The Navigators

There’s a secret society at the US Naval Academy.

It’s hidden in plain sight.

On the surface, the Navigators are a mainstream Christian ministry that helps midshipmen develop a personal relationship with their savior through biblical teachings, worship, and fellowship. A secret splinter-sect, however, has a different perspective and agenda.

Rejecting the exhausted dogma of traditional thought, they chart a new course. Worshiping divine masculinity and universal brotherhood, their mission is the cultivation of a pervasive homosexual moral, cultural, and spiritual ethos in the Navy.

With constancy of purpose, they advance the glorification of masculinity in the Fleet. Shaping policy within the Pentagon, high ranking apostles envision a day when gay officers and enlisted men can openly serve with pride in the world’s most powerful Navy.

Until then they must operate in the shadows.

* * * *

YP-665 departs Santee Basin.

The 80-foot yard patrol craft built by Stephens Bros, Inc. is utilized for navigational training. Displacing 55 tons, equipped with two 12V-71 marine diesel engines, the craft can cruise for 1,800 nautical miles at 12 knots for five days without refueling.

Seductive breezes whisper possibilities.

High above, wispy cirrus clouds - sailors of the sky, drift by.

Charting a north-west course the craft navigates 5 miles up the Severn River. Aboard are 12 midshipmen and a crew of 4 enlisted sailors. Selected by the Commandant, the young men possess highly-honed skills and the proper disposition.

All are Navigators.

“You nervous?” asks Calabrese, the 1/c midshipman operational leader.

“A little. It’s my first off-campus mission," responds 4/c Parker.

“Don’t worry, everything will proceed smoothly,” throwing a reassuring arm about Parker’s shoulders.  “They’re powerful and eccentric. But mostly harmless.”

“They’ll all fancy you Parker. You’re so getting fucked,” laughs Spicer.

The 2/c midshipman from Montana is strikingly handsome with auburn hair and gunmetal blue eyes. Lean and powerful, the 155lb state champion wrestler has a stunning physique. A profusion of granite muscles sheathed with unblemished alabaster skin.

“Screw you, asshole!”

Parker is the youngest midshipman on the mission. Breathtakingly beautiful, his flawless body will draw significant attention. Draped in perfection, his strong jawline, full lips, and confident eyes are reminiscent of a young Apollo - the radiant archer.

He knows he’ll be taking more than his fair share.

While he worships Divine Masculinity and craves oral communion, he’s not as enamored with being fucked. Not that he’s had much choice in the matter. A rite of passage, novices take turns over the barrel and receive robust blessings from upperclassmen.

“Relax. Everyone has a role to play. And fate will have its say,” advises Calabrese.

Due to proximity to Washington DC, the Academy has close ties to important men. Senators. Congressmen. Powerbrokers. All the beltway’s homosexual elite. Progressive and likeminded, the Commandant belongs to the local Mattachine Society.

It’s named after a French medieval fraternity of unmarried masked men. Through anonymity they criticized monarchs with impunity to foster social change. The American version advocates equality for homosexuals through the transformation of cultural and social institutions.

There’s a strong relationship between evolving social policy and military service.

The Great Wars demanded a new paradigm.

Playing a vital role in reshaping the social landscape, the military transformed America with the acceptance and integration of Italian, Irish, German, Polish, Black, Indian, and Asian service members. A diverse military for an increasingly diverse society.

The last frontier is the integration of sexual diversity.

The Society’s annual weekend retreat is scheduled at a secluded location. Accessed by private invitation, members will revise strategic plans, propose new policies, and evaluate current initiatives to advance the acceptance of homosexuality in the military.

Activities are also planned to celebrate their inverted culture.

The debauchery of the Friday night kickoff reception is legendary. It’s an opportunity for gentlemen to freely indulge sublimated desires without fear of repercussions. And this year the Commandant is generously supplying midshipmen as entertainment and facilitators of fantasy.

For Annapolis, besides accomplishing covert objectives and currying political favor, it’s an excellent opportunity to assess young Navigators under adverse real-world conditions.

