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TEXAS 1956 Vol. 1 – Chapter 12
They sent Clayton to the latrine with instructions to clean up and to get rid of any waste inside, and when he returned they fastened him tight to the bed, on his back. They covered him with a blanket, took his clothes, turned out the lights, and left. A few minutes later, he heard Brick's motorcycle start up, and leave. They'd given him a pill to put him to sleep, and the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Deputy Jake, already in uniform.
"Get dressed in these and come on back in the house to wash up," the deputy said, unfastening the restraints. As the cadet rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, the deputy tossed his shorts and t-shirt onto the bed and told him to come to the house. A few minutes later, the cadet entered the living room. The deputy was seated on the couch, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee.
"Shower's in the bathroom," Jake said, not looking up. "I'm gonna make some breakfast, so ya got 20 minutes in there."
"Yes sir," Clayton replied softly, the humiliation of the previous night weighing heavily as he moved to carry out the order. His skin still tingled from the beating he'd received and his asshole had been stretched, but the cadet found all of it soothing in a way, and the shower felt good. He returned to the living room, clad only in the T-shirt and shorts, and then followed his nose to the kitchen, and asked where the rest of his uniform was.
Jake ignored the question as he ladled steak, toast, and fried eggs onto a couple of plates. The cadet's ongoing humiliation didn't keep him from drinking in the view of the deputy's body, including the part of the crisp uniform below his belt buckle. The deputy followed Clayton's eyes, and smirked when they met his.
"Congratulations, yer now on the Adams County proven queer list," Jake said as he sat down. "From what ya did in them pictures, the State of Texas can send ya to prison for 10 years. The county prosecutor would be happy to do it. Or I could just go to the Commandant of your academy and you'll be on the next bus home, where he'll make sure everyone knows about ya."
Clayton's hands shook as he raised his fork.
"Does it mean that I am finished, sir?" he said, his voice soft.
"In this county, there's only been a few a-you queers gone to prison, and they'd be ones who got caught with young boys. If they survived long enough for us to catch 'em, that is," Jake replied.
"As far as yer Commandant goes, I used to hand off the queer cadets to him, but when one of 'em killed hisself I decided that it was wrong to ruin a kid just startin' out in life. So none a-that's gonna happen to ya if I can help it. But yer gonna have a bunch to learn."
They ate in silence while the deputy's words sank in.
"So I can stay, then sir?" Clayton asked.
"Ya can stay, but yer gonna be learnin' yer place, and about controllin' yerself," Jake said. "Ya see, ya got warned a couple times but ya kept on goin' at it. Third time was with a Man we sent out. That's the one in them pictures."
The cadet thought about the choir director in high school and what he had told him about controlling himself, and how he'd eventually wound up dead like Clark Branson.
"You're right about keeping control, sir," he said. "I guess I could have been killed."
"Yep, yer god damn right ya coulda been," the deputy said. "Ya been out of control, and we can't have it."
Clayton sighed, knowing that the handsome deputy with the radio voice was correct.
"My cousin Hank told me he thought ya was a queer not long after ya joined that place," Jake said. "Yer other roommate Dirk didn't want to believe it. Must-a been no queer faggot ever tried to grab hold a-what he's carryin'."
The cadet thought back and realized that he'd given off clues by how he looked at Hank, who was hard to ignore.
"Now yer roommates know about ya for a fact, but they ain't gonna be talkin' to the Commandant about it 'cause I told 'em not to," Jake said. "But yer gonna be takin' care of 'em in return. Yer gonna be makin' their racks, shinin' their boots and anything else they want ya to shine, and doin' what yer told. Yer gonna control yerself, yer gonna behave yerself, and yer gonna learn yer place.
"As soon as they decide, ya will be callin' them sir and Lieutenant Mayfield or Captain White. Yer gonna give Captain White yer car keys, and yer not gonna be drivin' it anywhere without his say-so. But yer gonna be fillin' the tank outta yer own pocket, and yer gonna keep that car in tip-top shape, shined and waxed too.
