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"Good," the Commandant said. "Your trainers will file regular reports with me on your training progress. I expect those reports to be favorable, and I further expect that there will be no repeat of the lies and quibbling that prompted this change in your status. Do not expect that your complaints will find a receptive ear here! Is that understood?"
"Yes sir," I said, softly.
"I can't hear you."
"Yes sir!" I shouted.
The Commandant rose from his chair, and as he did I noticed for the first time what a strikingly handsome and powerfully built man he was. He stood more than six feet tall, and must have weighed 200 pounds, all of it muscle. I guessed him to be in his late 40s or early 50s, with short-cropped hair graying at the temples. He was dressed in a snug-fitting Army uniform displaying a colonel's eagles. There was a hint of an erection below his shining belt buckle.
He reached over his desk and handed me a piece of paper across his desk. It was a confession that I had violated Jackson's sacred honor code by making false accusations against my comrades. There were no details, but there didn't have to be. Signing the declaration was equivalent to signing my own death warrant.
I glanced over at Tommy and Big Dog. They were no longer smiling. Their stares were no less menacing than the business end of one of the rifles we trained with. I picked up a pen and signed my life away. If this document were delivered to my father, both he and my brother would never speak to me again.
"There is still the matter of your lies about Captains Tinley and Richards," the Commandant said.
Thinking that it was a call for yet another apology to them, I started to say the words, but the Commandant cut me off.
"Lean over and put your hands on my desk," the Commandant told me. I moved to comply.
"Spread your legs wider," he said. I did so.
"Put your rear end out," he said. I complied.
"Hold that position while I get the strap," he said.
I heard a zipper, and then the sound of him rummaging around, and my fear grew.
"Okay, Tops, here's how it's done," I heard him say to Big Dog and Tommy. "First thing is to gag the weakling."
Instantly, my mouth was filled with what I can only describe as a substitute dick. A piece of rubber about four or five inches long, shoved in my mouth. The gag was fastened tightly around the back of my neck and left in place.
"Now we go to work," the Commandant said. "Watch carefully."
Somehow, I had expected him to pull down my pants, but he didn't. At first, I took comfort that this would be done while I was in uniform. It made me feel less humiliated, at least in the beginning. Only in the beginning, though.
"Put your butt out farther," the Commandant barked. I did as ordered, feeling outlandish and vulnerable, like a cartoon character. The first few slaps were light. They increased in intensity, but weren't especially uncomfortable.
"Now we start," I heard the Commandant say to Tommy and Big Dog. "This is where the rubber hits the road."
I heard a "whoosh" and then a "crack," and felt a searing pain. Involuntarily, I recoiled. Warmth followed.
"One!" the Commandant said, loudly. "Put your rear end out!"
I did so. A few seconds went by, and I heard a second "whoosh" and another "crack." More pain, then warmth.
"Two!" I heard. "Keep it out!"
By the fifth or sixth stroke, I was in serious pain. By the eighth, I was crying through the gag. The Commandant's pace increased my fear. He didn't hit quickly, but paused long enough for me to dread what was coming. After the ninth hit, I nearly passed out. I heard him say, "one more," and readied myself.
The next thing I remember is the gag being pulled from my mouth, while I curled up on the floor like a baby, whimpering and sobbing.
"That's what happens to a little boy who thinks he can lie his way through a Man's world," I heard the Commandant tell Tommy and Big Dog. "Let him think about it while we go outside for a smoke."
I slowly and cautiously crawled to a chair. It was too painful to sit, and I was too exhausted to stand, so I laid on the floor, trying to move my legs. After a while, the pain subsided and I was able to hobble around the room. A few minutes later, the Commandant re-entered his office with Big Dog and Tommy. I rise slowly, and did my best to stand at attention.
"This is your last chance to apply for an immediate discharge," the Commandant asked. "Resign from the academy, or stay as a Trainee? It is now time to choose. There will be no turning back."
