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This story involves homosexual activity between high school age boys. If you object to such, or if you are underage, please read no further.
Please also let me hear from you. It means a lot to know whether you like my stories or not. Reach me at macoutmann@yahoo.com. Enjoy (I hope).
A YEAR AT
ROBERT E. LEE ACADEMY
by Macout Mann
INTRODUCTION
by the author
I remember reading years ago a book titled "The Militant South." It dealt with the particular kind of high school that this story is about.
Today, when we think of prep schools, we probably think of Exeter or Andover, the Hill School, Christ School in North Carolina, or perhaps Indian Springs in Alabama. But most boarding schools in the South, at least until the 1960s, were military academies. Marion Institute, Sewanee Academy, Gulfport Military Academy to name but three. This for the main was because the South has always been the most militant part of the country.
Now some members of their student bodies, like in those places where students didn't wear uniforms, were there for the superior academics that the institutions generally afforded. Other students were themselves militant. Still others were sent there--and this was not a small part of the population--because they were tilting toward "juvenile delinquency" or because their parents could no longer control them. Finally there were a few who were not "masculine enough" to suit their fathers' image of a son, so they were sent to be toughened up.
Graduates of the Southern Military Academies were prime candidates for selection to West Point or Annapolis. One of those I mentioned was also considered a prep school for the prestigious University of the South.
Only one of the three schools I mentioned still exists, and it no longer has a high school. One was merged with a nearby coed Boarding School. Gulfport died along with Gulf Park College, a nearby girl's school which was famous for holding its commencement in the branches of a huge live oak tree.
I have known graduates of all three of the schools I have mentioned. None to my knowledge are gay. So the story that follows is pure fiction. But when you get a couple of hundred militant teenaged boys together without anybody else around, what the hell can you expect?
CHAPTER I
Day One
In 1938 the Great Depression was not as "great" as it once had been, but it would be twenty more years before it was only a memory. The clouds of war were already over the horizon. But in the Southern United States everyone still stood, when "Dixie" was played, and among the most prestigious hereditary organizations that one could belong to was Sons (or Daughters) of the Confederacy.
"Grace be unto you and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ." Chaplin Ellis Pugh's voice was deep and masculine.
"O Lord," he continued, "open thou our lips."
"And our mouth shall show forth thy praise!" thundered the voices of almost three hundred cadets.
Glory be..."
So began the opening service of the sixty-eighth academic year of the Robert E. Lee Military Academy.
"The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us evermore," the Chaplain concluded fifteen minutes later.
"Amen!" the cadets replied in unison. They had been taught well. To respond with vigor.
The academy's superintendent and headmaster, retired Col. Malcolm Southerland, then rose. He stood at the crossing of the chapel. And he welcomed all the "new'uns," as the first timers were called. They were seated, most of them along with their parents, toward the rear of the chapel's nave. The colonel's speech was not noteworthy. What the new'uns should expect during the next few days, what the academy expected of them as long as they were cadets.
When he had finished, there was a lusty rendition of the hymn, "Master of the Eager Youth;" then the cadets were smartly marched out, parents were given a few minutes to say farewell to their offspring, and then the new'uns were summoned to the front pews of the chapel to be met by the first officer of the corps, seventeen-year-old Cadet Col. Wallace Spencer.
Probably the most frightened of the group, all of whom to say the least were uneasy, was Elbert Hardcastle, the twelve-year-old son of a Baptist minister. His father lived and preached in a town only a few miles from the academy. The Reverend believed that the Bible taught that women should be subservient handmaidens, and that men should be dominant in all matters.
Elbert was not dominant. He was downright effeminate but not yet gay. Well, he didn't even know what gay was. He did get hards-on. Yet, he did not like sports. He didn't get along with other boys. He "turned the other cheek" whenever faced with controversy. His father enrolled him at the academy in the hopes that military discipline would "make a man of him." His mother had not concurred in the decision. Her opinion had not been sought.
Perhaps the least uneasy of the new'uns was fourteen-year-old Patrick Fulton. He could take care of himself, he thought. He was from Montgomery, Alabama, the First Capitol of the Confederacy. He had been on the verge of being sent to the Alabama Boy's Industrial School outside Birmingham, the state "prison" for juvenile offenders. His father was a State Legislator, however, and his lawyer had been able to make a deal. He would get off, if he were sent to military school. Now wasn't he "hot shit?"
He was one of very few new'uns who were not accompanied by a parent.
Drew Baumgartner, 13, had come only with his mother. His father, Major Stefan Baumgartner, USA, was on assignment in the Philippines. Drew's mother would be joining him there once Drew was properly enrolled. Drew had been in three public grammar schools as his father had been moved from post to post. It had always been assumed that once he finished the elementary grades, he would be enrolled in a military academy with the view that he would ultimately receive a congressional appointment to West Point, just as his father had.
Drew's problem was that he wasn't sure that the life of an army officer was for him.
