger than he looks."

Thumper shrugged at Two Strokes. "So, what do we do?"

Two Strokes got out of bed and crooked his finger at Thumper. "Follow me, watch, and learn."

Standing over the rolling Twins, his feet firmly planted on the deck, Two Strokes watched carefully, like a Kodiak hunting spawning salmon, waiting for an opportunity. Suddenly his hand flashed out and he grabbed the elastic waistband of Cory's boxers and pulled sharply upward, creating a magnificent wedgie. Thumper, a quick study, did the same to Todd.

Cory released Todd. "Ouch, shit, man, that hurts. Hey, you're crushing my balls!" he howled.

"Yeah, come on, let go!" yelped Todd.

Two Strokes twisted the material of Cory's boxers, increasing the pressure on his testicles. "Only if you promise to be good little Twins."

Faced with crushed testicles and a packed butt crack, the Twins agreed to stop.

"That's good little Twins," cooed Two Strokes. "Now go and shower and put on some clean clothes."

"Don't push it, Roger," warned Todd.

"And look who's talking about little," snarled Cory.

Two Strokes grinned and reached out to gently pinch the pale pink tip of Cory's penis that was peeking out of the slit of his underpants. He cackled lewdly. "You can always dream, Tiger."

Todd grabbed Cory around the waist and hauled him into the showers.

******

Showered and dressed in clean gym shorts, the Twins settled down to help the Buffers. Stuart and Steve, wearing white briefs, stood patiently while their bells were measured, writing off the light fondling they received as the price of doing business with the Twins.

The measuring finished, the Twins started sewing. The other cadets drifted off to breakfast. It was very quiet and they worked without interruption and were almost finished when Two Strokes came in and placed two covered plates in front of them. "What's this?" asked Cory warily.

"Something to eat. Go ahead, it won't hurt you." Two Strokes lifted up the covers to reveal bacon and egg sandwiches. "They're still warm, so eat."

"You're being awfully nice to us all of a sudden," said Todd suspiciously.

"Aw, you guys have been helping out a lot," replied Two Strokes, smiling. "I figured you'd be hungry so I brought you something to eat."

Todd thought back to the night of the baseball game. "You know, Roger, you're not quite the prick you pretend to be."

Two Strokes shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But I don't get paid to be nice. Besides, I want to be Master-At-Arms next year. Then I join the police force back home. I got my priorities and being nice isn't one of them." He left the table, sat on his bunk and began putting another coat of polish on his boots.

Val and Tyler came in and entered their Mess. Shortly thereafter they reappeared fully booted and spurred, two peacocks proudly displaying their plumage.

The Twins eyed the Chiefs and began clucking and fussing, finding minor faults. They made both the senior cadets take off their uniforms and re-ironed everything. Then, when Val and Tyler had dressed, they insisted on putting on and adjusting the high, patent leather gaiters each boy had to wear.

When both Val and Tyler were dressed to their satisfaction Cory stood behind Tyler and smoothed the stiff cotton drill.

"Cory, are you smoothing the wrinkles out or feeling my ass?" asked Tyler as Cory's hands moved quickly across his firm behind.

"Both," admitted Cory honestly.

"Well, I'll give you 15 minutes to stop it."

From what I heard last night ten will do you, thought Cory. He said nothing, however, grinned at Tyler and finished his "adjustments".

Todd, who was doing exactly the same thing to Val, laughed and pushed Cory away.

The Twins then turned their attention to Two Strokes. He had finished his boots and put on his new bell-bottom trousers and a clean, starched gunshirt. The Twins made him turn around so that they could examine the fit of his uniform. As far as they were concerned his bells were decidedly baggy in the seat.

"Two hundred guys here and we get the one with an ass as flat as the back of his head," complained Cory. "He can't go out looking like that!"

"What's wrong with it?" asked Two Strokes, turning his head and trying to see what the hell the Twins were going on about. "It's not that flat."

"Is so!" returned Todd. He gestured and reached for Two Strokes' belt buckle. "Okay, Big Boy. Shuck them. Come, on strip 'em off so we can fix them."

Two Strokes, much against his better judgment, and with a stern warning to the Twins to look, but not touch, began lowering his trousers, only to be greeted with a howl of outrage. "Oh, GAAWD!" Cory moaned. "Your briefs! They're grey!"

Two Strokes looked down at the ribbed fabric covering his privates. "So what? Who's to know? Besides, I don't have any white ones that are clean."

A pair of snow-white briefs smacked him in the face. "Wear those. They're brand new." Greg had returned from breakfast and was grinning widely at Two Strokes' discomfort. "I was saving them for my wedding night."