"I request to stay, sir," I replied, softly.
"I can assure you that your future transgressions will be dealt with just as harshly," the Commandant added. "You will come to know the strap. You can be certain of it."
"Yes sir," I said. "I still request to stay, sir."
"Fine," he replied. "Now repeat after me: I, James Stingler, solemnly swear the following freely and without reservation, to be bound forever."
"I, James Stingler, solemnly swear the following freely and without reservation, to be bound forever," I said.
"I renounce any claim to Manhood, current, former, or future," the Commandant said.
"I renounce any claim to Manhood, current, former, or future," I said.
"I am not a Man. I was never a Man. I will never be a Man," the Commandant said.
"I am not a Man. I was never a Man. I will never be a Man," I said.
"Every Man is my superior. I will spend my life in the service to the Men whose ranks I will never join," the Commandant said.
"Every Man is my superior. I will spend my life in the service to the Men whose ranks I will never join," I said.
"I will honor and obey Men, without question or reservation, in any manner that they might require," the Commandant said.
"I will honor and obey Men, without question or reservation, in any manner that they might require," I said.
"So help me God," the Commandant said.
"So help me God," I said.
The Commandant turned to Big Dog and Tommy.
"You may use this room to explain to the Trainee the rights he will have," he said. "When you are finished, make him acquainted with his new home. You can use the rest of the day for that purpose, and resume your normal class schedule tomorrow."
The two cadets stood in front of me. Tommy was the first to speak.
"Repeat after me. I have the right to food."
"Huh? Tommy?" I said, with a pleading look. I felt a slap across my face, and it stung.
"This isn't a game, shithead," Big Dog said, sharply.
"Now repeat after me. I have the right to food," Tommy said.
"I have the right to food," I stammered.
Big Dog stepped forward and slapped me harder.
"You forgot something, shithead."
Tears welled up into my eyes.
"I have the right to food, sir."
"Repeat after me. I have the right to shelter," Tommy said.
"I have the right to shelter, sir."
"Repeat after me. I have the right to clothing while in a public setting."
"I have the right to clothing while in a public setting, sir." Were they going to keep me naked?
"Repeat after me. I have the right to medical attention when sick or injured."
"I have the right to medical attention when sick or injured, sir."
Tommy spoke softly. Big Dog was hard as stone and cold as ice as he sneered, "And you're going to need that doctor if you keeping fuckin' up." With that, he slapped my head.
"Repeat after me," Tommy continued. "I have the right to food, shelter, clothing while in a public setting, and medical attention when sick or injured."
"I have the right to food, shelter, clothing while in a public setting, and medical attention when sick or injured, sir."
"Now repeat after me. Everything else is a privilege."
The enormity of my predicament hit me like a punch in the gut, rendering me speechless and frightened.
"Say it, shithead," Big Dog barked, hitting me again.
"Everything else is a privilege, sir!"
"Okay, that'll do it for now," Tommy said, gently. Pointing toward large canteens of water on the Commandant's desk, he said I could have one of them. I was thirsty, and gulped an entire, large container's worth almost instantly. My caretakers did the same.
"Now let's go," Tommy said. "We've got to have a look at our new quarters."
I never knew just how big Jackson Military's campus was until that day. It was at least three miles to our new home in a small building off in a wooded area, next to a stream that I never knew even existed. To one side was a large field with a dirt running track. Along the way, I was taught forcefully that the likes of me was to walk a half-step behind his caretakers, on the left.
"Wow, they weren't kiddin' about this being in the middle of fuckin' nowhere!" Big Dog said.
"That's for sure ..." I began to say, until I was interrupted with Big Dog's sharp slap.
"Did anyone here ask you for your opinion, shithead?" he barked in a metallic voice. "Did anyone give you permission to speak?"
"No sir," I replied.
Tommy turned to me, and spoke more gently.
