Date: Fri, 28 Dec 2012 14:03:18 -0800 (PST)
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: ON MY HONOR 10

This story is about sexual activity between boy scouts and a scoutmaster.
It is total fiction.  There is no Poconola, MS.  Any resemblance between
persons or events depicted and actual persons or events is purely
coincidental.

If you are offended by depictions of explicit homosexual activity, or if
you are underage, please do not read further.  Otherwise, the author
invites you to enjoy the story and to respond with comments or criticisms.
The author would especially appreciate responses from readers who have been
involved in scouting.  All email will be answered.  Please address
macoutmann@yahoo.com.

Also, please remember that nifty.org needs your support to keep this
service available to all.  Please donate what you can.


			     "ON MY HONOR..."

			      by Macout Mann


				Chapter 10

				  Fallout



Hammond met with Masters and gave him the bad news.  He'd spend tonight in
jail and maybe even more nights.  Masters protested, saying that he had a
business to run.

"I don't know what they've got on you, Duane, but Chief Braswell is mad as
hell and says you're on the way to prison.  You better tell me what
happened."

"Not a damned thing!" Masters yelled.

"O.K.," Hammond said.  "I'll try to get a preliminary hearing set up
tomorrow.  Maybe I can get you out on bail."

"Well, they won't let me call Helen.  Will you go by and tell her what's
happened?"

Hammond did as he was asked.  Mrs. Masters was furious.  "He told me he'd
learned his lesson!" she spat.  "I thought he'd stopped all that stuff."



Meanwhile, the police had to deal with the other boys.  They were to be
booked for indecent conduct, a misdemeanor which fit under the disorderly
conduct statute.  Other charges might be added later.

The Mississippi Laws were archaic and arcane.  There was a law against
unnatural intercourse, which applied to sodomy involving either sex and all
ages.  It carried a maximum penalty of ten years and a heavy fine.  The
child exploitation law carried a penalty of two to forty years.  The
statutory rape law carried a penalty of death or life imprisonment.  It
applied to persons seventeen years old or older who had sex with anyone
fourteen to sixteen, and who was at least thirty six months younger than
the perpetrator.  It also applied to any person having sex with someone
under fourteen.

The case against Masters was clear.  At the time of their arrest however,
Manly had just turned eighteen, Eric was sixteen, Sammy and Ben were
fourteen, and Jake was 13.  So anyone who had had sex with Jake might be
convicted of rape.  Manly might also be convicted of raping Sammy and Ben.
It was all very complex.

The parents of every boy were called, and when each arrived at
headquarters, Chief Braswell had to explain the circumstances of the
arrests and the charges.  He released the boys into their parents' custody
on the parents' promise that they would see that their sons would be
available for questioning and appear in court at the proper time.

In the case of Mr. Simms, the chief had to also explain that Manly would be
charged as an adult; and because of his relationship with Masters, he might
face additional charges that the other boys would not.  He also said that
Manly's car had been impounded.  However, he did not raise the possibility
of Manly or Jake's possible prosecution for perjury.

Roger Simms drove Manly home.  "What in heaven's name have you gotten
yourself into?" he cried.  "Drinking?  Lewd behavior with other men?  I
can't believe it.  And you an eagle scout!"

"O.K.," Manly spat, "so now you know I'm a fucking queer!"

"I can't imagine what this is going to do to your mother," his father said.

"Same thing as if she found out about your stash of porn," Manly retorted.

"What do you mean?"

"Shit, dad, I've been reading that stuff since I was ten.  That's how I
first knew I was gay.  I was more interested in the dicks than the tits.
So lay off, will ya?"

They drove the rest of the way in silence.



Hans Ziegler arrived at the police station expecting that his son had been
arrested for underage drinking or smoking pot or some other teenaged folly.
He was a second generation Norwegian who ran a crop-dusting operation, and
he did believe that "boys would be boys."  When he found out what the
situation really was, however, he was livid.

"Goddamn it!" he yelled, when Eric was brought in.  "I ought to let them
keep you.  A boy of mine a goddamned queer!"

The sixteen year old was on the verge of tears, but he'd been taught.
"Real men don't cry."

"Gosh, Dad, I didn't think it was so bad.  Mr. Masters said..."

"I don't give a damn what that pervert said!" Ziegler shouted.  He grabbed
a pen, signed, grabbed Eric's arm, and dragged him from the station.



Sammy's mother had a premonition of what was behind the policeman's call.
She had never completely accepted Sammy's explanation of the scout groups
activities; so it was with dread that she entered the police station, and
her worst fears were confirmed when she met with Chief Braswell.

On the way home Sammy began the conversation, "I'm so sorry, Mom.  I never
thought..."

"I'm very hurt, Sammy, mostly because you didn't tell the truth before.
Your father's going to be very disappointed...and very angry.

"He'll be home this weekend.  I think you'd better stay around the house
`til then."



Brent Reynolds was the last parent to arrive.  Still in bib overalls and
sporting a three day growth of beard, he listened to the chief's recitation
without emotion.  He sort of expected farm boys to mess around and
suspected his boys were involved.  Sort of thought the scouts and Masters
had all been fucking around before he was arrested the last time.  So he
just mumbled things like "Damn, aint that something?" as the chief
explained what had been going on.

Driving back to the farm, Reynolds chuckled, "So you weren't satisfied just
making out with your brothers, eh?"

"You know about that?" a surprised Jake asked.

"Fuck, son, I was young once," his dad responded.  "Did you scouts really
do all the shit the cops claim you did?"

"I guess so," Jake giggled.  "We did about everything we could do."

"Well, your mama goanna be pissed, but she'll get over it."



