Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.
This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or hear any of you thumping bibles about. Write me, I'll be glad to give you some excellent web sites. To all the anti-this and anti-that, Bible Thumpers, Libertarians and the ACLU, the bankrupt and increasingly irrelevant United Nations, please do not send me e-mails espousing whatever cause you're touting. I have no time for claptrap.
As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature, or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.
This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.
I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please send comments and kudos to paradegi@rogers.com
The Boys of AURORA - Chapter 4
For some reason, in times of crisis, Harry was drawn to the water. He found the soft sighing of the waves against the beach, or the lap of the waters against the pilings of the jetty, soothing. At times when he was troubled he wished that he lived on the coast, rather than far inland in Manitoba. Today was a day when the water called to him, a day when it seemed as if a dark cloud hovered over his soul.
As soon as he could after the soccer game ended Harry had returned to the Gunroom, hoping to be alone for a while. Of course, when he wanted the place empty, the Gunroom was a hive of activity. The Twins were at one end of the mess table. Todd was putting the finishing touches on a pair of somebody's white uniform trousers. Across from Todd, Cory sat muttering over a telescope, which he was just starting to decorate with his exquisite rope work.
At the other end of the long, wooden table Two Strokes and Greg sat bickering over a chessboard. Harry heaved a small sigh of relief. If anyone could keep Greg on the straight and narrow - which is what he seemed to want - it was Two Strokes.
Thumper and Fred were sprawled on Fred's bunk playing cards, although Thumper seemed too distracted by the pale, bell-like, pink head of Fred's dick, which was peeking out from the leg of his boxer's, to know if he was playing cards or mumblety-peg.
After a quick shower and change into fresh clothing, Harry wandered down to the Dockyard, greeting the crews of the YAGs tied alongside the long jetty as they went about their normal in-port duties. It was a shame, really, that the crews of the small wooden boats lived apart from the rest of the cadets. They never got to know the other guys and never seemed to be a true part of AURORA. It was as if the YAG cadets lived apart, inhabiting a different, separate world. They were always off somewhere, it seemed, sailing the inland channel or exploring the small islands that dotted the coast.
When he reached the end of the jetty Harry settled himself on a bollard. He stared glumly into Comox Harbour, watching the sailboats dart about, listening to the shrieks of the seagulls as they squabbled and complained to one another, or fought viciously over a particularly tempting piece of flotsam. He sat alone, thinking.
In many ways Harry was at peace with himself, for all that he had tossed and turned half the night. He realized that he was attracted to boys, as well as girls. He felt comfortable with girls, and wanted to experience sex with them. He also felt a strong urge to be with boys, this urge stronger and more compelling. It was as if he needed to feel the warmth of a boy, the hand of a boy on The Pride, needed the taste of another boy, to feel complete. It had taken him a long time to accept his bisexuality, but now that he had accepted it he could get on with his life. He felt no guilt at all about liking boys, just as he felt no guilt about his on-going relationship with his brother Nicky, a relationship that had begun more than six years before when Harry had awoken in the middle of the night for a much-needed pee and found his brother happily flogging away. Harry, who was no stranger to masturbation, having discovered that if he rubbed his immature little boner long enough the most wonderful feelings resulted, watched fascinated as his brother growled to what was a most enjoyable and successful eruption.
Harry's gasp as Nicky shot his load caused the older boy to start and all but jump off the bed, the look of frightened shock on his face quickly changing to one of amusement when he saw the impressive bulge in his younger brother's tighty-whiteys (Harry had recently rebelled against maternal admonitions and taken to going to bed in his underwear. He saw no sense in getting undressed and then getting dressed all over again, and refused to wear pyjamas). His first foray into sex with another boy was delayed while Harry hurried into the bathroom (the urge to pee far outweighing the urge to crawl into Nicky's bed) where, after much huffing, puffing and muttering of swear words he accomplished his mission. Harry returned to the bedroom he shared with Nicky where he demonstrated that even at the age of 11 God had blessed him. Not yet having reached puberty he also demonstrated the ability to have frequent orgasms (all dry), much to Nicky's chagrin. He had to recharge for at least an hour after he ejaculated.
Harry's relationship with his brother Nicky had continued right up until the day he left for AURORA. During that time they had progressed to necking, kissing, and just enjoying being boys and brothers. Thinking of Nicky made Harry think of Greg, who was his brother in spirit, which was one of the reasons he had spent the night tossing and turning in his bed. Harry realized that he had treated Greg shabbily, had treated him as a summer fuck, and denied him the love and affection he should have shown a brother.
Glowering at the squabbling seagulls, Harry sighed explosively. If only Greg had viewed their relationship as one of friendship and mutual satisfaction. When he had given in to his true yearnings and slept with Greg, Harry had assumed, wrongly, that they would fool around and that would be the end of it. He had not, in his wildest imaginings, considered that Greg had those same yearnings and would fall in love with him.
