A New Life

A New Life Part I Fiction by Cubreptr5

Saturday 5:30 am -- the week before Thanksgiving

I awoke early, as I normally did, just before the Cadet Officers of the Day ran down the hallways pounding on doors and announcing the orders and uniform of the day. I ran my hand over my head which told me it was Saturday morning. The upperclassmen shaved the heads of us "scum" every Friday night so we'd look sharp for inspection in the morning. Even though I was a junior, my head was shaved like the freshmen's just to show it was my first semester at the Academy. I started to get out of bed, but something stopped me. What stopped me was the body of my roommate, Clancy. All I could see of him was a neat oval of bright red curls on top of his head that lent a ruddy glow to an otherwise closely clipped skull. Clancy's skull was neatly propped on my chest, his arm draped below it and his side pressed tightly against mine. I reached down to stroke the curls softly and he started to stir.

What a pair we made. I was hetero trying to pass as gay and Clancy was utterly convinced he was gay. At 18, he was a junior and worse, from his perspective, still a virgin. His folks had shipped him here to the Academy after catching him in the embrace of the pool boy three years earlier. The Academy was a military high school that tended to collect "problem children." In other words, those whose parents had no time for parenting, and were rich enough to send their children off to a very expensive school and have others "straighten-them-out."

I had just enrolled here this fall as a junior. I was hetero, and not a virgin. I'd lost my virginity at 14 in the broom closet of the parochial school I attended. I was now 21 years old and the reason I was here because the Feds in the Witness Protection Program figured this place was as safe as any. Besides, I too needed to be straightened out.

My last official act for the mob had gotten me thoroughly screwed and nearly beaten to death. The Feds figured I needed to have my overconfidence taken down a couple of notches, as well as needing a secure place to hide. They figured an honest education amongst honest people would be helpful before they released me back into real life.

A real pair we were indeed. One insecure and very lonely gay kid who saw gay love as a romance novel, but was far too shy about pursuing it, and one fucked over (in every possible sense of the phrase) mobster in hiding.

The reason Clancy was in my bed was I'd awakened last night to see him crouched on the side of his bed with his head in his hands. The pressure on anyone in the Academy was intense. Some upperclassmen seemed to spend every waking minute screaming at you, and the physical and mental aspects of the education here were daunting. Clancy was a very quiet, introspective kid. His active dislike of any sport but golf, and his incredible intellect drew hazers to him like flies to a pile of shit. Academically he was tops, but the constant harassment tended to wear him down emotionally. The added pressure of hiding his homosexuality had helped wear him to a frazzle. Thanksgiving vacation was starting tomorrow and just last evening he'd learned that his folks were suddenly going to France to visit their newest grandchild and Clancy would spend the holidays at the Academy. A week away from the grind had been his main motivation the past few weeks and now that wouldn't happen.

He'd looked so lonely and miserable last night that without really thinking, I'd lifted my blanket and motioned him over. He'd crawled in beside me and I'd pulled him up against me. He buried his face in my chest and his quiet sobs slowed as I stroked his back. He was asleep in minutes. It was hard to believe he'd survived here for over three years.

By now, you're probably hopelessly confused about what's going on here and where this story is going. So before going on let me fill you in with some background and bring you up to date.

By the time I was born, my older brother had already killed a man for the "family." He was well on his way to the top and had married "Uncle Tony's" daughter just a few months before our parents were killed in an accident. I moved in with my brother and sister-in-law when I was eight, and "Uncle Tony" treated me like I really was his natural grandchild.

The trouble was, in the "family," everyone had to earn their keep, even me. I couldn't be officially inducted until I was much older, but I still had a hand in the business.

My job was as a mule. I ran all over the city, picking up cash from our various concerns and returning it to the family. Whether that business was drugs, prostitution, gambling or protection, it was all done on a cash basis, and that cash had to find its way home as safely as possible. Mules were the answer. Those who wouldn't catch the eye of the cops or the "family's" competition started life in the mob as a mule. Mules generally didn't last long. Sooner or later a mule made one too many trips through the same neighborhood or passed the same beat cop just once too often and they were caught, or worse. The reason I was so successful was that I made a lot of my runs in a dress. My mother had kept her "baby" in long hair till the day she died. It, and the fact I was small for my age gave my sister-in-law the idea. No cop in his right mind stopped a little girl in a parochial school uniform as she skipped through his neighborhood, braids and school dress flapping in the breeze. Plus, you got an amazing amount of police protection when you pointed to a competing family's thug and screamed that he tried to touch you. Never mind that you had 50,000 bucks in your pink panties taped next to your dick, it was always the thug who got nailed. I was about 16 when I'd finally developed enough to make the school girl ruse impractical.

I was almost twenty-one when I made my last trip as a mule. "Uncle Tony" and my brother were pleased with my performance and my loyalty, and I was due to move up. In my case that meant going to an Ivy League college and law school. Uncle Tony wanted me to be an officer in the "company" so he'd delayed my entry into Harvard two years so I could get to learn the business a little better. That last trip turned into my last for the family and damn near into my last day on earth.