The newspaper wouldn't have the story of the arrest until Friday, but the
radio stations reported it in detail beginning Thursday morning.  The names
of Masters and Manly were featured in the AP story, but the names of the
minors were withheld pending arraignment in Juvenile Court.

Chief Braswell briefed Bill Arnold, the district attorney, first thing that
morning.  Arnold agreed to a bail hearing and it was set before Judge
Stearn at 1:30.  Hammond knew that Arnold was going to ask that bail be
denied, so he suggested that bail be set at what—for Poconola at
least—was the unheard of amount of $100,000.

"Your honor," Arnold said, "the state believes that the nature of the
charge is such that there is a serious risk that the defendant will flee
and that he has ample resources to do so.  We ask that bond be denied."

"Your honor," Hammond retorted, "Mr. Masters is one of Poconola's most
substantial citizens with a successful business that requires his
attention.  It would be unconscionable not to allow him to pursue his
normal activities, particularly in view of the extremely high amount at
which we are proposing the bond be set."

"We are prepared to offer irrefutable evidence of the defendant's guilt,
your honor," the district attorney answered, "in view of which the state
feels the community's interest is best served by keeping the defendant off
the streets."

"And?" inquired the judge.

"May we meet in chambers, your honor?" Arnold answered.

"Court is in recess," the judge responded.

In the judge's chambers, he asked, "So what's the big secret?"

"Yes, what?" Hammond echoed.

"I don't want to turn this whole thing into a circus, judge," Arnold said.
"And I haven't had the opportunity to share with Rush the evidence that we
have, but I have two eyewitnesses to the offense.  We will also have
testimony from the victims.  And we also have photographs clearly showing
Duane having anal intercourse with underage boys."

"My god!" Hammond interjected.

"Now first of all, I don't want to risk that he repeats the offense while
awaiting trial.  But given his behavior, I think his jumping bail is a
serious possibility."

When the hearing resumed, bail was denied.  At Hammond's request
arraignment was set for the earliest possible time.  The judge agreed to
the following Tuesday.



Friday, the D.A. questioned the boys, after again explaining their right to
remain silent.  They all agreed to cooperate once they were shown the
pictures and explained what other charges could be brought against them.
All except Manly, that is.  He had contacted the others just as he had on
the previous case, this time without urging from Masters.  He thought they
would put up a united front, and the others did. But their front would face
the opposite direction.

As for Jake, the farmboy, he proved to be completely guileless and clever
far beyond his age.  Faced with the evidence he admitted to everything as
if it was the most natural thing in the world.  And when questioned about
his testimony at the earlier trial, he said simply, "Mr. Arnold, I never
lied.  I said we didn't do anything I wouldn't do with my brothers, and we
didn't.  Me and my brothers fuck around all the time.  Just ask 'em."

After checking the transcript, Arnold had to admit he'd been foxed by a
thirteen-year-old.

His meeting with Manly was something else again.  Seething, Manly continued
to maintain that what the police had seen was innocent horseplay.  When
Arnold began to press him, he demanded to see a lawyer.  "That is your
right, Mr. Simms," Arnold replied, "But for now, you are under arrest.  You
are accused of the statutory rape of Samuel Brent, Benjamin Atkins, and
Jacob Reynolds, and of perjury in the earlier case of `The People vs. Duane
Masters.'"

Atkins walked to the door and summoned the sergeant down the hall.  Manly
was taken to jail in handcuffs.

Immediately, Manly's father's attitude changed completely.  When he was
informed that his son had been rearrested, he immediately called
Mississippi's most famous criminal lawyer, Roderick Bellingrath, in
Jackson., who accepted the case.  Manly would have to remain locked up at
least until Monday, however.



Saturday afternoon, John Brent arrived from three weeks on an oil platform
in the Gulf.  He was exhausted.

He encountered his wife and Sammy as soon as he entered the house.  Upon
hearing the news he went berserk.  "You goddamned son-of-a-bitchin' queer!"
he yelled, "get outa my fuckin' house!"  And that was just the beginning of
his rant.

In tears, Sammy tried to respond.  "Dad, I'm sorry.  I didn't know.  I like
girls too."  And later, "Mr. Masters said you had to be doing the same
thing out on the rig."

"No way!  Get out of my fucking house right now!" his dad commanded.

"No, John, don't!" his wife cried.

Sammy was pushed out the door and the door was slammed behind him.

He wandered around for a while.  It soon would get dark.  He thought of
going to the police and asking for a place to stay, but he'd had enough of
jails.  Then he thought of his friend—maybe his best friend—Michael.

Michael's mother answered the door.  Yes, Michael was at home.  Once they
were alone together Sammy for the first time broke down.  He cried
unconsolably.  Through his tears he described everything that had happened.
Michael hugged his young friend closely.  "Man, I feel for ya" was about
all he could say.

He told his father Sammy needed someplace to stay.  Could they put him up
for the night?

"He can'ta go home?" Michael's father asked in Cajun-speak.

"Poppa, he's one of the boys was picked up in that sting the other night.
His old man threw him outa the house.  He don' have noplace to go."

"We don' wahn nobody lak dat 'round here," his father announced.

"You forget, poppa, I was in that scout group.  I outgrew it.  Sammy was
too.  He's my friend, poppa.  I aint goanna leave him on the fucking
street."

Sammy was welcomed into the Reynaud home.  Faithful Roman Catholics, the
Reynauds were also Louisiana French.  Somehow a bit more liberal than most
other folks of their persuasion.

And over night Michael comforted Sammy...in more ways than one.  "Suckin'
ona tit's great, man," the Cajun whispered, "an' we both know how great
pussy feels, but dere's things no gal can do."



The next day was the Lord's Day.  Prayers were offered at the Pentecostal
Church for Brother Duane.



Copyright 2012 by Macout Mann.  All rights reserved.