"If you want to speak to either of us, you gotta ask," he said, in a tone that made it seem like he understood how strange it was to me. "Remember, you have the right to food, shelter, clothing in public, and medical attention. Everything else is a privilege."
"Yes sir," I replied, softly. It was starting to sink in.
Then he answered Big Dog.
"Yeah, bud, this is way out there, alright. Way out there," Tommy said. "Between the distance and that stream, no one will ever know what's goin' on out here, wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah, I'll say," Big Dog replied, casting a grin in my direction.
As they walked, they chatted between themselves about academy matters. Drills, schedules, instructors, and the like. Their favorite was Survival and Recon Platoon. Their peers had chosen them as their leaders, a rare mark of distinction for second classmen. "SRP," as it was called, had been a frequent topic of conversation in the pod.
I envied the easy banter, the camaraderie, the confidence, and swagger of these two Men. And now they were my guards, and I would be a Trainee, an outcast. My mind reeled as we marched along a path that headed through a wooded ravine. We emerged from the ravine. The cabin – our new quarters – stood in a clearing. Beyond it, a stream trickled. I was aware that my bladder was full, and that I'd soon need to use the bathroom.
Big Dog led the way into the building, beckoning Tommy and then me inside.
"Here we are, home sweet home!"
At first glance the set up seemed similar to the pod, except bigger. A common area, two bedrooms, a bathroom. There was also a small kitchen, and a porch off of the common area, facing the stream.
Three large duffel bags full of gear sat in the common area. Big Dog pointed to them and ordered me to unpack them and stow the clothing and boots in a dresser and a closet in one of the bedrooms. As I did so, my discomfort became intense. I weighed whether I request permission to urinate.
As I unpacked, Big Dog and Tommy wandered through the common area.
"Look here!" Big Dog said. "They gave us a refrigerator full of beer! Tall boys, no less! There's even Cokes here for the weakling. Want a Coke, weakling?"
"No thank you, sir," I said, thinking of my bladder.
"You need a Coke, Jimmy," said Tommy. "Here, drink this down."
Big Dog grabbed a can of beer, and tossed one to Tommy. Tops popped, and within seconds they were drained. I sipped at my Coke, not wanting to fill my bladder further. I began to shift from one leg to the other in discomfort. I didn't know how much longer I could hold it.
"Sir, may I please urinate?" I asked Big Dog.
"You can go after we do," he said, with a smile. "Now finish your Coke."
I obeyed, dancing in pain.
"Atta boy. Now let's go outside," he said, eagerly following he and Tommy onto the deck in hopes that all of us would piss off of it.
"Over there," Big Dog said, pointing to a low bench that faced a higher one. "Sit down on that bench."
I sat on the low bench, squirming, tears filling in my eyes. He stood in front of me, with one foot on the bench, his leg cocked, his gleaming belt buckle at eye level, the fly of his pants straight in front of me.
"I want you to tell me something," he said, looking down at me.
"What sir?" I said, as I squirmed.
"Are you a Man?" he asked.
For a split second I forgot my pain as panic filled me.
"Y-y-y-y-yes sir!" I answered.
Big Dog sprang out of his chair and rapped my head hard with his knuckles. I yelped from the pain and rubbed my scalp.
"So you lied when you swore your oath!" he shouted.
"No sir, I didn't lie, sir!" I replied. "I forgot, sir!"
"So now you're going to tell me you're not a Man?" he said, sarcastically. He began slapping my face.
"He's a Man, he's not a Man," he said, repeating it over and over, while slapping me.
"I'm not a Man, sir!" I exclaimed, tears running down my face. "I'm sorry, sir, I forgot! I'm not a Man!"
"What are you?" he said, as the slapping continued. "Tell me!"
In panic, I looked at Tommy. He sat there, staring at me, not moving. He wasn't going to help.
"Tell me!" Big Dog screamed. "Tell me what you are!"
At that point, I lost control of my bladder, and felt myself getting wet.