A calm sea does not make a skilled sailor.

So the limits of endurance, lubrication, friction, and wear must be tested.

* * * *

Daylight fades to dusk as the YP approaches St. Helena Island.

Situated in Little Round Bay, the private 16-acre wooded island has a long sordid history. Owned by several wealthy families over the centuries, morphing through time, the enclave is the intellectual and libertine playground for progressives, revolutionaries, and homophiles.

Subversive politics seasoned with scandalous debauchery is soup du jour.

Demanding greater individual liberties, breaking free of rigid social constraints, deviation is the new norm. While righteous men patrol the power corridors of government during the week, they freely indulged perverse sexual predilections on weekends at St Helena.

Excitement grows with the expectation of hedonistic madness.

Erections are outlined in the midshipmen’s Dinner Dress uniforms. White jackets. Black trousers. Gold shirt studs. Black bowties. Gold cummerbunds. The iconic uniform is worn to formal functions in the summer when civilians normally wear black tie.

This is an important mission. Deploying irresistible assets, they will forge new and solidify existing alliances with congressional members. Charming Appropriations Committee members, they also hope to secure resources for new initiatives.

The secluded island sanctuary sports spectacular sweeping vistas.

Occupying the crest is the elegant centerpiece.

Built on a Palladian style five-part plan with colonnaded porticoes, the 6,567 square foot Federal period brick mansion has six fireplaces, exquisite mahogany woodwork, imported marble floors, and spacious salons with coffered ceilings.

Isolated from law-enforcement intrusion, several safes built into the masonry harken back to when the prohibition-era speakeasy and illegal casino catered to prominent citizens.

The ebb and flow of time obscures the past.

And for a brief moment St. Helena had a prominent seat at history’s table.

* * * *

Presidential Executive Order 10450.

Signed by Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1953, it bans homosexuals from federal employment and military service. Broadly demonized, inverts are ruthlessly hunted and prosecuted. And thousands of federal employees are fired under suspicions sans any proof.

It’s a dangerous time for university professors, eccentric bachelors, artists, and the entertainment industry. The Lavender Scare witch hunts dovetail with the McCarthy Red Scare. Paranoid America and law enforcement agencies see subversives, traitors, and inverts everywhere.

In Los Angeles a militant society is founded to fight back.

The Mattachine Society.

The grassroots homophile movement has its origins in the American Communist Party. With its utopian vision of an enlightened revolution, it battles for acceptance and equality for homosexuals, lesbians, and other disreputable sexual deviants.

Growing quickly, cells in a dozen cities emerge. Secrecy is paramount. Different levels of membership provide increasing access to classified plans. Isolated for security, membership and safe house locations at one cell are unknown to other cells.

The Island of St. Helena is remote and inaccessible.

Providing secure logistics, it serves as the secret headquarters and meeting place for the Washington D.C. cell for years. Many radical plans are hatched on the island. And vitriolic diatribes are penned for dissemination to influential, progressive publications.

Embroiled in political and social upheaval, the government is at war with its citizens. As the nation struggles through counterculture, social, and sexual revolutions, the Vietnam War, and civil disobedience, law enforcement agencies increase surveillance of deviants.

Peaceful meetings and gatherings of homosexuals are routinely infiltrated by members of the Perversion Section of the D.C. Police Department’s Morals Division.

Raids, arrests, and interrogations ensue.

Incarceration with psychoanalysis, aversion therapy, and castration is routine as psychiatry appropriates homosexuality from religion and transforms it from sin to mental disorder. And it’s believed all deviate sexual behavior is treatable if not fully curable.

As the Red Scare progresses the Society’s association with communism proves problematic. A battle for control ensues and the connection severed. Guiding principles are replaced with a more moderate ideology similar to that espoused by reformist civil rights organizations.

And the modern Gay Rights Movement is born.

The road bends, attitudes change, and the madness slowly attenuates. The McCarthy Red Scare is discredited and burns out. Although improved, it’s still deleterious to be identified as a homosexual. And grounds for immediate expulsion from military service.

