Date: Sat, 3 Jan 2015 14:55:00 -0800
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: ROBERT E. LEE ACADEMY 1

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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.