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TEXAS 1956 Vol. 1 – Chapter 7
Kenny had been far inside himself, regaining his equilibrium after the shock from the deputy's brutal throat fucking. He felt an arm around his shoulder, and leaned toward it. As his mind cleared, he found himself resting his head against Sergeant Jordan's belt, as the younger but larger Man softly rubbed his shoulder from above.
"Ya just take it easy there, little fella," he said, soothingly. "Ya done good. The deputy was hard up, needed takin' care of. But ya done good."
"Thank you, sir," Ridgeton said, wiping his eyes again. "I was doing my best, sir."
Sergeant Jordan looked at his watch, and spoke.
"It ain't six o'clock yet," he said. "Here's what I'm gonna do. I'll ride ya over to the old foreman's house that I'm gonna be buyin' and we can spend a little time there. Then I'll take ya back to yer car at the bank so ya can get it."
"Okay, sir," the captain said, still leaning against Sergeant Jordan and drinking in the hand rubbing his shoulders.
Sergeant Jordan rubbed Ridgeton's scalp affectionately with his knuckles.
"Come on, why don't ya stand up, and we can get goin', then," he said.
In the new foreman's new pickup truck, Sergeant Jordan spoke.
"Ya still don't remember me, I reckon," he said.
"No sir, I guess I don't," he replied. "I don't remember having seen or known you before a couple weeks ago, sir."
"Maybe ya recall Ty Jordan from high school?" the sergeant asked. "He's my brother."
Ridgeton froze.
"Th-th-that was your brother, sir?" he said, breathing hard.
When Ridgeton was a high school junior, Ty Jordan was a senior. A wrestler and football player, he was tall, handsome, and arrogant. He had noticed Ridgeton's glances in the locker room shared by all the athletes, including the swimmers, runners, and gymnasts. He started getting erections as a joke, and make sure that Ridgeton saw. Then, one afternoon, he invited Kenny over to his house and lowered the boom.
"If ya don't want yer daddy and everyone in this school knowin' how queer ya are, yer gonna start takin' care a what I got and doin' whatever else I need ya to do for me," he'd said. For the rest of the year, until Ty Jordan graduated from high school and left town, Kenny Ridgeton visited Ty Jordan's house two or three or four days a week to suck his dick while the stronger athlete found ingenious ways to humiliate him for it.
Ridgeton had blocked it from his mind, or tried to, but now it came flooding back.
"So ya can understand why I didn't buy what they told me about yer not bein' a queer," the younger Jordan said. "Ya looked plenty queer when ya were suckin' off my brother all the time. Ya were havin' a real nice time of it."
Ridgeton's memory became clearer. On one occasion, a young boy, maybe 12 or 13 years old, had been watching. Ty Jordan had used it to humiliate him.
"This is what yer average queer'll do," Ty had said to his younger brother.
"You saw me that one time, sir?" he asked, still breathless.
"Plenty more 'n once," Sergeant Jordan replied. "Ya saw me the one time 'cause Ty wanted ya to. I lost count a-the number a-times I saw what was goin' on. I know all about the cocksuckin' and ass kissin' ya did. Saw them clothes he made ya wear too."
Another stab of humiliation, this one the deepest yet.
In his youth, Ridgeton's father, an abusive, drunken, loudmouth, had wasted no opportunity to rail at his "cocksuckin', ass-kissin' faggot" of a boss at the plywood saw mill where he worked. "Ya better never be an ass-kissin' cocksucker or ya lose the right to ever call yerself a Man!" his father once shouted, when Kenny was 13 years old. He'd been looking outside the screen door to their house while his father was ranting, and had seen Ty Jordan ride his bicycle past, glance toward the house, and laugh before riding off.
Years later, in high school, Ty Jordan used it. He'd have Kenny stroke and blow on his hardon in the tight undershorts, and kiss his butt, and then suck him off, all while being taunted for being an "ass-kissin' queer."
"Yes sir," Ridgeton said quietly in the truck, "I guess I did my best to forget about all that, sir."
"I know ya better than ya think I do, Kenny," Sergeant Jordan said, in a tone of quiet authority. "I knew who ya were right off. I was the one who let the gunnies know about ya. I knew about yer ex-wife, and about Annie Jensen, and about them clothes. All of it, Kenny. I know all yer secrets."
Ridgeton gasped audibly.