The struggle for acceptance, assimilation, and equality continues.

* * * *

The YP docks and secures her engines.

Four yachts are already tied to the pier.

Disembarking, the midshipmen ascend an ivy covered knoll. Following a meandering flagstone footpath through a dense forest of white oak and hickory, they pass meticulously manicured gardens with colorful perennials, ornamental shrubbery, and red azaleas.

Marble fountains and Greek statuary populate the estate. Dionysus is the focal point of the west garden. The naked androgynous youth is the god of the grape harvest, winemaking, unrestrained consumption, ritual madness, fertility, and religious ecstasy.

The midshipmen enter the mansion… promenading in military splendor.

Two-dozen silhouettes are clustered in the grand salon.

Radical European socialist thoughts about sexual relationships are being discussed. Of particular interest is the emergence of new homosexual subcultures, youth’s eccentricities and exaggerated mannerisms, and the bohemian flare for the bizarre and outrageous.

Conversations cease as the young stallions are greeted with a resounding cheer. Changing the room’s dynamics, elevating expectations, the sudden rush of excitement is intoxicating. Feasting with hungry eyes, the men envision a spectacular evening of unbridled pleasure.

“Boys! Welcome to St. Helena,” greets the host.

The senior senator from Maryland, a sexual dilettante by inclination, is open to exploration and new adventures. Exceptionally handsome as a young man, he is now on the downward slope of attractiveness. Such is the transient nature of youth and enchainment of time.

“Thank you sir,” responds Calabrese. “The Commandant sends his personal regards and best wishes for a successful meeting.”

“Please convey our appreciation to the Admiral for providing excellent companionship.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I do hope we can arrange more frequent collaborations.”

“Sir, it’s a privilege to serve our leaders.”

Anonymity is in-order for the soiree - a masquerade of sorts without paper masks. Honoring the organization’s Mattachine Society roots, the gentlemen have adopted French resistance fighter nom de plumes - Claude, Francois, Edouard, Louis, Gaspard, and more.

Concealment and lies are second nature in Washington. Perpetuated to insulate from scandal, extortion, and blackmail, it affords protection from powerful special interest groups, criminal organizations, and overly ambitious law enforcement.

Unspeakable inclinations must be hidden from prying eyes.

Knowing perversions’ true name gives power and dominion to their enemies.

Introduced as Marie, the recently retired FBI Director’s flamboyant mannerisms, muliebrity, and couture validates whispered rumors. Maintaining confidential files on adversaries’ indiscretions, he possesses embarrassing information that could destroy careers.

Feared by Congress and Presidents, the FBI grows into the world’s preeminent law enforcement agency with seemingly unlimited reach and resources.

Well trained, the discreet midshipmen recognize the important wielders of authority, influence, and fate. But they pretend otherwise. Co-conspirators, they also operate in the shadows, slowly advancing their own agenda, strengthening and expanding their sphere of influence.

There’s great power in the knowing and keeping of secrets.

* * * *

Crystal decanters materialize.

Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve 20 Year 90 proof bourbon.

It’s the beverage of choice for special occasions. Considered by many to be the world’s finest, distilled and bottled in Kentucky, the dark amber bourbon is extremely difficult to procure due to low production and high demand.

Midshipmen are plied with generously filled snifters. Tulip shaped glassware, with a tapered opening inspired by nosing glasses, is the perfect vehicle to experience the bourbon’s concentrated aromas as the Master Distiller intended.

Served neat, it would be criminal to vitiate the exquisite profile.

The midshipmen are experienced consumers of potent beverages. Star athletes in high school, attending countless celebratory parties, they possess relatively high tolerances. Engaging in salacious conversations, they work the room and maneuver towards designated assignments.

At a minimum each will accommodate two gentlemen.

Most will entertain more.

The men represent a benign subspecies of an increasingly wild zoo of inverts. Their preferences have been meticulously documented by field operatives. There’s a suitable midshipman to satisfy every taste and inclination: top, bottom, dominant, submissive.