"I'm not a Man, sir!" I replied. He kept slapping, and I raised my arms to defend myself.
"Please stop, sir!" I begged in a quivering voice. "Please!"
"I know you're not a Man," he replied, in a low and threatening voice. "Now you tell me what you are."
He evaded my defenses and slapped me some more.
"I don't know what I am, sir!" I cried. "I don't know!"
I broke down sobbing, as my bladder emptied into my uniform and soaked me.
"I don't know, sir," I said, over and over. "I don't know what I am!"
And then I uttered the magic words.
"Please tell me what I am, sir!" I said, quietly, while bent over sobbing. "Please tell me what I am, because I don't know anymore, sir! Please tell me, sir!"
All I heard was the rustling of leaves, and my own sobs, which gradually diminished. Eventually, I looked up to see both of them sitting back on their bench, staring at me.
"How about the three of us have a conversation about what you are?" Big Dog said.
"Please sir," I begged.
"Tell me, are you strong, or are you weak?" Big Dog asked.
"I am weak, sir," I answered, quickly.
"Why's that?" he asked.
"Sir, both you and Captain Richards, and the Commandant, beat me up today," I answered. "I was too weak to do anything about it, sir."
"Jimmy, forget about today," I heard Tommy say, gently. "Think back."
I was silent, and was thinking when Tommy interrupted me.
"Did you ever win any wrestling matches in high school, straight up?" he asked.
"N-n-n-no, sir," I stammered. So he knew what I had done. I had intimidated team mates into throwing matches with me.
"Did you ever win a combat exercise against someone your own size?" Big Dog asked, in a hard and accusatory tone.
"N-n-no sir," I replied.
"Ever win a fight in grade school?" Tommy asked.
"No sir," I replied.
"That's why you're a weakling," Big Dog said.
"Yes sir," I replied. "It's true, sir."
"Are you courageous, or are you a coward?" Big Dog asked.
"I suppose I am a coward, sir," I said, softly. "I have run away from combat exercises."
"That's not all," Tommy said.
"I fixed the wrestling matches because I was afraid of what my father would do if I lost, sir," I added.
"And you chose to be a Trainee because you're afraid to face him if you were tossed out of here," Big Dog said. "That's also why you didn't own up to leaving the towel the one time."
"Yes sir," I replied, glumly. "I am a coward too."
"A weak coward," Big Dog said. "Now are you truthful, or are you a liar?"
We were outside, but it felt like the walls were pressing in.
"I have lied about all kinds of things, sir," I said. "All the time, both at the academy and before. I am a liar, sir."
"Do you know what it means to connive, Jimmy?" Tommy asked.
"Well, sir, I guess it means to have a scheme to do something wrong," I said.
"How did you become captain of the baseball and wrestling teams back home?" he asked. What doesn't he know, I asked myself, in a panic.
"I blackmailed a bunch of the baseball players, and I blackmailed the wrestling coach, sir," I answered. "I wanted ..."
"Yeah, Jimmy, I know," Tommy interrupted. "You wanted your father to think you were a successful athlete, even though you weren't. So you had people throw their wrestling matches, and you got yourself named the captain of two teams, right?"
"Yes, sir, I connived it," I said. "I connived things at the academy too, sir."
"We know," Big Dog said, in an air of disgust. "So far, you've told us that you are weak, cowardly, lying, and conniving."
"Yes sir," I replied, softly.
"Are you the kind who follows orders and regulations?" Big Dog asked. "Obedient or disobedient? You tell us."
That answer took no thought at all. My motto had always been "rules are made to be broken," and everyone knew it. I had prided myself on evading them, and then on the demerits I was racking up at Jackson. Until the Commandant took Big Dog and Tommy's side against me, I had considered myself untouchable.
"Disobedient, sir," I replied. "I bragged about breaking all the rules."
"But you sure as fuck didn't mind having them enforced against others, did you?" Big Dog snarled. "And you had a big problem following orders, such as when I told you three times to shine my boots. I was a sergeant and you were a corporal. You were required to follow that order, shithead."