"Don't worry 'bout it too much, Kenny," Sergeant Jordan said. "I never held bein' queer against anyone, 'long as they know how to behave. And ya been doin' a mighty good job of behavin' yerself. Y'all keep it up, and we're gonna make yer queer little dreams come true. Ya ain't gonna have to worry about bein' a Man when ya ain't one."
The young sergeant's tone was tender and condescending, and while Ridgeton felt intense humiliation and embarrassment he was also profoundly comforted by the idea that he wouldn't have to pretend anymore. Sergeant Jordan reached across the front seat of the pickup truck and rubbed the captain's scalp with his knuckles.
"It's gonna be okey-doke, Kenny," he said. "Yer gonna behave, and yer secret's gonna be safe."
The captain sighed, forgetting how much younger Jordan was. By now, their respective ages didn't matter, because Kenny had regressed.
"Thank you, sir," he said. "I swear to God, I'll do my very best, sir."
"Yeah, I know ya will, Kenny boy," Sergeant Jordan replied. "I know ya will."
Sergeant Jordan gave Ridegton a tour of the house, a small, single-story bungalow with a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, and two bedrooms. A rarity for Texas tornado country, it also had a basement, and that's where they ended up. There was a laundry room, a work area, and a den with a bar, a refrigerator, a TV, a couch, chairs, and a bed.
Sergeant Jordan sat down on the couch, his legs spread wide, the fabric of his blue work clothes clinging to his thick legs, his torso, his chest, his crotch. His hands were clasped behind his head, perspiration darkening the armpits.
"Go get me a beer in the fridge, Kenny," he said. "There oughtta be a Sprite in there for you. Church key on the counter."
Ridgeton brought the beer back, holding an actual Sprite. Sergeant Jordan had drawn a chair close, putting one of his feet on on it.
"Get on down there 'n warm me up between my legs, Kenny boy," he said. "Put yer mouth on me 'n get to work."
"Yes sir!" Ridgeton said, seeking out Sergeant Jordan's balls to warm up.
Kenny arrived on schedule that Saturday at Deputy Haskins' house, now occupied by Sergeant Jordan. Over a few weeks, they had settled into a routine. He'd done his gymnastics exercises on the bars in back. Then they ate lunch together, and Sergeant Jordan told Ridgeton put on his kid clothes and go to work with a push mower on the back lawn. At 2 o'clock, the doorbell rang. It was his brother Ty, and his wife and two children. She was pregnant with a third child.
Shane greeted them warmly and invited them inside. He retrieved a Coke from the refrigerator for the oldest child, four-year-old Ty Jr., while the younger, Darlene, sat on the wife's lap, drinking from a bottle. He called out back, interrupting Ridgeton's work.
"Hey Kenny!" he called out. "Come on in a sec! Got someone for ya to meet!"
Ridgeton walked back to the house, his t-shirt streaked his perspiration. The others were sitting at the kitchen table.
"While yer up, do ya think ya could grab a couple beers for us and open 'em?" he said. "Church key's on the counter. There's a Sprite there. Already opened it for ya."
"Sure thing, sir," Kenny said, before moving to the table.
"Ya remember my brother Ty," Shane Jordan said, pointing to a Man seated in a relaxed position, legs wide open. He was wearing a uniform: crisp light gray pants with a black stripe, a starched light gray shirt with black epaulets, and a black tie.
"Ty's been with the Oklahoma Highway Patrol for eight years," Shane said. "Down here with his family to spend a little time with Laura's folks, then they're drivin' back up tomorrow."
"Hello sir," Kenny said, shaking the hand of the Man who'd made a specialty of humiliating him in high school. "Good to meet ya, Ma'am. Those are nice kids."
"Kenny, pull up a chair, take a load off," Shane said. "Ya been workin' hard out there."
As he sat down, Shane explained that he and Kenny worked together at the lumber plant in town.
"I'm keepin' an eye on this place for a buddy who's outta town for a couple months," Shane explained, nonchalantly. "Got an offer I couldn't turn down on a different house, so Kenny's been kind enough to be helpin' out in both places. I pay him in Sprite and food!"
Everyone laughed at the remark, and then Ty cleared his throat.
"Honey, ya better keep movin' to yer folks' place," he said to his wife. "One a-these fellas will give me a ride in a few hours. If I'm not there fer dinner, just keep it warm and I'll eat when I get there."
He rose from the table and helped his wife up. He was powerfully built, his uniform outlining his powerful thighs, his muscular ass, his V-shaped torso, the bulge that rounded out his crotch. While no one was looking, Shane had slipped a tiny pill containing a dose of the "Supervision" formula into Ty's beer. His brother would have a good, stiff time of it once his wife and kids were gone.