"A day that will live in infamy," muttered Two Strokes as he stripped off his grey underpants.

Val and Tyler snickered, watching as Cory muttered over the offending bell-bottomed trousers. Although he had seen Two Strokes naked many times before, Todd looked again and decided that Cory was right. Two Stroke's parts were small, but he did have a cute dick. Too bad he was planning on spending the rest of his life wasting it on ungrateful - and mouthy - females.

The Twins settled down to work. Out came the needle and thread, then the spray starch and iron. When Two Strokes was finally kitted out to their satisfaction they sent him away with a stern admonition not to sit down, not to bend over, and for Christ's sake not to take a piss because he'd get yellow stains on the crotch of his bell-bottoms.

"And that goes for you two as well," Cory shouted after Val and Tyler as they left the Gunroom.

Stuart and Steve returned, tempting fate by wearing only tight white briefs under their gym shorts, which they quickly stripped off at Todd's order. He then glared a warning at Cory, who recognized the look, and did not run his hand up Steve's leg as he held out the freshly altered and pressed trousers to the Baby Buffer. Steve had a nice little package that Cory mentally drooled over.

Their trousers approved, Stuart and Steve returned to their barracks. Greg disappeared into the showers and the Twins began dressing. Chris came in, threw a loose bundle of booklets on the table and began to strip off.

"What's this?" asked Todd, fingering the bundle of printed booklets.

"Programs for the service. I had to put one on every chair," replied Chris as he stepped out of Cory's boxers and reached for a towel. "It's going to be a scorcher out there today. We're going to roast in those white uniforms." He draped the towel over his shoulder and went to shower.

Cory began leafing through the program. He snorted from time to time.

"What's up with you?" asked Todd.

"Dirty Dave has dredged the depths for every Naval prayer he could find. Look, Psalm 107, Verses 23 to 30. 'To be read responsively,'" he quoted.

"What's that mean?" asked Greg, walking into the Gunroom wearing only his towel draped around his neck. He leaned over and read the page, his smooth, soft dick brushing against Cory's bare arm.

Cory gulped and resisted the urge to reach up and cop a feel. "It means Dirty Dave says the first verse, then we say the next, and so on," explained Todd.

"They even printed the words to the hymns," Cory pointed out.

Greg moved away and began to pull on his underwear. "What are we singing?"

"The usual. 'The Navy Hymn', then 'Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah'," replied Cory as he leafed through the few pages in the program.

Todd picked up the booklet. "Nice tune, nice words. Mind you, the version we know is better."

"Huh? Cory, can you do something with the hem on these things?" Greg was fiddling with the leg of his white bells. "The stitching is coming out."

Cory reached out and took the bell-bottoms. "We were on an exchange visit to England two years ago." He dug out the needle and thread and began hemming the trousers. "We had to go to some damp old church. We wanted to sleep in, but, oh no, no way, off to Church we went."

"The English cadets weren't any more pleased about it," continued Todd. "So they taught us some verses they knew and we sang them instead of the regular ones. It was a gas." He chuckled at the memory. "It also caused a shit-locker full of hurt to come down on us. Well, not us so much, the English guys, they got most of the blame, but it was funny."

Cory brightened and looked at Todd.

"Do we dare?" asked Todd, returning the look.

"Well . . ." began Cory.

Before Cory could get another word out Todd rummaged in his locker and pulled out a pen and a piece of paper. He sat down and began writing. "Greg, any chance you can get into the Ship's Office?" he asked when he was finished.

"Yeah, sure. What for?" Greg had not known the Twins for long but he could see the storm warning flags being raised.

"So you can photocopy this." Todd handed the piece of paper to Greg.

Greg scanned the paper and his eyes widened. Then, as he read further he burst out laughing. "Shit, Todd, you'll get your ass in a huge sling if you sing this."

Todd shrugged. "It's been there before." He raised his arms in an expressive "What the fuck" gesture. "If most of us do it, what can they do to us?"

"Sing what?" Chris, his shower over, leaned over and read the paper.

"Don't drip on it, dickhead. You'll smear the ink," complained Greg.

Chris read the words, his eyes almost bulging from his head. "Holy fuck, Batman!" He looked at the Twins. "You wouldn't dare."

The Twins shrugged their shoulders, and then looked at each other and grinned. "You said . . ." began Todd.

" . . . The magic word," finished Cory.

Chris groaned. "Fuck, I've created two monsters."

"It's about time somebody took responsibility for those two," returned Greg, grinning. "God denied it years ago."

"Here are your pants. Will you make the copies?" asked Cory, ignoring Greg's gibe.

Greg nodded, then pulled on his pants. "I'll do it," he said firmly. "I'll be back in ten."