"Yer gonna keep yer head down and do yer work and at that school ya ain't gonna let on to no one about nothin'. Yer gonna be over here whenever I call on ya and yer gonna do just what yer told. Yer free roamin' queer faggot days are done for, and that includes by yerself. Long as yer at the school, ya ain't gonna be touchin' it other than to take a leak and to wash yerself off."
There was silence again while the words sank in.
"We clear?" the deputy said.
"Yes sir," Clayton replied.
"Yer gonna be hearin' plenty about controllin' yerself," Jake said, "but ya ain't gonna be goin' to prison and no one's gonna be tellin' the Commandant."
The cadet breathed a sigh of relief that his life wouldn't be ruined, while wondering what would be in store for him from his roommates. They ate some more. The cadet's appetite had returned, and he wolfed down the food.
"How's that breakfast?" the deputy said, his voice softening a bit.
"It's good, sir," he said. "Thanks, sir. It's a lot better than what we get at school."
The deputy rose from the table.
"I'm goin' out back for a smoke," he said. "Soon as yer done, wash and dry them dishes. I'll be back in a while, and I'll be givin' ya the rest a-yer uniform and then drive ya back to fetch yer car."
The door slammed, and Clayton finished his breakfast and set to work on the dishes. A short while later, the deputy returned. The dishes were washed and dried, and the cadet sat in the kitchen, waiting. The deputy put everything away, then leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest.
"One more thing to take care of," he said, a crooked smile on his face. "Yer gonna get on down on them knees a-yers and do what yer kind likes to do."
The cadet knelt down, unbuckled the Man's belt, and found the deputy's stiffening dick, and put his mouth on it. Still traumatized from the night before, he had no sexual desire, yet felt a powerful urge to satisfy the Man who towered over him.
"That's right, Clayton, do yer job now," the deputy said. His dick was now fully erect, longer than 8 inches. He pushed into the cadet's mouth, against his cheeks. He rubbed the bulge with his thumb and and alternately tugged on his ears and scratched the top of his head. Soon, precum was dribbling into the cadet's throat.
"Okey doke there, now yer gonna have somethin' to swallow down," Jake said. "Tighten up there, young fella."
Clayton felt the Man's stiff dick start to throb. His mouth filled up, and he swallowed until it was over.
"Ya can get up now," the deputy said. "Now that ya got yer whole breakfast, ya can get yerself dressed. The rest a-yer stuff is in the closet in the front hall. I'll take ya back to town."
Clay had taken a seat in the deputy's patrol car, and just before they left someone pulled up beside them in the driveway. Jake, now wearing sunglasses and a cowboy hat with his uniform, rolled his window down and spoke to him. The cadet glanced over and recognized him as the one he'd been with at Three-Finger Buck's.
"Hiya there, Colt," the deputy said, brightly. "Ready to work, are ya?"
"Yes, sir!" he said.
"Okey doke," the deputy replied. "One a-the window sash cords in the dining room is broke, so ya can fix that. Run the vacuum and wash the windows, and then go in the garage and get my motorcycle out and give it a good cleanin'. Deputy Brick will be by in a while, and ya can take care of his motorcycle. Don't forget my boots in the hall closet, and see if Brick's boots need a shine."
"Yes sir!" he replied, enthusiastically. "Will do, sir!"
The left though the gate, pushing a button in the deputy's car, and rode back to Three-Finger Buck's where Clayton's car was waiting.
"If ya had kept yerself under control, ya could-a flown under the radar like most a-the queers in these parts do," the deputy told him. "Now yer gonna be learnin' that there are Men who'll let a faggot take care of 'em from time to time if he knows his place. Yer gonna find out how ya do that without getting yerself killed and left by the side a-the road somewhere."
The deputy pulled into the parking lot, and pulled the cruiser next to the cadet's car.