"Yes sir, I was," I said.
"So now you've told us what you are," Big Dog said. "Come on, repeat it."
I stammered as I tried to remember everything, and Big Dog started shouting at me.
"Coward!" he screamed. "You're a coward!"
"Yes sir!" I replied, "I'm a coward."
"And what else?" he demanded.
I searched my brain for the other things, and was coming up blank. I felt another rap of Big Dog's knuckles on my head, and then his slapping resumed. I was crying, and at his bidding, I was repeating the words: weakling, coward, liar, conniver, disobedient.
The harassment stopped, and as I sniffled, Big Dog asked quietly, "Are you a male?"
I panicked at the implied threat.
"Yes sir," I replied, softly.
"You got that one right," he replied. "Ya got a dick hanging 'tween yer legs. Ain't much to write home about, but it is a dick, and there are some little nuts there too. Yup, he's male. A sorry excuse, but still male."
"Yes sir," I said, actually feeling some pride in having gotten the answer right.
"Are you a Man?" he asked.
"No sir!" I replied. "I am not a Man, sir!"
"What do we call a male who's not a Man, then?" he asked.
I paused. Another trick question? I felt another rap on the head, and a couple more slaps.
"A boy, sir," I replied, as more tears flowed. "I'm a boy sir!"
"Tell me, do big boys cry like you do?" he asked. "And look at you. This isn't the first time you've pissed yourself in front of me, is it?"
"N-n-no sir, I did it once before," I stammered.
More slapping.
"Big boy or little boy," Big Dog demanded. "Out with it!"
"Little boy, sir!" I squealed. "I'm a little boy, sir!"
"Not just any little boy," he replied, with contempt. "You are a weak, cowardly, lying, conniving, disobedient little boy! Tell me!"
"I am a weak, cowardly, lying, conniving, disobedient little boy, sir!" I said, as his slapping resumed.
"Say it again!" he shouted. "Tell me what you are!"
"I am a weak, cowardly, lying, conniving, disobedient little boy, sir!" I replied, interrupted by sobbing.
"You keep saying it until I tell you to stop!" he said, with another knuckle rap to my scalp.
I said it over and over, rubbing my head, and sobbing. Finally, I collapsed in a heap on the ground, crying. I felt more pressure in my bladder, and let more urine out. As the warm wetness spread, Big Dog spoke.
"Look at me, weakling," he said.
I looked up. He towered over me, cruel and handsome. I glanced at his dick pressing against the gray fabric of his uniform, and he caught me.
"In my eyes, weakling," he said.
I looked in his eyes.
"Look at you," Big Dog whispered. "Little boy who will never be a Man as long as you live."
Big Dog stood over me, while Tommy sat relaxing, his legs wide open and his smile wide. They both chuckled softly for what seemed to be forever. I saw Big Dog smirk, and heard him speak.
"I'm going to show you what happens to weak, cowardly, lying, conniving, disobedient little boys who try to be Men."
Slowly, he unzipped his fly, and hauled out his big, soft pecker. In an instant, he picked my cap off the ground and began filling it with his piss.
"I knew that beer'd come in handy," he said, laughing. "Sit back up on your bench. Now."
When I did so, he turned the cap over and put it on my head, the piss splashing onto my head and onto and into my uniform shirt. Meanwhile, Tommy was urinating off the deck.
"Wear it, little boy," Big Dog said, as I sobbed. "Now look at you, pissin' yourself and cryin' like a baby! You can sit there and think about it for a while now, little one."
The two cadets left me there and went back into the building, where I could hear them laughing, as thoughts of degradation enveloped me.
"More used beer here, pisshead!"
Big Dog's words startled me. He had come outside by himself, and was standing over me again. I must have fallen into a trance. For how long, I didn't know.
"Open wide," he said, aiming a stream at my head. It bounced off my lips.