Harry pounded his thigh with frustration. Damn it to hell. Harry liked Greg as a person and as a some-time lover. He would have been more than willing to share his body with Greg if only Greg had understood that they could never be anything more that fuck buddies. Harry had given his heart to Stefan, and unless and until Greg understood that they could never have a relationship.
The Twins understood. They always understood. Cory and Todd understood that it was possible for a boy to be in love with another boy, while at the same time loving another boy, or boys. Greg did not understand the subtle difference, which explained why he and Harry could never truly be lovers. As Harry now thought he and the Twins would be.
Harry had not answered Cory when his friend had wanted to know if they would eventually fuck. Harry had not answered because he did not know. He had, at first, thought to save himself for Stefan. Then he thought that saving himself was foolish. He and Stefan had had a long talk about sex before the boy went home and both had agreed that while they did very much want to consummate their love for each other, they would wait until Stefan was at least 18. Stefan had reluctantly agreed. But only with the understanding that it would happen and that Harry would not be alone. Harry had not quite understood the reasoning behind Stefan's argument. Until now. Stefan had understood that Harry would want, indeed need, to be with another boy from time to time. He had also understood that Harry had given his heart and his soul to him and would always be his. Stefan understood. The Twins understood and Harry now understood. When the time was right he would sleep with the Twins. He would not sleep with Greg, ever. Harry was so lost in thought that he sensed, rather than saw or heard Greg sit down beside him.
Greg dangled his legs over the edge of the jetty. He had seen Harry leave the Gunroom and had made his excuses to Two Strokes and followed Harry down to the Dockyard. He needed to talk to Harry, if only to clear the air between them. He wanted Harry to be his friend. He could live without Harry being his lover and Harry needed to know that. Harry also needed to know about the letters. Greg sat silently, staring into the dark waters of the bay, gathering his thoughts. He was not at all sure how Harry was going to react to him being here, but he did want to make his peace with Harry. "Nice night," Greg began tentatively. "Cool."
Harry nodded. "I like it like this." He looked at Greg. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. You?"
"I'm okay."
They sat silently for what seemed, to Greg, forever. Finally, he took the bull by the horns. "I'm sorry, Harry. I mean that, from the bottom of my heart." Harry shrugged. "I know. We all say things sometimes, when we get mad, that we shouldn't."
"Still, I shouldn't have said it. Not about the Twins, not about Stefan."
Harry looked at Greg and smiled thinly. "Greg, in a way you helped me this morning. You made me realize that sooner or later my love for Stefan is going to draw some very unkind remarks. I have to learn how to deal with them. Getting mad and beating the shit out of you is not going to change anything."
"I hurt you, Harry."
"Yeah, you did. You hurt me, and you really hurt the Twins. They didn't deserve that crack about fucking their brains out. Even if they do it, it's none of your business."
Greg coloured. "I know, Harry. I told them this morning that I was sorry. They are what they are, just as you are what you are and I am what I am."
"So, just two fags sittin' on the jetty?"
Greg's face turned stony, then softened. "Yes, Harry. Two fags sittin' together."
Harry patted Greg's shoulder. "It's hard to admit it. I know. I've been denying it since I was old enough to understand about guys liking guys."
"Admitting it is not accepting it."
Harry shook his head sadly. "You either accept it, and accept that being queer is part of who you are and part of what you will be, or you spend the rest of your life living a lie. Is that what you really want?"
"Yes," replied Greg firmly. "There is no room in my life, in my family, in my neighbourhood for a queer. When I go home next week, Victoria never happened. When I get off that plane in Trenton, Victoria never happened."
"I never happened?" asked Harry softly.
Tears welled in Greg's eyes as he looked at the handsome young man he knew he loved. He reached out his hand to touch Harry, and then quickly withdrew it. "You happened, Harry," he whispered. "I'll remember what we did together forever. But it can never happen again." He wiped his tearstained cheeks. "This morning . . .this morning the Twins made me realize that what I liked was the sex. I liked the sex with you. It was good, and I don't regret that part of our relationship."
"What about Stephen Tyler? Did he never happen?" Harry squeezed Greg's shoulder. "You can't deny the way you felt about him."
"He happened." Greg sniffed loudly, clearing his sinuses. Then he shook his head and glanced at Harry. "We never had sex, Stephen Tyler and me. We fooled around, yeah; he beat me off and dry humped my leg. He wanted to have sex with me, but I wouldn't do it."
"You still think about him, and what he meant to you, don't you." Harry's voice was low and full of the sympathy he felt for his confused friend.
Greg grinned, a sheepish look on his face. "Yes, Harry, I still think about him. He sent me a letter."
"You never told me."
"I keep it in my wallet." Greg continued on, "It's a love letter." Harry regarded Greg a moment. "You're not going to write back, are you?" Greg stood up and stared across the waters of Comox Harbour. "No. He wants from me what I wanted from you. I can't give it to him, just as you can't give me what I wanted."