Although yearning for different adventures, all crave young flesh.

The seductive quest for forbidden fruit is impossible to resist. Harboring a fascination with boyishness, the men romanticize and idolize youth. Focused on physical attractiveness, the wrapping is valued over its content. A thing of beauty is a boy forever.

The midshipmen entertain the men with sea stories of sexual exploits. Reaching into the archives of depravity and delight, they perform ditties, raunchy limericks, and bawdy ballads that have imperiled innocence and offended sensibilities from time immemorial.

‘Billy Roy, cabin boy, nautical little nipper. 

Lined his ass with broken glass, and circumcised the skipper.’

Adventuresome hands brush against tempting asses and tumid gear as the gentlemen explore youthful landscapes. It’s a significant upgrade from the usual diet of mediocrity: boy prostitutes, hustlers, and street urchins populating Washington’s seedy underbelly.

Like the other service academies, Annapolis supplies exceptional boys to select clientele with impeccable credentials. Buried deep within arcane US Federal Code is a cloaked condition of continued congressional compensation for charmers, coquets, and catamites.

The Navy is the preferred provider for the White House and Capitol Hill. Naval bases strategically located across the country and overseas also provide enlisted sailors to support State, Justice, and other Federal Department requirements.

A tangled web of manipulation is being woven.

And the pursuers are pursued in pursuit of pleasure.

Midshipman Calabrese and a gentleman from Virginia make eye contact across the salon. They know each other. With a subtle gesture an impromptu intersection is arranged. Words are quietly exchanged as admiring glances are directed towards Parker.

An understanding is reached.

Trained in the subtle art of seduction, playing well-defined roles, the midshipmen enchant their targets like the Sirens of Odysseus. Inculcating desire within the unwitting men, they stir the imagination with the promise of the otherwise unattainable.

The demonic power of words and alcohol inflame repressed fantasies.

Attacking known vulnerabilities, the boys skillfully create the illusion of fulfillment. But like psammead, magical creatures that grant wishes for the duration of one day, the midshipmen’s erotic spells will disappear with the next sunrise.

“This is amazing,” cries a gentleman with a racing heart.

“How do we proceed?” asks a new congressman.

Government is a complex hierarchical organization with clearly defined levels of seniority. Within Congress, seniority is primarily determined by length of service, leadership positions, and membership on powerful committees: Appropriations, Armed Services, Finance, Ways and Means.

Although it does not reflect the line of succession or the co-equal status of the branches under the constitution, the ‘order of precedence list’, maintained by the State Department’s Protocol Office, is adhered to for diplomatic, ceremonial, and social events.

Spirited conversations and verbal sparring ensues.

Each man desires a Ganymede, son of Tros, King of Dardania.

Breaking with formal protocol, disregarding rules and regulations like desperate gold-rush prospectors staking land claims, frantic voices try to declare rights and jurisdiction over particular boys to satisfy aberrant inclinations.

Most are interested in erotic role play: father - son, coach - athlete, teacher - pupil, scoutmaster - boy scout, priest - altar boy, doctor - patient, police - juvenile offender… and endless variations. Extensive paraphernalia and accoutrements are available to enhance the fantasy.

Selections were anticipated weeks ago by the Commandant.

With very few exceptions the parings prove correct. At least for the first round. After that anything goes. Resting and recuperating between rounds, most men will naturally wish to experience as many midshipmen as possible.

While the majority will actively engage the boys in all incarnations of sexual pleasure, a handful are inclined to watch from the shadows.

Taking the initiative, caressing the elegant dress uniforms, buttons are undone, belts unfastened, and zippers lowered. Seductively stripping the accommodating midshipmen, shirts, trousers, and undergarments are ceremoniously removed as young flesh is revealed.

And the salon is strewn with the detritus of discarded clothing.

The young stallions delight in displaying their proud masculinity. Their bodies invoke images of classical mythological heroes and gods portrayed as young nude males standing in contrapposto. Provocatively rubbing tumid shafts, they reach maximum tumescence.