"Look at me!" he barked.
I glanced up to see Big Dog's hard face and balled fist, coiled in threat.
"Open your fuckin' mouth, shithead. Now!"
I opened my mouth. The hot stream invaded me.
"Swallow it."
I swallowed a little, and retched.
"Better get used to it, little one!" he said. "It's good for you."
With a laugh, Big Dog left and went back inside. Once again, I could hear the two of them inside, talking and laughing.
The two cadets roamed through the new quarters, checking the place out. There were study desks, one lower than the other two. A couch at regular height, and a low chair. There was liquor, a pleasure forbidden in the regular pods. A closet held a bedroll. It would be Jimmy's.
"Where should we stick the weakling?" Big Dog said. "Somewhere on the floor, but where do ya think, Tommy?"
"Over in the corner, I'd say," Tommy answered. "Probably not a good idea to let him out of our sight just yet. He's had a rough time of it."
Big Dog laughed loudly.
"No shit!" he said, his booming voice filling the room. "Little shithead has it coming!"
"Well, yeah, true enough," Tommy replied, thoughtfully. "But he's got a lot to get used to, wouldn't ya say?"
"He'd better learn quick, is all I got to say about it!" Big Dog said.
Their voices became more casual, and they talked about the logistics of getting to and from the main campus for meals and classes, and of managing their charge. After a while, Big Dog whispered to Tommy.
"Maybe it's time for you to go comfort the boy and be his friend," he said, smiling. Tommy nodded.
"I think I'll go check on our boy," Tommy said, in a normal voice. "Think you can go back to the pod and see what's left, and then over to the mess hall and grab enough for all of us to eat back here?"
"Sure thing," Big Dog said. "I'll hop in the shower, and then go."
"What do ya figure, Dog, maybe two hours all told?" Tommy asked.
"Yeah, that'll do it," Big Dog answered, looking at a clock that showed the time at 4 p.m., or 1600 military hours. "Why don't ya figure we have our chow back here at 1800."
"Okay, Dog," Tommy answered. "That'll give me plenty of time with the boy."
He strolled into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
"Dog, want another beer?" he called out.
"Nah," his comrade answered.
"Suit yourself," Tommy said, grabbing a beer for himself and another Coke for Jimmy, and heading for the back porch, where Jimmy sat in his soiled uniform.
I had heard the two of them talking. Big Dog's hostility frightened me, but Tommy seemed to be on my side. Even though he had joined with Big Dog in some of the abuse, I clung to the hope that there was still some friendship left. He came out and sat on the tall bench in front of mine, facing me. He opened me another Coke and handed it to me, and opened a beer for himself and sat back, his brightly shined shoe perched on the edge of my bench between my legs.
"Rough day, Jimmy," he said. "Real rough day."
Humiliated beyond words, I didn't know what to say. I drank the Coke and tried to think of something to say.
"Tommy, I'm sorry ..." I began.
He sat up and leaned forward, his head a couple of feet from mine and above.
"Look at me, Jimmy," he said, gently. I gazed upward. He stared into my eyes, locking his with mine. "We're not Tommy and Jimmy anymore. We really haven't been anything like that for a long time."
"Yes sir," I said softly. "It's hard to get used to it, Captain Richards."
"It doesn't need to be such a bad thing," he said. "I know you're scared, and you're going to need someone to talk to. Captain Tinley isn't the one, that's for sure. I'll do what I can to help you out, but you need to understand that everything's different."
"It hurt so much in the Commandant's office, sir," I told him, sniffling as I spoke the words. "And Big ... Captain Tinley, I'm afraid he's going to kill me, sir. I don't know if I'll be able to walk tomorrow morning, sir."
I finished the last of the Coke. I had been thirstier than I realized, and it helped eliminate the taste of Captain Tinley's urine. But I was intently aware that I had pissed myself, and I could feel more tightness in my bladder.