"You're just going to lock away all your feelings for him, for me, then?"
"Yes. I want your friendship, Harry, nothing more. No more sex. No helping a buddy out. That's over and done with. All I want is to be your friend."
"You've always had my friendship, Greg. You never really lost it."
Greg smiled. "I'm such a prick, Harry. And a coward."
"A coward? Why? Because you're afraid of what you feel, and because you're afraid you're basically running away from yourself, your feelings?"
Greg laughed quietly. Trust Harry. In many ways he was like the Twins. Like Cory and Todd, he never beat about the bush. Harry always managed to get right to the heart of the matter. "I'm afraid of that, yes." Greg grabbed Harry's hand and looked at him pleadingly. "Harry, I have to be afraid. So do you, and the Twins, Tyler, Val, all of us."
Harry asked for an explanation and Greg told him about the letters. He also told him about his conversation with The Phantom, the Twins, and Tyler, and the conclusions they had come to. When Greg was finished Harry's face became hard. "I can understand your being afraid, Greg. You're going to go home and you're going to become what your parents, and your friends there want you to be. Sooner or later you'll meet a girl, and you'll get married, and probably have a lot of kids."
"That's right, Harry, and so will you."
Harry nodded his agreement. Then he looked evenly at Greg. "I will, probably, get married and have kids. I want that as much as you do. The difference between you and me will be that I'm not going to do it because it's expected of me, or that I have to. I'll do it because I want to do it."
"But what about Little Big Man?"
Harry snorted his derision. "Let him do his worst."
"Harry, you've got to understand that that little prick can and will make big trouble for you."
Harry turned and placed his hands on Greg's shoulders. He looked directly into Greg's eyes. "I understand, Greg. I understand that Stefan is only 13, which makes me a child molester. I understand that I can, if our relationship comes out, be sent to jail. So be it."
Greg saw something in Harry's eyes that both intrigued and frightened him. "Harry, jail?" he whispered.
Harry nodded firmly and squared his jaw. "To protect Stefan, I will lie. I will tell whoever asks that I forced him to do it. To protect Stefan I will lie, steal, cheat, whatever! As long as I live, as long as God gives me the strength to do it, I will protect Stefan. If I have to go down, I go down alone." Harry released Greg and returned to stare into the dark waters of the harbour. "I go down alone," he repeated. Then he wheeled. "Walk back to the Gunroom with me, please?"
They walked in silence until they reached the barracks yard, when Greg turned and without preamble or warning embraced Harry and kissed him deeply. "In a better world I could love you, Harry," said Greg when they pulled apart.
"I know," murmured Harry softly. "But it will never be." he put his arm around Greg's shoulder and together they entered the Gunroom.
As they drove past the Guardhouse The Phantom waved at Dirty Dave the Deacon, who was the Duty Officer and Chris, who was the Duty Chief. He sat back in his seat and smiled a small smile at The Gunner. "What?" The Gunner had seen the smile and wondered what he had done to deserve it.
"I love you very much," said The Phantom. He placed his hand on The Gunner's arm.
The Gunner reached over and placed his hand on The Phantom's. "Phantom, you have no idea how much that means to me. I love you, Phantom. For a long time I never thought I could ever love somebody again. Then you came along."
The Phantom squeezed The Gunner's hand and smiled. "You didn't get much," he said, half in jest.
The Gunner laughed. "I got exactly what I wanted. A warm, loving, caring young man who gives me much more than I can ever give him."
"I got what I wanted," said The Phantom warmly. "Something I plan on keeping and never letting go of." He released The Gunner's hand, then reached down and gave The Gunner's crotch a squeeze.
The car swerved as The Gunner reacted to the squeeze. As he brought the car back under control he shot The Phantom a dirty look. "Phantom, as much as I enjoy it when you're in a playful mood, grabbing my balls while I'm driving is not such a hot idea."
"But you do enjoy it." The Phantom squeezed again and then began rubbing the growing bulge in The Gunner's trousers. "Boy, do you enjoy it!"
The Gunner started laughing and slowly pushed The Phantom's hand away. "Stop it now, Phantom. I have to talk to you about something."
A sigh of disappointment escaped The Phantom's lips. "Something I've done?"
The Gunner shook his head. "Something I'm going to do. "
"Which is?"
The Gunner debated just how much he could tell Phantom. He was bound by an oath of secrecy not to divulge to any outsider anything about the Order. He did not want to lie, but he could not tell the truth, at least not all of it. "I have to go to Vancouver, for a conference," he said. Not quite a lie.
"For how long? When will you be going? Is it overnight?" asked The Phantom, his words all rushed together. "You're not going tonight, are you? Please tell me that you are not going tonight!"
"Slow down, Phantom, slow down."