"Now remember what I told ya about takin' care a-yer roommates and about not touchin' yer dick," the deputy said as they pulled into the parking lot. "Time for ya to get yerself under control and learn yer place with 'em. Hear?"
"Yes sir," the cadet said. "Thank you for letting me stay. And you're right about self control. I need to control myself, sir."
Clay wasn't sure if he should follow the rules about addressing his roommates, and making the racks right away, and he didn't want to ask. So he decided to wait and see, and make no mention of anything. When nothing changed, he even wondered whether it had all been just a bad dream that wouldn't be repeated. Maybe the deputies had done what they did to send the message that he had to keep in line and be careful with his secret.
It was easy for Clayton Thompson to blend in. While he wasn't aggressively masculine like some cadets, nor did he show any telltale signs of attraction to other males. He was lean and muscular, 5'9" and 155 lbs., and handsome enough that the girls in town found him attractive. He was normally developed, with an average-sized dick of 5-1/2 inches or so, and enough body hair in the right places. Soft-spoken and a bit shy, but not painfully so.
His roommates, Cadet Captain Hank White and Cadet Lieutenant Dirk Mayfield, were anything but average or shy. Hank was a strapping 6' 3" Viking god with recruiting poster good looks, sporting a blond flat-top crewcut, piercing blue eyes, sharp jawline, cleft chin, V-shaped torso, rounded ass, and a crotch that bulged in any uniform on account of his large, tight balls and long, thick dick. He was the quarterback of the academy's football team and the leader of an elite and secretive group of six cadets who manned the guardhouses at the academy's gates and trained on some weekends at the military base's brig.
Hank's dominating presence and athletic prowess, and his leadership of the guard unit, made him one of the "big men on campus." He didn't walk, he swaggered, and his dealings with other cadets were less a matter of friendship or affinity than they were a kind of exercise in rank order. Cadets were drawn to Hank's charisma and easy confidence, and sought to bask in his glow. He bonded with the handful he considered equals, while displaying a cordial dominance toward others. It occasionally fell to Hank to put another cadet in his place, a task that enabled him to exercise his love of control and humiliation.
Dirk stood at an even 6 feet, stocky but not fat, with a dark brown crewcut and a perpetually stern disposition and manner. He was well endowed, his thick, uncut dick running close to 8 inches. He was also a guard, with a manner less refined than Hank's, almost to the point of brutality. Dirk was a fighter, having skipped the football team and instead opted for boxing, where he enthusiastically pummeled other cadets. It seemed as if, at any moment, Dirk might start a fight just for the hell of it. But he wasn't a conniver like Hank, and he made it easy to avoid confrontation.
Clay had felt like the odd man out from the start, but the roommates developed a mutual accommodation. With his ranch upbringing, Clay was an expert horseman and a crack shot. He had competed in rodeos in high school and in his first two collegiate summers, riding "roughstock" on bucking horses. At his father's insistence, he'd switched to safer roping events after another roughstock rider had broken his neck, but the athleticism of his rodeo competition earned him respect in the academy. He was also one of the smartest cadets, and his roommates occasionally depended on him for explanations of difficult material.
But there was no question that Dirk and especially Hank were the dominant personalities. Their confidence was intimidating, and over time Clay felt like they were probing him in search of hidden weakness. This was especially true with Hank. He was cagey and manipulative, and had a sadistic streak just underneath his casual and inviting smile. Dirk was the kind who'd just swat a fly, but Hank would pull its wings off and then drown it in a glass of water and laugh while it struggled. He was like that with some cadets, too, sometimes going out of his way to embarrass a weaker cadet. To Clay, Hank's good looks were accompanied by menace; the combination was at times almost intoxicating, but always cause to be careful.
On a few occasions, Hank had caught Clay staring at him or Dirk or some other cadet, and had let him know with a smirk. Now that the sheriff's deputies, including Hank's cousin, had caught him out, Clay waited for the consequences.