The neighborhood I was headed to was even seedier than most. I was also known well enough to the beat cops to be at risk of being identified. The pick-up was protection money collected by the local street gang -- a rather violent street gang. They had announced to the world that they were switching their allegiance to the "competition." It was a challenge to "Uncle Tony's" authority that could not be ignored. The money I was to collect was significant but it was secondary to showing that we had the muscle and guts to pick up the cash in spite of the risk. Because it was family honor at stake, Uncle Tony decided I had to do the pickup. After a lot of discussion with my brother and his team, we decided I should go as someone other than myself. I raided my sister-in-laws closet, took a blouse, a short skirt, shaved my legs and underarms, braided my hair, and headed confidently across town. Because of the risk, the back up team was in place before I got there so when I passed a parked car with a couple of our guys in it, I waved five fingers. They'd bail me out five minutes after I entered the building if they hadn't seen me flounce out the door. When I entered the apartment where the pickup was to be made I made four major mistakes.

1. There were three guys there, one of which was a stooge from the competition. It was a setup, and I was too proud to turn and run.

2. The two gang members had been dipping into their sample case of drugs, and were completely unpredictable. And still, I didn't run.

3. The stooge recognized me. He told me the gang was jumping ship to his family, and what was left of me could carry that message to my family. My mistake was not checking to see who was behind the door when I told the gang members they were "fucking-stupid-cock-suckers."

I was hit from behind and overpowered before I could get my knife out. I found myself shoved over the coffee table wondering what was coming next and praying the guys in the car would show up early. While one guy pinned me to the table, one pulled the skirt up over my back and yanked down the panties. Now, I knew what was coming! And I fought.

A pistol was shoved against my temple. The sound of the hammer being cocked got my immediate attention and I quit fighting. They could have my ass for a minute or two, and I knew they wouldn't kill me until they'd had their fun. But in a minute or two, my backup would be here. I'd be fucked, but alive. If I fought now, I was dead. Soon my guys would kick down the door and they were not going to take kindly to someone screwing Uncle Tony's grand kid.

I almost changed my mind about putting up a struggle when the fucker behind me shoved his dick all the way up my ass in a single thrust. I thought I'd been ripped in half. It hurt worse than anything I could have imagined. He started pounding the shit out of my ass and each thrust was pure agony. I could feel a warm liquid running down the inside of my thighs and I knew it wasn't sweat. His buddy pulled down his trousers, grabbed my head and shoved his dick in my mouth as I screamed.

Then I made my last mistake, and so had the guy with his dick in my mouth. I bit him as hard as I could, twisting my head and chewing with all the strength I had in my jaws. It was very satisfying in a perverse sort of way to hear his screams. When he lurched back, pulling with all this strength against my tightly clamped jaws, blood streaming from the remains of his dick, a little flash of pride went through me. I figured I wouldn't even miss the tooth I could see impaled in remains of his cock. It was going to be a very long time before that guy played with himself again.

I didn't have long to gloat because the guy with the gun started beating my face apart with it. The first blow hit me in the lips and I could feel the teeth being smashed and shattered and my cheeks tearing as the force of the blow broke my jaw. It hurt more than my ass did. I never did hear the arrival of my rescuers.

On my third day in the hospital, Uncle Tony himself showed up to see how I was doing. He'd probably ordered more deaths than any man in the country and had probably killed half of them himself, but he cried when he saw me. I couldn't talk very well with my jaw wired shut. Anything I tried to say came out in a badly slurred lisp that would have been hilarious if it hadn't come from the ruins of my face. He made small talk for a little bit until his lawyer came in the room and chased the cops out. My rescuers had known they couldn't get me to the hospital any faster than an ambulance, so they subdued my attackers, hauled them off and left me for the cops to find. My team checked to make sure I was alive, and waited till they heard the sirens and left. The cops found me in the same room with a lot of money and a lot of blood and were very interested in finding out what was going on.

When the cops were gone, Uncle Tony showed me the pictures and told me the story. The guy who raped me was clearly dead. The steel rod someone had pounded through him assured that. It entered his ass and came out his mouth. His body had been left hanging in the gang's headquarters as a warning. (It didn't even take the cops long to figure out why that gang disbanded in such a hurry.) No one had touched the guy who stuck his dick in my mouth, literally. One of the ambulance crew that picked me up was on our payroll. He'd followed the trail of blood to the alley and waited until the thug bled to death before attempting to give him first aid. I'd never even seen the guy who hit me from behind, and no one had seen him since the incident either. The thug who pistol whipped me was handed back to his family alive. Uncle Tony wasn't going to start a war over a mule, even if the mule was me. My brother hadn't liked the fact that the thug had used a gun on me so he'd hacked off the thug's thumbs and trigger fingers before they had taken him home. The pictures of the impromptu surgery were quite graphic.

Uncle Tony was quick for his age, and had the trash can under my chin just before I needed it. When I was done, he gently cleaned me up. As he did told me how my life was going to change.

The next day, I testified to the grand jury. Our lawyers had carefully coached me and I testified to witnessing a number of things about our competition. It was enough to put their "boss'" son behind bars immediately, and evertually earning him 20 to 30 years in jail. (The beating must have damaged my memory because I don't remember witnessing any of it.) My wrecked face and slurred speech made my perjury very compelling. The icing on the cake came that night when I crawled into the corner of my hospital room when the fire alarms went off and the power was cut. In the confusion a dark shadow crept into my room. The shadow used a pen light to make sure I was in the corner where I was supposed to be, then turned and fired seven shots into my bed. It tossed a mutilated rose on the bed -- the calling card of the enforcement branch of the competing family; the one I'd borne false witness against.