The Phantom shut up, caught his breath, and then continued. "Gunner, we haven't been together since Victoria!"
The Gunner laughed uproariously. "You're just horny!"
The Phantom growled. "Yes, damn it, I'm horny! I want to sleep with you. . ."
"We slept together last night!" interrupted The Gunner. "This morning you told me I had a nice ass!"
"It is a nice ass!" The Phantom shot back. "And I would like to be able to do more than just look at it!"
"Well, if it will make you feel any better, I'm not leaving until after the range shoot on Thursday."
"When will you be back?"
"Late Sunday or early Monday morning. So we can be with each other tonight, and tomorrow night."
"What's the conference about?" asked The Phantom, feigning disinterest. "And whose going to be there?"
The Gunner smiled slowly. Phantom was curious, which he couldn't help being, seeing as he was a natural born snoop. That he was also a little suspicious was not all that surprising. Vancouver to Phantom meant Joel. Which was laughable. The last person the Order would ever invite to join was Joel. The Order eschewed all publicity, working in the shadows and behind the scenes, its members doing nothing that would bring attention to themselves or to the Order.
"I belong to an organization," began The Gunner slowly, and carefully. As much as he trusted Phantom he could not tell the boy too much. " . . . An organization that tries to help gays in trouble. We give them money, provide funds for lawyers if they need a lawyer, things of that nature."
"A charitable organization, then?"
The Gunner chuckled. The Order was hardly that. "Well, we are not the Sally Ann. We just try to help out where and when we can. We meet once or twice a year and discuss our plans, elect new officers and so on."
"And it's just for gays?" The Phantom thought this Order interesting and intriguing.
The Gunner shook his head. "Anybody can join, but it's hard to get into and while the bulk of the membership is composed of gay men there are some straight members."
"Is Lieutenant Clayton a member?" asked The Phantom. "Is Chef?"
The Phantom was blatantly fishing and The Gunner knew it. "No, I don't know, and to answer the unasked question, no Joel is not a member and no I will not be seeing him. He is a part of my past, now."
"He fucking well better be," snarled The Phantom, so low that The Gunner could barely understand what he had said.
The Gunner had long ago learned that some things would never change. Phantom was jealous and blamed Joel, wrongly, for their not being together sooner. In a way he was flattered. He had never had anyone feel jealous about him before. While he was flattered, The Gunner was also a trifle miffed. He would never take Phantom to task over his ongoing relationship with Ray. He was not jealous of Ray, even though he was more than certain that it was only a matter of time before Phantom and Ray took the physical side of their relationship to a level or thirty above a masturbation session in a Victoria motel. "Ah, well," he thought, "some roads are best left untravelled." The Gunner pretended that he had not heard The Phantom's grumble. "In the event, I'll have very little time for sightseeing or visiting. What with meetings and discussions, then a dinner, I'll barely have time to scope out the Naval Stores in DISCOVERY. I figure I can scrounge some steward jackets there and save myself a trip to Victoria." "Ah, SHIT!" exploded The Phantom.
"What's the matter now? You're going to need steward jackets and . . ."
"It's not that," said The Phantom in a calmer voice. "It's the Dining Room. I was hoping you'd help me move it."
"Move it where?"
"My basement. Chef wants me and Ray to look after the Dining Room and since Ray lives in Ottawa . . ."
"From the sound of it your basement is starting to look like Fibber McGee's closet, what with the booze, now the Dining Room . . ."
"Whose closet?"
"Never mind, it's not important. I'd love to help you Phantom, but it will have to wait until next week. Too bad you can't drive."
"I can drive!"
"You can? You never told me."
"I can drive," repeated The Phantom. "My Dad taught me last year when I got my Learner's Permit. I just never got around to getting my license."
"Really? And here I am thinking that it is every boy's dream that the minute he's 16 years old he feels compelled to rush down to the Licensing Office, get his driver's license and borrow Daddy's car."
The Phantom laughed. "Yeah, I suppose so. My brother sure did. To be honest, though, I really don't need a license." He shrugged expressively. "Comox is not Victoria. I can walk downtown or ride my bike. Since I like riding my bike I don't need a driver's license, or a car."
The Gunner looked at The Phantom, then pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He handed the keys to the Land Rover to The Phantom, who looked at them. "What's this in aid of?" he asked with a questioning look.
The Gunner grinned, opened the driver's door and got out of the Rover. He walked around the car to the passenger side, opened the door and motioned for The Phantom to get out. "Drive," he instructed.
The Phantom got out of the car and went to the driver's side. Once in the seat he waited until The Gunner got in the car and ostentatiously buckled the seat belt around him. "I'm a good driver," The Phantom said defensively as he put the Land Rover in gear.
"We'll see," came The Gunner's noncommittal reply. "Just don't hit anything."
The Phantom was actually a very good driver, careful, observant, and without the lead foot far too many teenage drivers tended to have. The Gunner was impressed and told The Phantom so.