The appreciative men examine the offerings from every angle. Savoring the erotic perfection of youth - the exquisite skin, exceptional abdominal definition, substantial genitals, and alluring asses, they feel the delightful sting of concupiscence… the source of all humanity.

Men with boys in tow disperse throughout the mansion and gardens.

Some desire privacy; others remain in the salon relishing an audience.

With few exceptions the gentlemen crave midshipmen jam… the quintessence of youth and virility. With a limited supply available, the delicacy is a prize worth fighting over. And having once partaken of the exceptional cuisine, there’s no return to pedestrian fare.

Down on knees, the men instinctively lean forward and pay homage. The fresh taste of youth resonates on tongues. Impatient feeders, like starving third-world children they lunge forward and devour the delicacy, and vigorously suck until rewarded with potent elixir.

Midshipman 2/c Spicer proves prescient.

Parker is the center of attention.

Hungry feral eyes consume the gorgeous plebe. Yearning to explore their dark side, the impassioned men want novelty - a taste of the forbidden. Appearing innocent and pure, Parker is the perfect screen on which to project their degenerate fantasy.

A forced gangbang.

Collaborating on the adventure, moving deliberately like a pack of wolfs, five skilled predators quickly surround the midshipman. Excited by what society deems abhorrent and unacceptable, they want to abuse the defenseless boy. Vigorously. Repeatedly.

Bearing minatory grins and tumid shafts they aggressively grab the boy and shepherd him towards the formal dining room. Understanding the precarious situation, sacrificing personal preferences, performing his sworn duty, Parker embraces his destiny.

“Stop! Release him. Now!” commands a voice with authoritative timber.

A wild card is dealt. Fate intervenes.

The heroic knight, the charismatic gentleman from Virginia, has been watching Parker all evening. With a profound sense of entitlement, wielding unquestionable political power, the House Majority Leader is accustomed to getting what he wants.

And he wants Parker.

The midshipman looks strikingly like his own teenage son.

It’s a moment of uncertainty. Tension is tangible. With potentially deleterious repercussions, it’s never wise to get between a frenzied pack and its intended prey.

“But Leader, we all want to fuck him,” a congressman starts to protest.

“Shut up. He’s mine. Gang rape another,” he demands.

Several men briefly consider fighting for their preferred meal. Instinctively cautious, the experienced political animals exercise restraint and weigh the potential consequences.

Cowering in fear of retribution from the party patriarch, the pack ceases their advancement and reluctantly relinquishes Parker. Surveying the salon, they focus on a strikingly handsome midshipman with auburn hair, alabaster skin, and a profusion of muscles.

Midshipman 2/c Spicer.

Radiating natural masculine power, gesturing with an arrogance born from a lifetime of commanding underlings, the House Majority Leader draws Parker to him. With a strong moral compass and facade of respectability, few realize he harbors intense incestuous fantasies.

“Come with me son,” the man commands.

“Yes father,” replies the grateful Parker.

And they head off to the mansion’s master bedroom.

* * * *

Playing his role, Spicer struggles to escape.

But not too hard.

Making the perpetrators work for their prize, he increases their ultimate pleasure. The illusion of nonconsensual sex is not irrational, impulsive, uncontrollable lust, but rather a deliberate hostile act of rebellion over the personification of time.

Wounded with mortality, slipping past the peak of desirability, lurching towards infinite darkness, the men seek a reprieve from the destructive, all-devouring force.

Like Zeus and his siblings, who wrest control of the universe and time from Cronus, the men subjugate Spicer… a proxy for youthful time and sexual attractiveness. Consuming his potent masculinity, they are psychologically revitalized and regain control of their existence.

The scrum comes to its inevitable conclusion.

Outnumbered and overpowered, the midshipman is restrained. Gloriously naked, his smooth hairless body, firm pectorals with erect pink nipples, corded washboard abdominals, narrow waist, and swole ass excite the predators. A living work of art.

Spicer is ceremoniously marched into the formal dining room.