"See ya squirt! We love you!" The shadow whispered. I gave my brother a couple minutes to get away and then crawled into the hallway making as much noise as I could with a broken jaw.

Twelve hours after the "hit" attempt I was in the witness protection program, on the other coast of the US and in a hospital specifically selected to put me back together. The Feds were providing a new background for me and Uncle Tony was footing the bill of giving me a new face. We all hoped it would be enough to keep me alive. My life as a mobster was over, but Uncle Tony was going to do his damnedest to give me a fresh start.

I spent the next six month's in that hospital. Uncle Tony's orders were specific and the staff became perfectionists in carrying out his wishes, as anyone with any common sense did. Uncle Tony knew that anyone searching for me would looking for someone made up to look older than my 21 years, since that was the easiest and fastest way to make a change. He took the other route.

I had a grand total of 14 operations on my face and head before they were satisfied with my looks. For six months I was either on the operating table, in recovery, or working with a physical therapist bent on making sure I gained strength without gaining mass and that my physique matched the profile Uncle Tony demanded. I swear I'd walked enough to go from the hospital in California to New York City and swam enough to get back.

The moment the dentist installed my false teeth was the second happiest moment of my life. It meant the worst of the reconstructive surgery was over, the only thing left were a few "touch ups". The happiest moment was the same day when I ate my first solid meal in five months. You have no idea how good a steak, medium rare, swamped in mushrooms and onions can taste and how wonderful it is to be able to chew something.

The day before I checked out was the first time I saw the new me, without all the bandages. I came back from physical therapy and found a full length mirror in my room and a package on the bed. The guy in the mirror was definitely not what I remembered. He looked about 14 years old, and was so handsome, he was almost pretty. The long brown hair that reached to the middle of my back was gone, of course. My face was so swollen and beat up when I was admitted; they'd simply shaved the sides of my head and started to work on my ears. What was left on top was tied up in a top knot and hacked off so it couldn't cause an infection. As I gazed in the mirror I compared what I was once to what I was now. I knew my "target" age was supposed to be 14 to 17 and the doctors had hit it on the button. Even the barber who worked on me that morning had added his art to that of the surgeons. The sides and back of my head were sheared to the skin. What flopped down from the top was cut in a neat bowl, complete with the long floppy bangs worn by young teens. My eyebrows were shaped differently with more of an arch. My blue eyes were the same they'd always been, but the eyelids and skin around the eyes were changed to give me that wide eyed innocent look so popular on puppies and children. My ears were smaller and didn't stick out as far as I remembered and I no longer had the big earlobes that had graced them. My nose was much smaller, and far more shaply than the honker it had been before. It was even pushed up at the front into a cute pug nose. The teeth were perfect, after all, they were the best money could buy, and the chin and jaw had been reshaped into a Kirk Douglas clone. They'd broken my jaw three times before they'd gotten that look. I looked hard for scars, but there were none. I could see fine lines at the hairline and around my neck, but no scars. All in all, I thought I was the finest looking piece of man-flesh on two feet. It was a vast improvement over the old me.

I pulled off my gym clothes to examine rest of the kid in the mirror. It was the first time I'd seen how well they'd matched the body to the face. Instead of taking flesh from my thighs for skin grafts, they'd pulled it from my chest and sides. I was supposed to look like I'd been in a serious accident, and I did. I had an impressive array of scar tissue that seemed to add to rather than detract from my overall appearance. The almost continual physical therapy had added definition to the body, but not mass. I was still somewhat short, but now it was a well developed short. I'd been a fairly hairy bastard in the past, but no longer. My face had been almost completely depiliated. Propaganda notwithstanding -- electrolysis is not painless, especially when they finished my face and started working on the rest of my body. My crotch was covered with a sparce (but artfully constructed ) dusting of pubic hair (a definite change from the curly forest it had been before) and only a trace of hair remained on my chest, legs and arms. The smaller than average sized dick I was so inordinately fond of and its balls were untouched (the phrase "hung-like-a-mule" would clearly never apply to me. Unfortunately, it had to the guy who raped me.) and matched the body perfectly. The kid in the mirror was shorter than the norm for a teen but there was nothing I could do about that, I was stuck at my DNA's commanded height. I was now much thinner, (before, I had been somewhat "over fed") due to the doctor's efforts to make me as unlike my formal self as possible. I concluded Uncle Tony had gotten his money's worth, although a little more height (surely science could have at least stretched me to six feet) and a larger "endowment" (eight inches minimum) would have been nice.

I turned my attention (reluctantly) to the package on the bed. I already knew my name. The staff had started calling me Ethan a week after I arrived. The package confirmed the name. I was Ethan Alexander Cooke and the birth certificate said I was 16 years old. Ethan had a very sizable amount of money in a trust fund (courtesy of Uncle Tony, no doubt) that would see me through college and keep me reasonably well off for the rest of my life if I was careful. There was a 10 page history of Ethan's background and an envelope containing school records, test scores, a social security card and so on. A calendar showed me leaving for a "youth ranch" in Montana the next day where I would spend the last month of summer vacation. In mid August I would start my junior year of high school at the Academy. Starting high school again didn't thrill me, making it through once had been enough. Being in an all male military school would kill any hopes of a social life, but I had to admit, the Academy would not be a likely place for my Uncle Tony's competitors to look for me. But in the back of my mind, I could hear the Feds laughing their heads off at their cleverness. They'd managed to lock me up just as thoroughly as if they'd stuck me in a prison -- and I had to serve at least two years.