After Greg left the Twins helped Chris get dressed, giving him a quick stroke while they did so.

Fortunately for Chris's state of mind, Thumper and Jon came in, and began to change. "Nicholas needs you to look at his jumper. He says the badges need looking at," said Thumper. "And can you help me with my gaiters?"

While Cory found Nicholas's jumper Todd helped Thumper with his gaiters. Greg returned and handed the photocopies to Todd, who showed them to the other cadets. After reading, both Thumper and Jon had to sit down. They had laughed so hard both feared doing themselves an injury.

"Don't say they wouldn't dare," warned Greg. "They will, and they are."

"This I gotta see," replied Thumper.

"And hear," said Jon.

"You will," promised Todd.

******

Mark and Tony, white uniforms hanging from hangers in hand, wandered into the Gunroom looking for an iron. Cory found the iron and Todd dug out the starch. The Twins pressed the uniforms, then ordered Mark and Tony to put them on and when the two American cadets dropped their shorts to reveal their tight, white briefs, Cory shuddered in ecstasy at the sight of their wonderful baskets.

"Don't mind him," said Todd. "He's on heat again. Just don't bend over."

Mark and Tony grinned foolishly. They didn't know if they should take the Twins seriously. Not that they could say anything. Mark still had the keys to the cutter. Todd showed Mark and Tony the revised song sheet. They immediately demanded copies. "We gotta get in on this, Todd," said Mark. "Old Broadhurst will pitch a fit."

"Or at least be scared sober," offered Tony sourly.

Then Harry barged in and dragged the Twins and Chris away to help with the New Entry Cadets. They spent the next hour fussing over Harry's Sea puppies, making sure that their boots were shined, that their silks were the proper length, that their white bell-bottoms bloused just so over their sparkling white gaiters, tying tapes and generally making sure that no disrepute would fall back on Harry if his charges were found wanting.

The Sea puppies were just as fussy, clucking over Harry, making him put on a new silk because the one he was wearing didn't look right to them. The Twins, and Chris, were judged adequate.

"You must look your best, Harry," said Stefan as he tied the tapes securing Harry's silk into a handsome bow, "because you are leading the Band, after all." He fussed about and pulled down Harry's jumper, smoothing the cloth. "Everybody will be looking at you, they always look at the Band first, you know, and did you clean your sash? I hope you did because it's a very nice sash."

Stefan walked around Harry, his hand on his chin, carefully studying the handsome young man. "You look very handsome, Harry. Harry, have you ever thought of switching to boxers? Not that briefs are not all right, I wear them myself, you know, but I can see your briefs line under your pants and it sort of detracts from the overall effect, if you know what I mean. You have a very nice bum. Not like me. I have a skinny bum. But you do have a nice bum and it should look smooth and . . ."

"Stefan . . ." growled Harry, his loving smile giving the lie to his growl.

"I know. Stefan, shut the fuck up!"

"Stefan!"

The Twins, on hearing the exchange between Harry and Stefan, collapsed in a fit of giggling. Chris had to leave, barely able to control himself. The Twins joined him outside the barracks. "That kid has Harry wrapped around his little finger," chuckled Todd.

Cory nodded his agreement. "They sound like an old married couple."

"From the way that kid treats Harry I figure they're still on their honeymoon," said Chris crudely.

"What if they are? The kid could do worse than Harry. He could have fallen for Two Strokes," replied Cory, who had just seen Two Strokes and Jon turn the corner of the Sea Puppies' barracks.

"Did I hear my name mentioned?" asked Two Strokes.

"We were just commenting on how Stefan has sort of adopted Harry as his big brother. We think it is kind of cute," said Cory, all innocence. He had a very good idea of just what Harry's relationship with Stefan entailed and the last person he wanted to know about it was Two Strokes. Well, the second last. Little Big Man led the pack.

Two Strokes snorted. "I have a little brother. I only started looking at him as a person last month."

"What was he before that?" asked Chris.

"A fucking pest!" retorted Two Strokes. "Them little bastards ready?"

Harry loomed in the doorway of the barracks. "What did you call my little brothers, you skinny Kraut fuck?" he boomed.

Two Strokes backed away and held out his hands placatingly. "Just wondering if the New Entries were ready, Harry."

"They're ready, and no thanks to you, sperm breath," retorted Harry, scowling at Two Strokes.

This sally evoked a chorus of loud giggles from within the barracks. Two Strokes coloured and turned on his heels.

"Hey, Two Strokes," Todd called after him.

Two Strokes turned and glared at Todd. "What?"

"Does your little brother like you?"

"No."

Todd turned and looked at Cory and Chris. "Case closed," he finished.

******