"I took the Courtenay Police driving course," explained The Phantom. "They're big on defensive driving."
"It shows."
"So, do you have anything special in mind, or shall we just drive around?"
"Let's drive a bit. It's early and I want to see how well you handle this beast," replied The Gunner, referring to his car.
"Any special reason?"
"Yes. Since I can't be around, I thought perhaps you could use the car."
"Won't you need it? You said you were going to Vancouver."
"I am. I'm taking the military shuttle flight from Comox. I'm not driving down to Victoria and then taking the ferry across. Rather than leave the car in the parking lot at the airport you might as well use it."
"That would be great!" enthused The Phantom. "I can start moving the Dining Room, and there are some things I could do. A car would be great!"
"There's still the matter of your driver's license, Phantom," reminded The Gunner.
"I can get it tomorrow, no sweat," replied The Phantom as he braked at a traffic light. "Can you take me? I need a car anyway for the test. Please, Gunner?" The Gunner decided to tease The Phantom a little. "I don't know, Phantom. Tomorrow is a very busy day. You've got your lesson plans to get ready, I've got a lot to do before I leave, and Chef might want you around to do some work." The Phantom tried to keep the whining tone out of his voice. "Aw, come on, Gunner, please. It won't take more than an hour, tops. Please?" He looked at The Gunner and waggled his eyebrows. "I'll make it up to you, tonight."
The Gunner roared with laughter. "An offer that cannot be refused!"
"So you'll take me?"
"Yes."
"And let me use the car?"
"Only if you promise not to speed, pay for the gas you use, change your undies every day and eat your vegetables like a good boy."
"Gunner!"
"Okay, okay. You can drop me at the airport on Thursday night and pick me up when I get back. Deal?"
"Deal!" The Phantom grinned. "So, where to now? You want to just drive around or would you rather head for your place and . . ."
"Eat!" said The Gunner firmly. He saw the fleeting look of disappointment that crossed The Phantom's face. "After we eat, we'll see." He grinned evilly.
The Phantom returned a grin that was just as evil. "So, you want to cook or do we get take away?"
"Definitely take away. Why cook when we can be doing other things?"
"Okay! Chinese?"
"Fine by me. You know a good place?"
"Do I." The Phantom pressed his foot on the gas and the car sped ahead.
"Phantom!" warned The Gunner.
The Phantom released the gas pedal. "The sooner we finish with the main course, the sooner we get to dessert!"
"Phantom!"
"This chinkeenosh is not all that bad," said The Gunner as he showed off his prowess with the chopsticks he held in his hand. "You should try using chopsticks."
"I'll stick with what I know, thanks," replied The Phantom as he waved his fork at The Gunner.
"You have no sense of adventure, Phantom."
"My sense of adventure got me here, didn't it?" The Phantom took a sip of wine and looked at The Gunner over the rim of his glass. "And who knows where it will take me tonight?"
The Gunner toyed with the food on his plate. "Would it be up to perhaps going up island with me the week after next?"
"Up island?"
The Gunner nodded. "Phantom, I realized tonight that we really don't know each other all that well. I thought I'd take some leave and we could go up island together, just the two of us and . . ."
"Camping?" exclaimed The Phantom, jumping, as he often did, to the wrong conclusion. "I love camping. We can find an out of the way place, do some swimming, maybe do some surf fishing . . ." His voice was full of excitement and his emerald eyes sparkled.
The Gunner cringed inwardly. He loathed camping and was really thinking more along the lines of a comfortable cabin (most definitely with indoor plumbing) than he was of a draughty tent and a leaf! Still, if that was what Phantom wanted, then he would have it. "Your parents won't mind you going off for a week or so with me?"
The Phantom was about to reply that what his parents did not know would not hurt them when his innate sense of honesty took hold. He groaned loudly. "All I can do is ask them when they get back home on Sunday."
"Wait until Monday," suggested The Gunner. "That way we can ask them together. It will look better and I really would not feel comfortable not telling them, just in case you had that in mind."
"Yeah, well I did, to be honest," admitted The Phantom with some reluctance. The Gunner gestured with his chopsticks. "Sometimes, Phantom, it's better to be open and honest about your intentions than it is to tell a lie."
"And sometimes its better to lie like a rug because if you don't your ass is grass!" returned The Phantom.
"The problem with that premise, my Phantom, is that sooner or later your lies will catch you up." The Gunner plucked a prawn from the cardboard container in front of him and continued on. "These are good. Not too much garlic in the sauce." He finished the prawn and then poured more wine into his glass. "It has been my experience, Phantom, that sometimes it is much better to tell as much of the truth that you can, then let the other fellow's imagination or opinions fill in the blanks."
The Phantom, who had a mouthful of fried rice, mumbled and looked questioningly at The Gunner.