The worst shock came when the staff psychologist and my case officer (the Fed) came in. When I entered the hospital, I'd been a horny little bastard and had been moderately successful at bedding the ladies. To survive in the witness protection program, old habits and behaviors had to change completely. Graveyards were filled with "protectees" who couldn't do without their Cuban Cigars, imported brandies, a taste for whores, drugs or whatever. I was being hunted with a veracity that increased every day "Guido-the-Gimp's" favorite son stayed in jail. To keep me alive, the Feds had decided that if I wanted to have sex, it was going to be gay sex.

I couldn't believe it. I had the best looking face and body I'd ever seen. For the first time in my life, I'd draw women like a magnet. It was a hard choice to make. Chasing and fucking women in itself would not be enough to give me away. But that, along with my heavy New York accent, my small stature, and other seemingly minor things, could eventually be assembled into a picture of "Mikey the mini-mule" that a new face and background couldn't hide. Provided, of course, the hit man was sufficiently motivated to make the effort. For the amount of money currently on my head -- I'd have shot myself if I could have figured out how to collect.

I decided that I wanted to live, but if that meant being gay, I was going to be buried so deep in a closet my fellow gays would never be able to dig me out. I'd been fucked once -- it wasn't going to happen again. In a perverse sort of way, it satisfied one of my mother's fondest desires (or rather, a part of it). She'd wanted me to be a priest. It looked like at least the celibate part was coming true!

Mid-August found me sitting in the hot Texas afternoon sun, taking a break from doing a seemingly interminable number of push ups. It was my first day at the Academy and I was sitting in a circle with the 126 other freshmen and a few enrollees from higher grades watching a karate demonstration. We all looked alike. Shaved heads, gym shorts and a regimental T-shirt. The only difference was my shirt had a slash on it indicating I was a Junior. There were a few other older kids with hash marks and slashes that indicated they eventually would be upperclassmen as well, but for the next two weeks we were all "Scum." That morning we'd cowered under the screams of the sophomore class as they ushered us through the lines where our civilian clothes were taken from us, and laughed as we stood naked in a line waiting for the doctors to do a brief physical. They'd screamed at us through lunch and as they'd marched us back to our dorm to find our rooms. They'd marched us to the field and screamed as they'd run us damn near to death and made us do push ups until we collapsed. Now they screamed at us to pay attention to the demonstration. I was not happy with the Feds. but at the moment a couple "screamers" were competing for number one on my hit list.

I sat next to my roommate. He was a junior as well, although it had taken him an additional year to get that far. They'd failed him once because of his lack of leadership potential (meaning he didn't like sports, and excelled at academics and computers). He was sitting beside me because while the freshman had "big brothers" from the junior class to mentor them, that role was filled by the roommates of us older "scum." In the pauses between the screaming, he'd quietly explain what I was supposed to be doing.

I found that if you stood at attention, looking straight ahead, you could hold a descent conversation, if you whispered. It was looking around and talking louder than a quiet whisper that drew the screamers. My roommates name was Clancy Matthews, from Orlando, Florida. He introduced himself as the poster child of the geeks. He had a great, subtle sense of humor. He was thin, tall, with thick glasses covering bright blue eyes that saw everything, yet made him look -- well -- geekish. He had a huge shock of tight, bright red curls jutting a couple inches straight up from the top of his head, that was otherwise cut almost to the skin. When I stepped out of the barber chair that morning, I'd have loved to have any hair that long. I couldn't believe they could cut your hair so short in 30 seconds.

The demonstration we were watching was a farce. It was clearly rehearsed and designed solely to impress us "scum." I was feeling a trifle put out, and I knew my new classmates were frustrated as well, so when they finished and turned to us for applause, I booed. Unfortunately, I was the only one who booed. The screamers hauled me to my feet and thrust me out in front of the group.

"Why'd you boo, scum?"

"Because it was a put on. You were dancing, not fighting. It was all a show!" Not keeping my mouth shut was a habit I was going to have to break.

"Perhaps you can do better? Scum," one of the fighters said. He walked over to the referee and said

"I challenge the scum."

There was a deep sigh behind me and Clancy stepped forward. He explained to me that a challenge meant a hand to hand fight. It had a few rules, like no kicking someone in the nuts, no blows to the face, and no kicks to the knees or kidneys. Other than that, the only rule was that the referee's word was law. Break when told to break, rest when told to, and so on. He said the challenge was over when one party submitted or when someone delivered what the referee considered a decisive punch. Clancy didn't quite tell me to take a fall, but he hinted at it. I pulled my teeth out and handed them him.

"Keep these for me. Please," I lisped. From his expression, you'd have thought I handed him a turd. The gasps from the crowd indicated they thought the same thing.