Sergeant Jordan hadn't said a word to Ridgeton about his brother's visit. The shock of it stunned him, but he managed to keep his equilibrium during the introduction and brief pleasantries around the table. Now, as he looked at the Men bidding Ty's wife and children goodbye at the door, he was seized by a mixture of dread and excitement over what he assumed was coming.
The Men walked back into the house, making their way to table where Ridgeton was sitting.
"How's that Sprite?" he asked, smiling. "Good after all that work, ain't it?"
"Yes sir," Kenny said softly, draining the last of the piss from the bottle. "Thanks for the Sprite, sir."
"Ya did good just now, Kenny," Sergeant Jordan said, his voice friendly and condescending. "Go take yerself a shower, clean yerself inside 'n out. Make sure to run that shaver over yerself before ya put everything back on."
"Yes sir," Ridgeton replied, softly.
"I'm sorry, Kenny, what did you say?" Sergeant Jordan said. "I couldn't hear you."
"Yes sir!" Ridgeton replied, much louder.
"Much better," the sergeant said, with a crooked smile. "Now you run off and do as you're told, hear?"
"Yes sir!" Ridgeton said, forcing a smile.
As Kenny left to carry out Shane's orders, Ty smiled.
"Holy shit, brother!" he exclaimed. "Holy shit!"
"All we really did was pick it up where ya left off, Ty," Shane said, smiling. "So tell me, anyway, what's with comin' down here in uniform, anyway?"
"I had to work this morning 'til an hour before we left," he said. "Didn't have time to change. Laura brought my civilian clothes, and I'll change when I get to her folks tonight, or maybe tomorrow dependin' on how late. But hey, tell me what's goin' on with Kenny!"
"Whole lot to say, I suppose," Shane replied, with a laugh. "But it's pretty much what ya started. He don't wanna be a Man, just like it was. He's a ass-kissin' queer, just like ya said. Got a couple sheriff's deputies 'n me and a active duty brig guard lookin' after him to bring him along. Workin' out good, brother!"
Ty got up from the table and walked over toward the kitchen.
"Got any more beers in there?" he asked, looking at the fridge.
"Yeah, how 'bout grabbin' one for me while yer up?" he said, also getting up and moving over to the living room. "I'll tell ya more about Kenny boy."
Ty came back into the living room with the beers and they sat down. Shane explained how he'd tipped off the others about Kenny, and about their tactics with him, and about the experimental drugs.
"I put one into yer first beer," Shane said. "Ought to kick in pretty soon. Yer gonna like it, brother."
Ty was a little wary, but Shane waved him off.
"Yer gonna see," he said. "Got plenty more if ya want to take some with ya."
"The big thing to remember," Shane explained, first making sure to listen to be sure the shower was running and speaking softly to his brother, who was seated in the couch next to him, "is that Kenny can't know about the Correctol. The stuff helps, but all it really does is multiply what's already there."
Ty smiled, his hands locked behind his head, legs spread wide.
"Ya got it down to a science then, brother?" he asked, chuckling.
"Kinda-sorta yeah," Shane replied. "But ya gotta have somethin' to work with. Now, Ty, I could see that Kenny's kinda worried about ya, so ya use that. I also know that the whole thing about kissin' yer ass and bein' a queer works bigtime. He'll be suckin' yer dick like ya won't believe."
"Okey-doke, Shane," he said. "Hey, I gotta take a leak. Hang on a sec."
"Wait on that, Ty," Shane answered. "There's somethin' I didn't tell ya. Come on over to the kitchen a sec."
He led his brother to the kitchen, grabbing the empty Sprite bottle off the dining table as they went. He opened a drawer and put a funnel in the top of the bottle.
"Take yer leak in there, brother," he said. "Kenny drinks piss Sprites a lot a-the time. We never talk about what's in 'em, and he ain't allowed to do nothin' other than say thank you and how good they are. And a-course ya heard it's always 'sir' from him."
Ty was amazed, and thrilled too. The drug had kicked in.
"Ya got him trained to drink piss?" he said, urinating into the funnel. He filled the bottle and emptied the rest of his bladder into the kitchen sink, along with Shane. "And he's yer boss, and a captain at the reserves but calls ya sir?"
"Yep," Shane replied, smiling. "That's what makes it so good."