"Captain Tinley doesn't know you like I do," Tommy told me. "He only sees you as someone who doesn't measure up. He thinks you're a little boy who shouldn't have ever been here, and he thinks you're queer. It doesn't add up to a good picture."
"I'm not queer, sir!" I said. "No way am I queer!"
A slight grin showed on his face. I recognized it immediately, and cringed. Back in high school, we'd call it the Tommy Smile. It was a look of confident superiority, mixed with contempt, pity, and compassion for the poor fool who tried to bullshit him. He'd never argue, he'd just flash a Tommy Smile, and that was enough.
"Yeah, well about that," he said, pointedly. "Remember that thing you saw in the locker room with me and Curruthers? You know, the thing that made you tell Captain Tinley and the Commandant that I'm queer?"
I cringed and looked away.
"Look at me when I talk to you," he said sharply, sounding like a father scolding his young son. We were the same age, but it suddenly didn't feel like it. "Don't make me have to tell you again, Jimmy."
"Yes, sir," I replied. My bladder was full to bursting, but I knew I couldn't ask to use the bathroom.
"You remember what I'm talking about, don't you?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, I remember," I replied. "You had your hands on each other's dicks the one day. You hung around with each other all the time, so I put two and two together, sir."
He will still grinning.
"It was a trap, Jimmy. We had another guy in there with a Polaroid camera. He was going to take your picture with your mouth on someone's pecker," he said. "Look, Jimmy, calling people queer was your specialty. Between that and always looking at guys' dicks, everyone figured you for queer yourself."
I felt my ears flushing with embarrassment.
"I was just curious, sir," I said, glumly. "I kind of got short changed, I guess. Everybody always talked about their dicks, and looked at each other's dicks."
That grin again.
"When Captain Tinley told me what you tried to pull here, I explained everything and then we laughed our asses off," Tommy said. "When you got that hardon after being busted for the towel, he wrote you off as a queer and a weasel."
I couldn't hold it in any more, and pissed as I sat there. As it dribbled down my leg, I saw Tommy glance at it and flash yet another grin. Combined with the topic of conversation and the day's other events, the humiliation was almost unbearable. I sat frozen, not knowing what to say.
His voice matched the smile: gentle, yet utterly confident and superior.
"Captain Tinley's a real hardass, and so is the Commandant," he said. "Maybe tougher than they need to be, but they have good reasons. Compared to the other problems you've got, queer is way down the list. It'll take care of itself."
"Yes sir," I replied, softly. "I'm just not queer, that's all."
"Alright, in a minute or two we'll get you inside and out of that uniform that you've just about ruined," he said. "I want to make sure you understand the rules here."
"Yes sir," I said.
"Once you've gotten cleaned up, I'll give you a notebook and you can write everything down," Tommy said, gently. "I'll see to it that Captain Tinley gives you a day to commit them to memory."
"Thank you, sir," I said, with a sigh. "It's been a hard day."
"Okay, let's get moving. I'm going to go inside and get a basket for the clothing. You remove the uniform and everything else and wait for me out here," he said.
"Yes sir," I answered.
He turned and went into the house. By the time I had stripped, he appeared at the back door with the basket.
"This is for the dirty clothes," he said. "Leave 'em outside for now, then come inside, turn left and find the head."
The bathroom contained a head – toilet, in military speak – and a separate urinal, and a shower, and some cabinets. Captain Richards was already there.
"First off, the urinal is for the Men here," he said. "You'll clean it, but you won't use it. When you urinate, you'll use the toilet and you'll sit down when you do it."
"Yes sir," I replied.
Then he held out a small rubber bulb with a tip on it.
"Take that thing apart, fill the bulb with water, and put it back together," he said. He pointed to a tube of K-Y jelly on the counter next to the sink. "Coat the tip with this. Then put it up your asshole, squeeze the bulb, and clean yourself out. Do the first few bulbs over the toilet, and the rest in the shower. When you're done, dry yourself off, put the lotion in the drawer, and come on out."