"Choose your weapon scum," my opponent ordered, pointing to a little display of hardware. I picked up a little rubber dagger. It wasn't balanced right, but I could make it do.

"I choose my hands," he told the crowd proudly. Cheers came from the screamers.

"Fight!" The referee ordered.

My opponent dropped into a classic, though highly over dramatic, karate crouch and waited for my attack. I threw the knife underhanded as I'd been taught, and it struck the kid in the Adam's apple.

"Kill! The scum wins!" Yelled the referee.

The assembled "scum" looked on in shocked silence until Clancy started cheering. The defeated kid started to argue, but the referee just gestured for him to leave the circle, and the kid stomped off in a huff. Clancy threw me a "thumbs up" then frowned. I turned and the other karate kid was issuing a challenge, saying I'd insulted him as well.

I chose the knife again and he chose his hands. I held the knife in my left hand and faked a throw. This one was faster than his partner, he ducked and rolled away. He danced back in, keeping a close eye on the rubber knife. I raised my hand for an overhead thrust and he raised his arm to block. Instead of thrusting, I tossed the knife to my right hand, rolled under his out stretched arm and shoved the knife under his rib cage just below his heart. He gasped as the wind raced out of his lungs and fell to his knees. I grabbed his head and forced it back. I drew the knife across his throat.

"Kill! The scum wins again!"

My "scummates" were on their feet, slapping me on the back, hugging me and piling on top until we all collapsed into a teeming heap. The screamers screamed trying to restore order, but for first time that day we were having fun. The seniors stood around and let us blow off some steam before stepping in. The screamers were just sophomores. Their role was simply to provide a stressful environment. The seniors had the authority. They could make you walk tours on the quadrangle during your limited free time, have you scrub their floors with your own toothbrush, polish their shoes with your tongue, or cut wood with a nail file. We were new, but we weren't stupid. When they shouted fall in, we did. When they ordered the screamers to fall in, they did. They sent the formation of screamers back to the dorm in disgrace. After they let Clancy hand me back my teeth, which he did with a flourish that pleased the crowd, they ordered us to run. We ran another mile or so with the seniors running beside us. When we finally made it back to the dorm, we were pooped and the seniors were hardly winded. They formed us up again and dismissed us.

As we walked up the stairs to our second floor room, I put a friendly arm around Clancy's shoulder and gave him a playful hug.

"Thanks for the support out there, Clancy."

Clancy surprised me by giving me a hug back. Then he blushed a bright crimson, and trotted down the hall away from me.

As a Junior, the sophomore "screamers" were not allowed on our floor, so I had a little peace. Unfortunately, the screamers were waiting for me when I formed up with the other scum to march to dinner.

After the two week initiation for us "scum" the academic year started. The screamers still howled at the freshman (they'd be scum until the end of the semester), but I was off limits now that I outranked them. I didn't bother to harasses the scum, and I'd settled my score with the nastiest of the screamers in the gym the first week of class. A couple still limped. I'd even made a sad attempt to use my street fighting skills to get some of the seniors off my back. It was sad because their discipline and training overmastered my ego and chaotic fighting style and most of them had beaten me badly (to the delight of some of the screamers). By the second week of the semester, I knew exactly where I fit in the pecking order, and I did my own share of limping.

Clancy and I became best friends in that short period. Each of our strengths offset a weakness in the other. Clancy provided the honesty, integrity and brains. I provided the aggressiveness, and lack of respect for authority. On our own at the Academy, we'd have just barely survived. As a team, we were rapidly becoming unstoppable.

In the third week of class, I'd walked into my room just after lights out. I'd been marching tours because I'd lipped off to a senior, again. Instead of being in bed as he should have, Clancy was sitting at his desk working on his computer. This wasn't surprising, Clancy was always working on at least one computer. The only light in the room was the dim light of his laptop's back lit screen and he was so engrossed in what he was doing he didn't see me come up behind him. He was looking at pictures he'd downloaded from the net. And what pictures they were! If I'd ever had any questions about how gay men made love -- they were answered by what he had on the screen. I let him cycle through half a dozen pictures or so (this was supposed to be my lifestyle after all) until a picture of two guys flat on their backs, butts almost touching appeared. The double headed dildo that connected them was huge. Their own shaven dicks and balls looked shriveled and insignificant next to that monstrous pole between them.

"Damn, that's gotta hurt!" I gasped.

Clancy shot about a foot up out of his chair and probably would have gone higher except his hard-on collided with the top of the kneehole in his desk and he collapsed with a groan. He turned toward me with panic on his face.

"Please, Ethan. Please don't tell.... I get enough shit here, and if this gets out I'll never hear the end of it," he pleaded.

"Easy, buddy, easy," I told him. "Where I come from, loyalty is everything. You'd don't rat on your friends (although ratting on your enemies was fair game -- if you could survive). You're my roommate and best friend. How you spend your time is none of my business, and I'll make sure it's no one else's either. I'm sorry I snuck up on you. I'm going to bed."

Clancy shut down his computer as I carefully hung up my uniform and climbed into the Academy issue pajamas that were the required uniform of the night. God help you if you were caught making a run to the latrine at night in anything else. I think the staff deluded themselves into thinking that because they were heavy and had no flies, they were armor against the nocturnal activities boys indulged in. They probably should have talked to the laundry folks about that.