"We are going to ask your parents for their permission for you to go camping with me. We'll be quite open and above board about our intentions. We'll tell them the truth: we'll do some fishing, some swimming, live in a tent, cook over an open fire . . ." The Gunner shuddered inwardly. " . . . All of which is perfectly true. We will do all those things."
A broad grin creased The Phantom's face. "And other things, I hope." "And other things, for sure!" chuckled The Gunner. "And the reason we will be able to do other things is that your parents would never conceive that we'd be doing them!"
"Because they don't think we're gay?" asked The Phantom.
"Precisely!" returned The Gunner. "Your parents do not think that you are gay because you have never given them any reason to think it. You do not conform to their preconceived notions of how a gay man or boy acts. They have met me; I am in the Navy. I do not conform to their preconceived notions of gay behaviour. It helps, of course, to know that they think that there are no gays in the military - your father thinks that, I'm sure - because, as everybody knows gays are not enrolled, period. Therefore I am not a threat to your virtue."
The Phantom nodded his understanding. "In other words, we don't act like a duck, walk like a duck, or quack like a duck, so we can't be ducks."
The Gunner stood up and began clearing the remnants of their meal from the table. "Thus allowing people the luxury of their illusions."
****** With the supper dishes cleared, they retired to living room sofa where The Gunner sat in one corner and The Phantom stretched out full length, his head nestled in The Gunner's lap. The Gunner offered to turn on the television but The Phantom declined. "I'm quite comfortable," he said. "I just feel like lying here, being with you. It's nice. I only wish we could do it all the time." "So do I, Phantom, so do I," replied The Gunner earnestly. "Though, unfortunately, we both know that's not going to happen anytime soon."
The Phantom sighed. "I know. I just wish that I could see the end, you know. When will we ever be able to just be ourselves?"
"It will get better, I think, in two years or so."
Squirming, The Phantom looked up The Gunner's serious face. "Why do you say that?"
"Next December I can take an early out, or I can wait until December of '79, when my enlistment is up. You'll be established in the university in Victoria by then and it will be much easier for us to see each other in a big city, to even live together, if that's what you want.
"It is," replied The Phantom firmly.
"Good, because that is exactly what I want. We won't have to worry too much about nosy neighbours. A university student renting a room in a private house is quite the accepted thing. We'll still have to be careful, though. Hiding in plain sight is one thing. Trumpeting our relationship is quite another."
"Hiding in plain sight?"
"Yes." The Gunner sighed, shaking his head slowly. "People have a tendency to believe what they see and hear. So long as we act the way people think we should act, go about our business in a normal, conventional way . . ."
"Be dull as dirt and pretend to be straight, you mean," interjected The Phantom.
"Yes, Phantom, and so long as we conform outwardly to the so-called normal, accepted, rules of conduct, give no offence, and keep our private lives private, nobody will bother us. Dull as dirt? Yes. Living partly in the closet? Yes. But a hell of a lot better life than the alternative."
The Phantom struggled to a seated position and then cuddled close to The Gunner.
"We'd still be living a lie," he whispered.
The Gunner nuzzled The Phantom's hair, smelling the wonderful, unique scent of the boy. "A little lie, Phantom, a little lie. Better to live a little lie than to keep the big lie going and live in fear all the time. There are far too many guys in the Service doing that now. I am so very tired of being one of that unhappy band of brothers. In two years or so I'll be out of it. I won't have to worry about other people minding my business for me, or pointing a finger and wondering out loud why a man of my age and good looks is still unmarried . . ."
The Phantom tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle. "I heard that!" The Gunner said in feigned outrage. He squeezed The Phantom. "But go ahead and laugh. The day will come when the same thing will happen to you."
The Phantom pulled away. His voice was strong and firm. "I am not about to get married just because people think I should. I'll go along with living a double life . . . with you." He paused and hugged The Gunner close. "I will pretend to be a jock with a cock so big it carries bragging rights, I will date girls, if I have to, I will wine them and dine them, but I will be damned to a pluperfect hell before I put my cock in . . .stop laughing, Gunner, it's not funny!"
It took some effort but The Gunner managed to bring his laughter under control. He looked at the red-faced, seething Phantom. "I'm sorry, Phantom, but the look on your face . . ."
"Be as sorry as you like." He tossed his head in mock anger. "I'm still not screwing a girl and I am not going to get married, ever."
"Even if it means your career?" asked The Gunner quietly.
"What does my being married have to do with any career I might have?"
The Gunner did not answer immediately. He got up, poured two glasses of wine and returned to hand one to The Phantom.
"You trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?" asked The Phantom as The Gunner sat down again.
"More the other way around, if you ask me." The Gunner lifted his glass and sipped.
"You're too easy," returned The Phantom. "So, tell, what does marriage, which I am not going to experience, have to do with my career, or yours, for that matter?"