The grand space with oak beams and shimmering wallpaper is dominated by a solid mahogany table with turned legs and artful embellishments. Exquisitely crafted, the 8-foot long by 40-inches wide Colonial table has a rich deep-brown stain with a semi-gloss finish.

Positioned at the head of the table, Spicer is bent over the apron with stomach and forearms against the hardwood top. Spreading his legs and rotating hips, the men ensure proper alignment for further exploration from behind.

At the far end of the room are French doors to the West garden. Open to access the scented summer breeze, Dionysus watches and commands the humans in the pursuit of ritualistic ecstasy.

Entrenched in their clutches, the experienced boy appears defenseless and vulnerable. Appreciating the masculine form, their eyes are automatically drawn to his oversized gear. Bent backwards and bobbing, the massive cock hangs tantalizingly between muscular legs.

“It’s amazing,” exclaims an enchanted senator.

Unable to resist, his hand slides up-and-down the meaty 8-inch shaft.

Fully erect, a prominent blue vein runs the entire length down to the impressive ball bag. Heavily laden with key-lime sized fruit, the stretched floppy sack sways like a novice sailor in rough seas.

Feasting on the muscular ass, massaging the firm creamy white cheeks, admiring the innate perfection, the men anticipate the exquisite pleasure of fucking the delectable boy. Providing no quarter, they spread Spicer open. Revealing the defenseless flower.

Exchanging wolfish grins, they maneuver for unobstructed views.

The recipient of a robust Naval Academy education, the boy has enjoyed significant attention from his superiors. Slightly parted with raised rim, a stunning palette of crimson, carmine, and burnt sienna encircle the exquisite rosebud.

“Damn, look at that sweet fucking hole,” raping Spicer with licentious eyes.

“Oh my god. It's even more beautiful than I imagined!”

Why are men so attracted to this seemingly simple flower? The answer may transcend its innate beauty and instead reside in the natural fascination with the forbidden.

Although exposed and utterly vulnerable, Spicer isn’t embarrassed. In fact, he’s proud that his body can arouse strong emotions and desire in the distinguished men. As government property, he understands and accepts that his body belongs to the Navy and Nation.

Naturally submissive, he has found his calling.

Standing behind Spicer, a Massachusetts congressman admires the inviting ass. Disdaining laborious preparations, employing a minute amount of lubrication, running fingers around the quivering ring, the House Majority Whip initiates the ultimate act of domination.

He’s the elite product of white privilege.

Obtaining a master's degree in public policy from the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University and a J.D. from Yale Law School, the skilled elocutionist enters politics. An expert manipulator of circumstance, sacrificing integrity for ambition, he quickly ascends to a leadership position in the Democratic Party.

“Who fucks him first?” asks a junior congressman.

Bureaucratic contortionists vigorously discuss options.

Distracted, they don’t notice the Whip’s intent. Ignoring the rules of the game, with a sense of entitlement he takes what he wants. Physically aggressive, stepping forward, holding the midshipman’s hips, he positions himself against the pulsing pliant pussy.

Staking claim to Spicer’s masculinity, with reckless disregard for anything other than his own pleasure, he forces his rapacious cock through the orifice. Barely able to contain his excitement, bucking forward, he violently impales the boy with one savage thrust.

“Uggh!” Spicer grunts in pretend pain.

Deliberating men take notice and turn towards the midshipman.

“What the hell? The order wasn’t decided,” complains a choir of voices.

“You can debate all night. I’m fucking him now,” declares the Whip with fervency.

Although annoyed he commandeered first fuck, the men grudgingly respect the Whip’s direct approach. Cutting red tape, Washington needs more men of action. Mesmerized, they watch the thick shaft aggressively pump in-and-out of the succulent ass.

Moving with perfect precision, intentionally changing attack angles and thrusting side to side, the Whip searches for maximum pleasure, stretching the chute’s protesting walls.

“Fuck him harder!” the audience demands.

And Dionysus dances in euphoric madness.