As I crawled into bed, Clancy cleared his throat and said in very quiet whisper.

"Ethan, you probably ought to know that I'm gay."

I gritted my teeth, and thought hard about my answer. I owed Uncle Tony a lot, far too much to betray his trust and wind up shot to death because I couldn't follow his orders. He'd told me during his last visit to the hospital in New York that I was to make a new life for myself. He told me never to break the law again and to make sure I stayed alive. He couldn't protect me any more, and the Feds could only try, and that still might not be nearly enough to keep me alive.

I followed Uncle Tony's orders to the letter.

"It's OK by me Clancy, I am too."

The shocked silence from his bed told me I had just committed myself to my new life.

Saturday 5:45am -- the week before Thanksgiving

Clancy looked up at me from where his head lay on my chest. He smiled and started to snuggle up a little closer when they started pounding on doors down the hallway. He literally popped out of my bed and stood stretching on the floor as a cadet pounded on our door and pressed on to the next. I don't think I've ever seen him in a better mood. He was whistling to himself has he headed down to the showers. I couldn't figure out how two guys sleeping in the same bed could make someone that happy. If we'd had sex, it would have made some sense, but we'd simply slept. I didn't see anything unnatural or sexual about friends sharing a bed. It was a mystery to me. I scrubbed my teeth in the little sink in our room and was headed for the showers about the time he was headed back. He was still in a good mood and I had to dodge the end of the towel he was snapping at everything in sight. What ever I'd done by letting him sleep in my bed was something I hoped I could figure out how to bottle -- I'd be rich.

I loved some parts of Saturdays at the Academy. After the hated morning inspection, the rest of the day was spent at inter-regimental games. I played on our soccer team and did hand-to-hand combat challenges, while Clancy played on the golf team. At the end of the day, weather permitting, there was a school wide cookout. Hazing and differences in rank were forgotten (and forbidden) during the cookouts so it was a time of pure relaxation and enjoyment. What I didn't love about Saturdays was that it didn't get me out of the two hours of walking tours I had to do because I'd violated one of the many, many rules of the Academy. I got back to the room about 30 seconds before lights out and wound up crawling into bed in the dark. I almost expected to find Clancy in it, but the slight squeak of his mattress springs said he was already suitably occupied.

Sunday was tough for both of us. Virtually all of our classmates' parents were picking them up for the Thanksgiving vacation. We watched them proudly show their parents around the school in what was our annual open house for the parents. The students were in a good mood because they were getting away for a week and because, for us "scum" our privileges had been expanded. Our hair could now be longer and the weekly head shaving would now become twice a month haircuts. We could only be harassed for more serious violations and we could now leave the confines of the school. We could even use the little student canteen to buy sodas, magazines and whatnot. No wonder everyone was happy except those condemned to spend their vacation here. When the big parade for the parents was over and all the cars had left, Clancy and I looked sadly at each other and headed off to dinner in a nearly deserted dining hall.

To keep Clancy's spirit up (I was a little concerned about why I was concerned with keeping him happy all of a sudden. And why I felt better when he was happy) I told him that I thought I should buy a computer to help pull up my grades. To say he was delighted was an understatement. It was a geek's wet dream. He stopped picking at his food and started shoveling it down as he started a running conversation with himself about what to buy. He waited impatiently for me to finish eating and then virtually dragged me back to the room so he could start planning my purchase. Virtually turned to literally at the top of the stairs of our dorm, as he took my hand and raced down the hallway with me in tow.

I (and anything else for that matter) didn't exist to him for the rest of the night. He searched his catalogs and magazines for the best deal on computers and accessories, and made list after list of what he wanted to purchase, tore up the list and started the process over again. He even called our computer lab teacher and convinced him to drive us to the computer store the next day. I was happy that he was happy (I still hadn't figured out why) and enjoyed watching him search in a frenzy for the system that was "just-right-for-me" but what in reality was "just-right-for-Clancy." I finally went to bed. He was still revising his list in the middle of the night.

The next afternoon, I had a room full of boxes, and Clancy and Mr. Struthers were assembling the pieces. Other than to call my bank and have an officer arrange payment from my trust fund, I had no input and no voice in what was purchased. They built a little network with our two laptops and two desktops tied together with printers, scanners, and who knows what all. When I went to bed that night, Clancy was still working on a system that I owned most of, but had yet to touch.

I knew he was planning to work all night because just before lights out he draped his blanket over the window and stuffed a towel under the door to keep the light from showing. I was joking when I told him I didn't want to sleep with the lights on again and that if he shut everything down and turned out the lights he could sleep in my bed. I was sort of shocked when he shut everything down, had the lights out, was in his pajamas and was under my covers before I could put my teeth in the glass. He turned me to face the wall and snuggled his front as tightly as he could into the curves of my back, even going so far as to wrap his arms around me and pull me into him. I started to protest, but it was already too late -- he was snoring happily. To my own surprise, I was completely content and comfortable in a way I never was before. I loved the warmth of his body next into mine, and the security of his arms about me. I dropped off to sleep wondering what was happening to me.