The Gunner smiled thinly. "It is a sad fact of life, Phantom, that the people around us have preconceived ideas about how other people are and how they are supposed to live."
"Like all gays are effeminate, act like girls and hate sports?" asked The Phantom.
"In a way, yes. Take yourself, for example. You are, for all intents and purposes a normal, run of the mill, garden-variety teenager. You like sports, a little, and you don't fit the so-called gay stereotype. As such you are expected, by your parents, your neighbours, all those around you, to go to college or university, meet a girl, get married, have kids, and so on. You with me so far?"
The Phantom nodded, and then pretended to gag. "But, Gunner, I don't want to sleep with a girl."
"Don't you like girls?" A smiled crossed The Gunner's broad face. "You're supposed to, you know."
The Phantom grimaced. "I like them, but not enough to have sex with them." He leaned his head back and thought, briefly, of Amy Jensen and the day she had stuck her hand up his shorts. "It's not that I haven't had the opportunity . . ."
"But?"
"It turns my stomach." The Phantom shuddered. "The very thought of having sex with a girl just makes me sick. Once I was at a pool party and a girl named Amy put her hand up my shorts. I had a hardon because I was drooling over her brother . . ."
"Drooling?" The Gunner chuckled. "You don't look like a drooler to me."
"You know what I mean," returned The Phantom impatiently. "Anyway, she did and I lost my boner! As soon as she touched me, down it went. Fuck, Gunner, was I embarrassed!"
"Because she touched you, or because you lost your erection?"
"Both! I mean, there I was, with the biggest hunk in town right in front of me, wearing nothing but a Speedo, and boy, could he pack a Speedo! And then his sister goes and tries to feel me up and I lose the boner!"
The Gunner laughed quietly. "I think you were just pissed off you lost your hardon."
The Phantom laughed as well. "Yeah, I was. Hell and sheeit, I figured a couple or four strokes and I would have creamed my Fruit of the Looms! Then she comes along. Hell and sheeit, I couldn't even get a hardon that night, thinking about her touching me!"
"Phantom, I'm not saying that you have to sleep with anybody. The unfortunate thing is that to maintain your cover you're going to have to at least go out with girls. When you become a Naval Cadet you'll be invited to dances and parties, and you'll be expected to have a date. Hell, most of the time girls are provided!"
"They are?" The Phantom lay down on the sofa and laid his head in The Gunner's lap. He squirmed and stretched like a contented cat. "Sounds like pimping to me!"
"Hardly. What it is, is an opportunity for a lonely Canadian boy to meet the local talent. I suppose in the back of someone's mind there will be the thought that you're going to try to put the make on your date."
"No hope there, Gunner," said The Phantom firmly.
"There will be pressure. The older you become the more the pressure increases, and by the time you're 35, look out. People seem to think that if you're not married by 35 that there is something wrong with you. They start giving you funny looks and label you as a confirmed bachelor. That can be deadly."
"That sounds stupid!" retorted The Phantom. "There are men out there who just don't want to get married. They aren't gay, they just don't want to get married."
"I agree," replied The Gunner with a sad smile. "Just as there are women out there who don't want to get married. They get labelled as spinsters, or old maids, or worse."
The Phantom reached up and pulled The Gunner to him. They kissed deeply. "I am never going to get married, Gunner. Let people say, or think what they want. I love you, and I will never betray that love."
The Gunner kissed The Phantom's forehead. "I love you, Phantom. I will always love you. No matter what happens, remember I will always love you. I wish with all my heart that we could be together, always, but we can't. I can only promise you that one day, we will be."
"I know."
The Gunner's eyes were filled with the love he felt for The Phantom. "I will never betray you, and I will never let other people force me into a situation I do not want to be in. I will not get married simply because people think I should, nor will I allow myself to be trapped into an even worse charade by getting married."
The Phantom stirred. He was feeling very comfortable and just a little sleepy. "What I do not understand is why anyone would want to make matters worse. It's bad enough being gay, at least a gay in the military. Why put yourself in a real bind by getting married? Isn't it bad enough just trying to pretend to be straight?"
"It is," agreed The Gunner. "Still, guys do it. They feel they have to. Like I said, people expect the average guy to get married. Since people as a whole do not realize that the average gay is just as normal looking and acting as they are they expect him to follow the rules."
"So you end up living a triple life. A gay man; a gay man pretending to be a straight, macho man; and a married man!"
"Which is playing with fire." The Gunner shook his head sadly. "Some guys can handle it. They know that they're gay, they admit it, and they work very hard to keep their two lives separate, to play by the rules. They at least have a fighting chance. It's the fools who deny their basic instincts that fuck up the works."
The Phantom stifled a huge yawn. "Basic instincts?"
"Phantom, when did you know that you were gay?"
"When I was eight or nine, I think. I used to try to take a peek at Brendan when he was getting out of bed, or having a shower. That was before I found out what a jerk he was." He raised his eyes and grinned. "He's got a nice piece of goods, has Brendan. And he's big."