True to its name, the Clinton Military & Police Academy sent graduates to all of the services and state police in a dozen states, so a wide variety was represented. The variety was a running joke, with cadets grumbling about the constant "costume changes." There were khakis, coveralls, camos, the Academy's standard light gray slacks with a wide black stripe up the side and a light blue shirt, a guard uniform, and a dress blue uniform.
Keeping track was a chore, not to mention the requirement to keep a mirror bright shine on two pairs of boots and two pairs of shoes, along with any other footwear that went with a uniform. In addition to the academy's uniforms, on Fridays the cadets were allowed to wear the uniforms of their choice from other military services or law enforcement departments. The academy had a huge collection from around the country, and lent them out on request. Cadets in the academy's rodeo squad could even wear cowboy clothes if they wanted – but not spurs, which scratched the floors.
Clay had developed a mental list of favorites depending on who wore them. Hank was at the top. He looked best in the standard academy uniform that fit like a tight glove, while Dirk looked best in stiffly starched Army khakis. They both looked attractive in their guard uniforms, which were the same as those worn by the Marine Corps guards at the base: blue trousers with a red stripe up the side, "bloused" into the tops of brightly shined black boots, a heavily-starched long-sleeved tan shirt with a red armband that had "MP" in bright yellow letters, and a white patent-leather duty belt with a holster that held a black wooden billy club.
At first, Clay thought he'd noticed Hank being friendlier since his ordeal with the deputies. He'd be almost flirtatious at times, drawing him in. But then he would smirk and make a joke and Clay recognized it as the humiliation it was intended to be. The undercurrent of sexual tension and shame, combined with Clay's fear of what would happen since his discovery by the deputies, was heightened by the warning he'd gotten not to masturbate. Just as he thought he might be developing a strategy to fly under the radar, Hank and Dirk shattered his illusion.
It happened when they were together in the room one night, studying for an upcoming military tactics test.
"Hey Clayton, when ya gonna start makin' up the racks and takin' care of our boots?" Hank asked, out of the blue.
"What?" he replied, startled.
"Queer faggot's got to know his place, Clayton," Hank replied, smirking. "Me and Dirk had a talk with Cousin Jake. Saw them pictures of you takin' that fella's dick. Matter of fact, we got copies. Think anyone else might want to see 'em?"
"Uh ... uh ... uh ..." he replied, breathless.
Now the two cadets were standing on either side of him while he sat in his chair, staring at the book on his desk. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and heard Hank's voice.
"Me 'n Dirk seen ya lookin' at us for a long time," he said, his tone gentle but authoritative. "Yer queer for our gear, and now yer job is gonna be takin' care a-the two of us in here. Unless ya want us to go to the Commandant and get yer ass thrown out and everyone up in Oklahoma knowin' why."
"Wha ... what are you going to want me to do?" Clay replied, softly, his voice full of fear.
"What are you going to want me to do, sir," Dirk Mayfield interrupted. "We are 'sir' and 'Lieutenant Mayfield' and 'Captain White.' Just like Jake told ya."
"Uh ... yes sir," he answered. "What are you going to want me to do, sir?"
"Yer gonna start by makin' sure our boots 'n shoes are shined, and all the racks are made in here," Hank answered. "Yer gonna keep our uniforms in top shape, and yer takin' over the head duty too. Yer gonna give me yer car keys, but yer gonna keep it clean and the tank filled. I'll let ya use it now 'n then, but it ain't yer car anymore."
"Yes sir ... Captain White," he said, struggling with the words.
"Yer gonna keep yer hands off yer queer faggot dick like Jake said. No jackin' off for ya no more. Yer gonna concentrate on yer studies and on doin' what yer told, and we're gonna concentrate on not tellin' the Commandant that yer a queer faggot. Hear?"
"Yes sir, Captain White," he replied, defeated.
"Yer gonna control yerself, startin' right now," Dirk said. "Hear?"
"Yes sir, Lieutenant Mayfield," Clay answered, quietly. The boom had been lowered.