I awoke suddenly, startled by something. It was the motion of Clancy moving against me. It took me a second to realize what he was doing. He was rubbing his dick in the crack of my ass through two thick layers of pajamas! I was about to pound him into pulp, but his quiet, nonsensical murmuring and the knowledge that he was far too shy to dare something like this, convinced me he was asleep. Besides, I was supposed to be gay, and a gay should be enjoying this, shouldn't he? I was confused and while I was trying to figure out what to do, the tempo of his movement picked up sharply and then halted as his arms tightened abruptly pulling me back against his quivering pelvis. His excited little snorts became a contented sigh as he relaxed and fell gently away from me. I made a mental note to make him change sheets with me in the morning and then reached under my pillow for the sock I kept there so I could take care of the raging hard-on that had just appeared in my own pjs. It took only seconds and Clancy didn't stir when I tossed the used sock over him to slap wetly to the floor. I was going to make him scrub the floor too.

I had already taken my shower and was brushing my teeth when he awoke. He watched from my bed as I put on the adhesive and fitted them.

"I love watching how your face changes when you do that."

"What on earth are you talking about, you pervert." I answered mockingly.

"No, I mean it. Without them, you're a cute kid whose mouth looks sort of melted. When you put your teeth in, it transforms you into the most beautiful and desirable man I've ever seen."

I stared at him until he blushed. I stared at him until he realized what he'd just said and the embarrassed blush changed to a look of mortification.

"I'm sorry, Ethan. I wasn't making fun of you. It's true, you're beautiful -- I mean, I'd never make fun of you about something like that -- I mean, I like you, you're my best friend but I'd never--"

I was having a great time watching him squirm, so I turned up the heat a little.

"I know you like me Clancy. Feel the front of your pajamas."

He touched the stiffened fabric at his crotch and jerked his hand away as if it had been burned. He made the association between last night's dream and this morning's reality. He rocketed out of my bed and stood in the center of the room turning a bright crimson. With Clancy's red hair and pale complexion, that crimson was a true sight to behold. Stop lights would have died of envy.

"Shit! I'm sorry Ethan, I didn't mean to -- I mean, I shoulda--. You shoulda waked me, uh, well, shit!"

It was fun watching him squirm, but he was a sensitive person and I didn't want him taking the kidding too seriously. I was in much too good a mood to hurt him.

"Clancy. I was just teasing," I told him

"I was awake last night during your dream. I felt your movement. I knew what you were doing. I didn't care, because you're my best friend. I was more comfortable last night with you than I have been in years. I loved feeling your arms around me, and having you so close to me. For some reason, I want you to be happy. I want you to be comfortable with what we are and I want to be your best friend." (I have no idea where those words came from. They didn't just pop out -- they were far too corny for that. I wondered just how much truth was in them.)

I sat on the bed, pulled him down next to me. On an impulse, I gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. It was the first kiss I'd ever given a man other than my Dad or Uncle Tony. Clancy put his head on my shoulder and his arms around me and squeezed -- hard. The boy had some muscle. It was well hidden, but it was there. I grunted and waited for him to release me. It was starting to hurt when he relaxed and looked down at me.

The look bothered me a little. There was a lot more than friendship in that look, and not a little of it was lust.

He glanced at the clock and laughed evilly.

"Shit. It's only 6:15 and the chow hall doesn't open today till 8:00. What shall we do till then?"

I'd never seen Clancy assertive before, and the change was dramatic. He leaned down and kissed me on the lips. He kept kissing, and pulled me tightly to him as he ran his tongue over my lips. To my surprise I felt my dick responding and, to my surprise, I began to kiss him back. To myself, I thought my response was due to nine months of enforced celibate behavior caused by my hospitalization and my attendance at the Academy. I attributed his amorousness to his virginity and his equally celibate behavior. No matter the cause, we were both hornier than a bull with two dicks.

As I dug my tongue into his mouth he pulled me back on top of him. I tried to pretend it was a woman I was kissing. My hand slipped down to his crotch and the stiffened rod I felt gave lie to that vision. Clancy rolled over on top of me and slid his hands down my chest to grab my pajama bottoms.

He pulled his lips from mine and stared into my eyes.

"You don't know how long I've waited to kiss a man that way. And now I want to do something more, for you," he whispered as he started to slide my pajamas down.

"I've never done this before. Promise me you won't cum in my mouth," he pleaded.

"I promise," I told him. It was the same request made of me by the last girl who'd done me. This time I'd keep my promise -- I hoped.

With no preamble his warm lips wrapped around my dick and he slid down my shaft. He sucked heartily and then pulled his mouth off to look up at me.

"Well? What?" I asked. I was surprised to hear a little impatience in my voice. My dick was so hard it hurt, and I wanted relief -- any relief -- badly.

He leered down at my dick.

"It's smaller than I expected. It kind of looks like a dick only smaller. It'll have to do. I'm too horny to wait."

Before I could answer he'd taken all of it again and was sucking harder, stroking with his lips as his tongue flickered around the base of my cock. As his enthusiasm rose, he started nibbling. I swatted his head.

"No teeth! No teeth! Take it easy!" I whispered hoarsely.

I heard a muffled "Sorry", and then he'd released my dick and started to lick my balls and the trail to my anus.

"I like your dick better," he said. "It may not be huge, but to me it's perfect."