Elliott Calhoon was also 13. He was from a poor mining town is Eastern Kentucky. His father was a storekeeper. Elliott was a normal boy, got along with others, loved to play kickball. His problem? He was one smart kid. His parents realized that the local schools couldn't give Elliott the training he needed. So they sacrificed to send him to Robert E. Lee. The local mine owner had recommended it highly. It did have an excellent academic reputation. Besides, the mine owner was also a graduate.
Creighton MacMillan at fifteen was the oldest of the new'uns. He was a scion of a Savannah family whose lineage could be traced to the 1700s. He had fallen in with some boys that his parents felt were below him. He had refused to abandon their friendship. His penalty was to be sent to the academy.
Creighton was a normal teenager. He just felt totally unfettered from all the shit his parents wanted to burden him with. Tradition. Mores. God and Country even. He believed in testing the limits, and his new found friends surely did the same.
Richard Gunnerston was 12. He was the only one of these six that realized he was gay. He was from Des Moines, Iowa. He had been caught with a buddy in a compromising position. His parents had decreed that in a Southern Military School "they'd scare the queer out of him." And so he was at Lee.
These were only six of the eighty-two new'uns that were scattered across the first six pews of the chapel. They were fairly representative of the group as a whole.
"Listen up!" Col. Spencer boomed. "I'm Cadet Col. Wallace Spencer. I'll be your Battalion Commander. This is my deputy, Cadet Lt. Col. Benjamin McNeil. He'll be taking over when I graduate next Spring. The other four cadets you see up here are your company commanders.
"The men living in each of the four residence halls make up a company. Each company has men from all six grade levels, which we call `forms.' And yes, you'll be getting used to a lot of new terms here. You'll be living four to a room along with guys from other forms. And you'll also get to know your company commander about as well as the squad mates you're rooming with.
"You've got a lot to do today, so pay attention and don't fuck up. When we're finished here you'll march to the gym. We don't expect you to know your ass from a hole in the ground, but we hope you know left from right. So when you leave the chapel form up in three rows from right to left of the entrance. Tallest to the right down to the shortest to the left. Then the Deputy Battalion Commander will order you to dress right. Right now the company commanders are going to demonstrate how to do that.
"Dress right, dress right, dress!" Spencer orders. The other four cadets demonstrate.
"Once you've done that, you should be able to march to the gym. Whether you do or not, we'll see.
"At the gym you'll get your uniforms, housing assignments, and class schedules, and be told who your faculty advisor will be. Then you'll go to your residence hall and meet your mates. They'll tell you what you'll have to do before the bugle sounds for chow time."
He continued his spiel until he'd covered all the topics on his list, then dismissed them. McNeil formed them up and haphazardly they marched to the gym. Spencer hadn't mentioned that they would also also undergo a cursory examination by the academy's physician, which would involve baring their asses. This caused consternation to some, especially Hardcastle. But by eleven o'clock they had all been checked in and were facing the next ordeal, meeting the guys they'd be living with for the next nine months.
Each of the residence halls was named for a Confederate General or a Navy Flag Officer. By chance Hardcastle, Fulton, Baumgartner, Calhoon, MacMillan, and Gunnerston were all to be berthed at Farragut House.
Hardcastle and Baumgartner were in the same room, 110. MacMillan was in the adjacent one. So they would be in the same eight man squad.
Fulton was assigned to a room with two six formers (seniors) and a fourth former (high school sophomore). So he would be junior to all his roommates.
Callhoon drew a fifth former, a fourth former, and a third former. He would also be the youngest, but two of his roommates were among the best students at the academy. The other was a dumb jock.
And poor Gunnerston was to bunk with two mean fourth formers and a second former, who had been toughened up mightily by his roommates last term.
Baumgartner, the son of the major, was at least familiar with military procedures, so he was not freaked at all. He had also attended some big city schools, so he had been exposed to all sorts of kids. Hardcastle on the other hand had never heard the words, "ass" or "fuck," used in public in his whole life, had never been naked in a group of guys or seen other boys naked before. He was totally unhinged.
To make matters worse, when the two of them entered their room, Carol Barefield, their sixteen-year-old roommate was stretched out on his back in his bunk totally naked, while having an earnest conversation with their other roommate, fifteen-year-old Rex Stephens. Stephens at least had on a pair of khaki undershorts, but they didn't hide a whole lot.
"Hi, guys," Stephens walked over to greet them. "Baumgartner? Hardcastle? I'm Rex Stephens. Over there is Cadet Sgt. Carol Barefield. He only gets out of bed or puts clothes on when he has to. You'll get used to him."
"Hi," said Barefield, without moving from his bunk.
"Carol's fifth form, I'm fourth. You're first and second right?" Stephens asked.
"Hope you guys like to mess around," Barefield snickered.
Baumgartner knew what the older boy meant. Hardcastle had no idea.
"Never have," Baumgartner replied. He thought maybe they were being tested.
"Well, most of the proctors don't mind, as long as we're quiet about it," Stephens said, "and the cadet officers all do it too. There are only two girls our age on the whole fucking compound, and they might as well be wearing chastity belts. So it's either mess around or jack off, and it's a hellova lot more fun to play with each other.