"Obviously it wasn't just little brother curiosity?"
The Phantom snickered and shook his head. "At first, maybe. Then I used to want to sneak a peek all the time, and then I began to wonder what he smelled like, what he tasted like. Later on, when I was 11 or 12, I liked looking at the other guys in the showers at school, or when we'd go to the beach and change together. It didn't take me too long to figure things out."
"When did you accept the fact that you were gay?"
"Last year . . . no, the year before. I started fooling around with . . . another guy. I liked it, and I wanted to do more. I used to feel bad, sometimes, you know, that I was gay. I used to listen to the other guys, always slagging off fags and queers, and I'd be so afraid that they'd find out about me. I used to go home and pray and pray for God to make me be normal." He sniffed disdainfully. "It didn't work. I'd still wake up queer. So I said fuck it, and started to enjoy myself"
"And you don't regret it?"
The Phantom beamed, and then he blushed. "No, I do not regret it. I know now what it's like to be in love, and what it's like to be loved. It's a wonderful feeling, Gunner."
"Don't I know it. It's too bad that there are people out there who will never know that feeling because they are so desperately afraid of what they really are that they won't ever allow themselves to find out."
"Like Hal Simmons?"
The Gunner did not reply immediately. He gently pushed The Phantom aside, announcing that nature was calling. When he returned from the bathroom he pulled The Phantom close and held him. Even after three years Hal's death was painful to him. "I just don't know about Hal," he said presently. "He was one of those people who never gave any indication of just who or what he was. It could very well be that he just couldn't face life after what happened to him. His family, his friends, and his shipmates abandoned him. He was so totally alone that I can only think that he preferred death to what he considered a hopeless alternative."
"Better dead than queer?"
"For some people, yes, better dead than queer." The Gunner sighed heavily and drew The Phantom's head closer. He ran his fingers through the boy's close-cropped hair. "There are people out there, Phantom, who keep what they are a deeply hidden secret. Maybe Hal was one of those people."
"Still, to kill himself . . ."
"Phantom, we talk about our being gay. We accept who and what we are. There are those, however, that spend their lives denying what they are. They believe that to be homosexual is an abomination and they will do anything, and I mean anything, to keep their secret. They will lie, they will betray those nearest and dearest, anything not to have someone discover what to them is their dirty little secret. If their secret is discovered they will do anything that is asked of them. Because of them the Armed Forces have what they think is a valid excuse not to enrol homosexuals: they can be blackmailed and are therefore a security risk."
A small glimmer of light flashed in The Phantom's mind, silhouetting the scrawny figure of a tow-headed boy with lifeless, steel-grey eyes. "Blackmail? How can they be blackmailed if nobody knows about them?"
"They can be if they slip somewhere along the line and piss in the pickles big time. Who knows how it happens? Maybe they get drunk one night in a bar and some guy will make a pass; maybe they decide to find out once and for all if all the feelings that they're having are really true so they go downtown and pick up a boy. What matters is that someone now knows the truth and if you've spent years in denial, building up a straight persona you will give all your treasure, betray everything you love, including your country, to keep your secret. You have no choice, really, unless you are willing to admit everything, which you are not about to do. Fear, my Phantom, is the mother of desperate deeds."
The image of Jeff Jensen and his brother Robbie suddenly came into The Phantom's mind. How long would it be before Jeff, who had a brilliant career ahead of him playing football for the University of British Columbia, and a good chance to play pro ball, how long would it be before he gave into his urges? How long would Jeff last, a gay man in one of the great bastions of masculinity, where there was no such thing as a gay football player, how long would Jeff last if his dirty little secret came out?
The Phantom imagined what was in store for Jeff: a life of terror and subterfuge, a lifetime of lies. The sad part of it all was that the more the handsome football player lied, and hid his true self, the deeper the pit that would ultimately swallow him became. Shuddering inwardly, The Phantom determined that he would never live such a life, and he would not descend into the pit of despair that awaited Jeff Jenson. The Phantom looked with the deep love he felt at The Gunner. "I will never live that life, Gunner," he said quietly. "As long as you're with me, I'll have hope."
The Gunner did not reply. He leaned down and kissed The Phantom tenderly. "Please God, we will always be together. I do love you so," he said when he pulled away.
"I know," replied The Phantom with a shy smile. Then he yawned ostentatiously. He would think about Jeff, and Little Big Man, tomorrow. Tonight he wanted to be with his Gunner.
"Tired, my Phantom?" asked The Gunner, not at all fooled by the obviously phoney yawn.
"A little, yes." The Phantom stood up and offered his hand to The Gunner. "But not so tired that I can't take you across the river."
"Sounds interesting," replied The Gunner as he took The Phantom's hand. "And what happens after we are across the river?"
The Phantom grinned and his emerald eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Dessert."