He returned to sucking my cock while using his hand to fondle my balls. That was it! After almost a year of playing with my own meat for relief, someone else manhandling me set me off almost immediately. I started to thrust my hips more deeply into his mouth and I felt his mouth crash into my crotch. The cum rose in my balls and raced to my dick as my body stiffened. At the last second I remembered my promise. I grabbed a handful of red hair and pulled as my dick exploded in the biggest orgasm I'd ever felt.

I didn't cum in his mouth, but I didn't miss it by much either. My dick spurt cum on his chin and neck as I pulled him up away from my crotch. As his body moved against mine, I covered his neck, and the top of his pajammas with cum as I continued to pump my load. The spasms were weakening as he grabbed my hand and disentangled it from his curls. He slid the rest of the way up my body to kiss me heartily.

"Did I do good?" he asked.

After the remarks he'd made about my dick, I decided to take him down a peg.

"Well. To be honest, it wasn't the greatest. Hop off, I think I need to take another shower."

His face fell and his jaw dropped. He looked like a hurt puppy. I pulled him back to my lips and thrust my sticky, but limp dick against his hard one. I rolled until I was on top. My own lust hadn't faded completely with my orgasm and I felt a strange need to satisfy the hunger and desire I saw on Clancy's face. I pulled his pajama top up to his chin and slid down his chest to suck hard on his nipple. Girls seemed to love it when I did that to them. He gasped loudly and I felt the nipple harden under my tongue, so I nibbled on it lightly. He squirmed against me and I gave the nipple another high (or is it low?) pressure suck. I picked my head up and rolled on my side. He looked at me quizzically until he saw me reach into my mouth. His eyes widened as I put my dentures on the bedside table and rolled back onto his chest, sucking and nibbling his tit with my gums. I could feel his hot dick throbbing against me as I slid down him and finally put my hand around his shaft. It was much larger than my own.

"Now, ith mith thurn. Leth thee if I can do a bether job than you dith."

Judging by his sudden fit of giggles it occurred to me that "sweet talk" while making love was something I could forget about. Even to myself I sounded like Donald Duck. However, I don't think Donald Duck could do with his bill, what I could do with my lips and gums.

I put my lips around the head of his dick and was trying to gather the courage to go further when Clancy responded to the light touch of my lips by thrusting with his hips. I felt his dick plunge into the back of my throat and start down my gullet and my nose crashed into the red curls on his crotch. It was like someone shoving a pipe down my throat. I started to gag and pulled my head from his dick as I coughed and tried to keep from throwing up.

"Sorry," Clancy said in a contrite little voice, "but no one's ever done that to me before."

I glared at him and then bent down to try again. As I slurped on his dick, he got harder and I noticed a new taste that could only be his pre-cum. It didn't taste as bad as I had imagined so I continued to suck on his dick. Clancy began to groan softly as I slid slowly up and down his cock. I tried to get all of him in my mouth again and eventually succeeded. I closed my jaw slightly, pressing the scar tissue on my gums into the flesh of his manhood. I pulled my head to the top of his dick and Clancy's groans turned into pants. I shoved my head back down on his cock, twisting my head slightly to rub my gums against his dick. About my third trip down his cock, the pants turned to gasps, and I figured he was close.

Clancy gave me no warning before his dick swelled mightily and his balls slammed into his crotch. It took a split second to realize what was coming next, and then his first blast of cum was in my mouth. I swallowed the first spurt in surprise, and then kept the rest for revenge. When he was limp in my mouth, I released him and slithered up his body. He was ready for my kiss, but unprepared when I spit most of his cum into his mouth, clamped my hand over it and held his nose. Eventually he had to swallow. His eyes glazed over as he fought for control of his stomach. When they cleared, and I saw the laughter in them, I released my grip and kissed him hard. He belched as I pulled away and I thought it would it would be along time before cum would be a popular flavor for breath sweeteners. Clancy grabbed me and hugged me tightly.

"Thank you, Ethan, Thank you," he said in what was almost a sob. He'd been waiting all his life for his first blow job.

"My pleathure, Clanthy. Itth noth every day you geth to busth thom one's cherry foe theem."

In the future if I wanted to make intimate moments last longer, I was going to have to either make love with my teeth in, or give up talking after sex. Nothing ruins a moment faster than your partner laughing at you -- twice during the same love making session.

Clancy pulled me tightly to him again and covered my mouth and neck with kisses. I returned them with equal ferver. We'd have probably gone a little further when the officer of the day started pounding on doors. Even with no school is session -- no one at the Academy got to sleep in. Clancy gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and rolled me off him. He stood up and stretched. He looked down at his cum covered pajama top and his slime covered dick standing at half mast, his pajamma bottoms wrapped around his ankles. He looked with disgust at the damp spots on my bed, and then laughed.

"Damn, I'm glad we did that in your bed. I never expected it to be this messy."

He grabbed his robe and towel and headed down the hallway to the shower. I rolled out of bed and followed him, hoping the officer of the day didn't notice it was my second trip to the shower that morning.

I was laughing myself when I got to the showers. In a way I'd pulled a fast one on the Feds. I'm sure they'd planned that by making my new identity gay, they'd drive a horny young ex-mobster crazy. Pretending I was gay was going to be incredibly easy. For one thing, I wasn't sure I had to pretend!

Part II to follow (as time permits)