"You guys can choose a locker and a drawer. Better get your shit stowed and change into uniform. Mess call'll be pretty soon. We'll fall in and Capt. Witherspoon will march us to the chow hall. You haven't eaten until you've tasted the shit they serve here."
Stephens was from Rhode Island and had never tasted black-eyed peas or turnip greens before coming to Lee.
As Baumgartner stripped out of his civvies for the last time before Christmas vacation, he decided for sure the two older boys were on the level about the sex. He had answered honestly; but he had to admit that when he'd heard street wise kids out in California teasing each other about sucking dick, he'd wondered what it'd feel like. On the other hand, he remembered that his father had once sat on a court-martial that gave defendants dishonorable discharges for "messing around."
To have to completely strip in front of three other guys was one of the most painful things Elbert had ever experienced.
Meanwhile MacMillan had shown up next door in Room 112. He was not gay, but he and the friends his parents so disapproved of had experimented some. He had fucked a gal's pussy, while a bud fucked her in the ass. He thought that was pretty awesome. He'd watched guys fuck, but hadn't participated. He would find out that his new roommates did get together, but only when they were so horny they couldn't stand it.
MacMillan would be in fourth form. Rory Bascom was a sixth former, not particularly talented militarily. Was content to do enough school work to get by, and he definitely let others get ahead of him in achieving rank in the Corps of Cadets. Had a good sense of humor. Called Squad Leader Barefield, "Bare-ass," because of his fondness for being naked, and sometimes, "Bare-backed,"
Kenneth Harwood was in the fifth form. Very bright. Pride of the academic faculty. Bane of the military instructors.
Thomas Walton was a third former. Very eager to please. Disappointed, though, that he would continue to be the most junior student in the room.
"Hi, fellas," MacMillan greeted his roommates.
"Welcome to purgatory," Bascom replied. He introduced himself and the others, and also gave instructions for stowing MacMillan's gear and getting into uniform.
Upstairs in Room 212 a confident Patrick Fulton had entered to find Jason Menifee, William Hammond, and Scott Farrier waiting. They knew the name of their new roommate and his form, but nothing else about him.
"Hello, motherfuckers," Fulton said. His greeting did not sit well with the three older boys.
"I am Cadet Sgt. Menifee," he was told. "And you, New'un Fulton, are the only motherfucker here. And you'd goddam well better straighten up and fly right or you'll be sucking me off before taps."
"And then me," Hammond added.
"And then Farrier here will open your ass so it'll be ready for Hammond and me to fuck you tomorrow," Menifee spat. "But it's probably been pretty well used by now anyway."
"Fuck you! I aint no goddamned fairy," Fulton retorted.
Menifee rose. He was six-three and weighed two hundred pounds, almost all of it muscle. He grabbed Fulton by the neck and thrust the fourteen-year-old onto the nearest rack. "You will address me as `Sarge,' baby boy, and you're the one that goanna get fucked. That I'll guarantee.
"Now strip and get into uniform before I hand out your first demerits!"
Gunnerston wasn't having it much better in Room 216. He was short and thin, and when he spoke he sounded like a ten-year-old girl.
"Oh, we have a tender one," Marion Thatcher, the second former cried as he grabbed his crotch.
"Welcome, Tender," Jack Montgomery said. "We're going to have lots of fun together." He grabbed his crotch too.
Clayton Muggeridge, the other fourth former in the room, nodded in agreement. Gunnerston didn't know how to react.
Elliot Calhoon on the other hand was warmly welcomed to Room 211. A nerd among nerds. Dean Chesterton, a fifth former and top scholar, welcomed him heartily and introduced him to Fredrick Humphreys, fourth form, and another of the brightest students in the school. Frank Stone, their jock roommate in form 3, was always one test away from flunking out, except for the help his roommates offered.
At lunch, Hardcastle whispered to Baumgartner, "Drew, what did he mean, when he said `messing around?'"
"I'll tell you later," his roommate answered.
Later that afternoon they did have a few minutes by themselves, and Baumgartner explained what Barefield was talking about. Hardcastle was almost ready to try to escape into the nearby woods in the hope that he would be eaten by a hungry wolf.
After dinner there was a rare evening Chapel Service in honor of the opening of the term.
"Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of thy only Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ," the Chaplain prayed, following that with a prayer for the President of the United States and a Grace.
He then told the cadets that he was always available, if they had any problems. "Come to see me any time, and you can be sure that I will keep anything you say in confidence," he concluded.
The Rev'd Cdr. Pugh had spent twenty years as a Naval Chaplain before coming to Lee, and he loved the fact that the culture of cadets, like that of the young sailors he had ministered to earlier, found seeking spiritual help demeaning. So his duties were really restricted to conducting daily Chapel Services and performing minor administrative duties, such as supervising the organist and sitting on the committee that decided which new'uns would be given which room assignments. Pretty cushy duty.
Elbert Hardcastle, however, took the good chaplain's invitation to heart.
That night Fulton found it hard to get to sleep. He feared that he his roommates would make good on their threats.
In Room 110 MacMillan and Hardcastle could both hear slurping sounds coming from the other side of the darkened room. MacMillan soon added a soft pounding to the small noises breaking the stillness. Hardcastle was still terrified.