Whimpering and moaning, committed to the mission, Spicer takes the violent shafting with pride. Paying his dues, earning respect and enhanced privileges, he envisions winning a key leadership position next semester as a brigade striper.

Cloaked in protective shadows, surrendering to primitive compulsions, several men watch intently in silence. Mesmerized by the erotic performance, vigorously masturbating, the voyeurs’ dark desires are masked behind impenetrable eyes and inscrutable smiles.

Concealed cameras also watch. And record everything.

The soiree’s host acquires political capital.

Intoxicated with wonder, pounding persistently with pride, the Whip’s pendulous balls violently slap the passive midshipman. Pummeling the whimpering boy with reckless abandon, savoring the pleasure, he ensures Spicer feels every glorious inch.

Relishing the fabulous feeling of the squeezing chute, intense and relentless, the Whip is approaching climax. Ascending the euphoric pinnacle, he stiffens and explodes. Impregnating Spicer, he discharges potent seed inside the battered womb.

Breathing deeply… exhausted, he extracts himself. Spicer is stretched wide open. Admiring his handiwork, running a finger around the gaped and distorted ring, the Whip grins with satisfaction.

Another man quickly takes his place and plugs inside.

And then soon after another.

The aperture’s tightness is ruined during the night’s festivities. No longer serviceable, several adventuresome men experiment with double penetration. Unexplainable, there’s something compelling about opening up an ass… transcending perceived limitations and boundaries.

And Spicer takes an epic shafting.

* * * *

The next morning the midshipmen gather their belongings.

Exchanging farewells, they gingerly embark aboard the YP.

The enlisted crewmen smirk but remain silent. Battered and bruised, the midshipmen heroically accommodated all the men’s fantasies and fetishes. Mission accomplished. Securing powerful alliances and financial resources, the Commandant will be pleased.

The YP departs the dock and heads south.

“How’s your ass?” Parker asks mischievously.

“Fuck you,” replies Spicer.

Performing his duty, he accommodated an unprecedented number of gentlemen.

“You got lucky Parker,” notes Calabrese with a conspiratorial wink.

The experienced 1/c midshipman, the scion of a wealthy Virginia businessman, is a family friend of the powerful Majority Leader. Desiring business considerations, the boy’s father contributes generously to the man’s congressional campaign and political action committee.

Enjoying family vacations together, Calabrese is friends with the man’s son, a cute boy three years younger than himself. Encouraged to skinny dip in the exclusive mountain resort’s lake, the frolicking naked boys are closely scrutinized by the grinning man.

Especially his young teen son.

The man’s inflating gear betrays his perversion.

Highly astute, Calabrese immediately recognizes the truth. Confronted and having no choice, the terrified man agrees to a secret rendezvous in the woods. Reaching an amicable understanding, he greedily sucks Calabrese in return for silence about his taboo fantasies.

Calabrese’s field report is forwarded up the Navigators’ chain-of-command.

And it’s noted the man’s son closely resembles Parker.

Recognizing an opportunity, the Commandant considers sending Parker on the St. Helena mission. A dangerous undertaking, it’s not guaranteed the Leader’s incestuous fantasy will override internal restraints. 

And without protection, the boy would be subjected to a brutal experience.

In the end, it’s a risk he decides to take.

Calabrese is selected as mission leader to watch over the boy. Speaking briefly with the Leader in the salon, he reawakens the man’s incestuous desires… commenting on Parker’s remarkable resemblance and availability. The Leader is intrigued with the possibility.

Taking action at the last possible moment, the man rescues Parker.

Altering Spicer’s fate in the process.

Afterwards, the gentlemen discuss, debate, and extoll the skills of each midshipman. Gaining support of the House Majority Leader and Whip, the Academy solidifies its reputation as the Nation’s premier provider of young men and granter of dark desires.

Exhausted and well fucked, the midshipmen head back to Annapolis.

It’s another fine Navy day.

Another opportunity for The Navigators to serve the Nation.

* * * *

Gratitude to F.E. Cooper, mentor and muse.

Comments and readers’ experiences with midshipmen are always of interest.