Any thought of protest was squelched when I looked into his eyes. He was glaring, as if daring me to disobey. My joints ached from the beating and the march to the quarters, and when I glanced in the mirror I saw angry welts on my ass
"Y-y-y-yes, sir," I said, quietly.
He closed the door, and I gingerly filled the bulb, rubbed some cream on the tip, and sat on the toilet. I awkwardly reached backwards, and tried to insert the tip into my rectum. It was uncomfortable, and hurt. But my fear was stronger, so I squirted the water inside of me. Nothing happened, so I filled it again, and then again. Finally, I was able to expel the liquid and what went with it.
It was unfamiliar, not to mention uncomfortable and humiliating, but I eventually got the hang of it. A half hour later, I emerged naked from the bathroom and walked into the living room.
"Reporting as ordered, sir," I told him.
"Enema every morning after you exercise, and again every afternoon before dinner," he said.
"Yes sir," I replied.
Next, he showed me another room that held a washer and a dryer, detergent, and a variety of other cleaners and utensils of various types. Floor cleaner, glass cleaner, mops, sponges, shoe polish, towels, toilet brushes, all kinds of things.
"You'll be keeping yourself clean inside and out, and you'll be keeping these quarters completely clean," he said. "There's a cleaning schedule attached to the door, and you will follow it. There are also instructions for cleaning, pressing, and laundering uniforms."
"Yes sir," I said, mentally cringing at the boyish Trainee uniform I would be wearing from now on.
"Captain Tinley is especially demanding when it comes to the shine of his boots," he added. It was an understatement. In the regular barracks, Tinley would spend almost all of his free time shining his boots. "I've told him he shouldn't expect a six-inch shine right away, but I'm not sure he's ready to cut you any slack."
"I will do my best, sir," I said. Six inches of ruler reflected in a boot's shine was considered almost impossible. Tinley's boot shines were the stuff of academy legend, and now I was expected to duplicate the feat.
"Your Trainee uniforms are in the closet in the next room, and socks and underwear are in the bottom drawer of the smaller dresser," he said, pointing to one of the two bedrooms. "Get dressed, and come back out to the common room. Make it quick."
Less than 10 minutes later, I stood in front of Tommy, who was seated in a chair.
"Trainee reporting as ordered, sir!" I said, standing at attention, staring straight into space.
He stood up, towering 10 inches over me, my head barely reaching his chin.
"At ease," he said, looking down at me.
We walked around the quarters. There were large and small versions of chairs, desks, and tables, and one bed in each bedroom.
"When you receive permission to sit, you will use the short furniture," he said. "You will be sleeping on a bedroll on the floor. It is in the closet with your uniforms, and you will store it there when it's not in use."
"Yes sir," I replied.
"You will use nothing here without first asking permission," he told me.
"Yes sir," I said.
He led me to the desk I would use. It looked like it had come from a grade school. It was short, with a chair attached. He lifted up the top. There were paper, pencils, pens, and notebooks inside.
"None of this belongs to you," he said. "It is what you will use, but it is not yours."
"Yes sir," I replied. With each new order, I felt myself shrink.
"Sit in the chair, Jimmy," he said, softly. "Take the red notebook and a pen, so you can start on your training book."
"Yes sir," I said, sitting down, taking the items out of the desk.
He closed the top, and dropped to one knee beside me. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and a gentle squeeze. It was a fatherly sort of touch, affectionate and encouraging, but not erotic.
"Write on the front, in capital letters: TRAINING BOOK," he said. I did so.
"Now open the book and print above in the space above the first line, in capital letters: MY PLACE AMONG MEN."
"Yes sir," I replied, and wrote the words.
"Now skip a line and write: 1. I am not a Man. I was never a Man. I will never be a Man. Every Man is my superior. I will spend my life in the service to the Men I cannot be. I will honor and obey Men, without question or reservation, in any manner that they might require."