Andy or Sal

At age 17 I graduated from Belmont Military Academy near Ashville North Carolina. Actually it was out in the boonies, and wilderness closer still to Black Mountain N.C.

What I did in life was mostly dependent on what my older brother Stonewall did. One of us needed to take over the family business and the ‘other son’ (that was me) was to go in the military and maybe get in politics, like dad. I guess what he did was called politics, but he was never voted on.

So what Stonewall did determined what I should do. He went to Belmont seven years before me and was of course the highest ranking student general while there. The school and faculty pretended that I was the highest ranking general by merit, when I got there. The posted scores on tests in every subject always showed my grades a few points higher than any other student.

My father’s name is George Washington Jackson and I was named Andrew Jackson after the 7th U.S. President — who we were distantly kin to I was told, maybe about as accurate as that I scored 100% on my Belmont algebra two tests.

My brother Stonewall loved his military uniform, with all the shiny buttons and brass metals, but he went to the University of Florida in Gainesville Florida while I was just in middle school. I was prepared to be the family soldier and Stonewall was going to get a liberal arts degree. He signed up for Air Force Reserve Officers Training and being who he was, he got to fly out of Gainesville on any plane that was going anywhere. He went on bombing runs on the target area in the Ocala National Forest and on one run Major General Stonewall Jackson was riding in a plane that blew up over a small place called Eureka. The bombs were supposed to all be duds.  Since it blew up over a small town there were eyewitnesses and they said, ‘The whole thing disintegrated in a blue flame.’  Not a smidgen of Stonewall was found to bury.  My father buried a pile of plane parts.  What I saw of it was a couple of gauges and part of a burned tree in the coffin.

I got to leave school and fly into Gainesville for Stonewall’s military funeral.  I was the only passenger on the large airplane.  All the rest of the seats were taken up by my guards.

During the short time I saw my mother and father during the funeral they each told me that the consensus was that Stonewall was murdered.  It was probably to get at some grievance about my father.

From that time (Stonewall’s death) forward I always had about a hundred armed guards around me.  I understand that my mother also had that number –who knows how many my father had.  My two sisters were secluded in our Miami home or somewhere around there.  In our family daughters were not so important.

My older sisters Martha and Jill were more my brother Stonewall’s age than mine.  After Stonewall’s death I started getting courier  letters from my father George, he said, “It’s too dangerous Andy for us to meet together — one bomb would take us both out.”

One of the first letters concerned Martha and Jill, it said, “Think hard George about boys at Belmont that would be suitable as husbands for your two sisters.

If you can pick a boy who is very rich, sort of like us, but I know it can’t be very like us because no body else s that rich.

Pick them husbands that you like, smart boys who are smart enough to sincerely be humble around you, but you could send out to run an errands and they would come back with the mission accomplished.”

Well I got lots of messenger notes from dad after Stonewall was blown to bits.  I guess the messengers had been going to Stonewall and switched to me.  I was slow in picking husbands for my sisters and began getting letters (also by messenger) from my sisters.  They sent me pictures of themselves.  I guess to show prospective boys.  Some were bathing suit pictures, skimpy string suits.  Of course they lived in Miami and down there were beaches and home pools. 

What you could say about military school life at Belmont was routine in dullness.  Every day was about the same.  During the winter we went to class every day and studied a curriculum heavy with math.  I could do math, but I hated math.  Most people seem fascinated with equations and learning new solutions to problems with numbers.  I would rather sit with a good story and read.

On holidays over the summer I went home with various room-mates.  It was decided by my father that trips to Miami were unnecessary and maybe dangerous.  Father often stayed in Brazil or in New York City and even the mail was sent other places before it got to me.  Dad was becoming Howard Hughes secretive.  Several plots were uncovered to kill him, and he told me he had, ‘Had their heads cut off.’ The offenders  families were rounded up and  sent to farms in Bolivia for field work.

I had attended my brother Stonewall’s graduation from Belmont and it was exactly like mine.  The only difference was that none of my family attended, but for the other student graduates all of their families were there.

After graduation I was flown to New York City and lived for a week with Leonard Brown.  He reprogrammed me from the military and from any previous identity.  Like in military school we always sat up straight, and I had to learn to slump.  Even my name changed to Sallie Overton.  I didn’t pick the name.  I knew there was a person by my new name that was scheduled to arrive (way ahead) because my dorm room was reserved a few years ahead, and my room-mate was there when I arrived.  He was all excited when I met him, because he was just accepted by a fraternity he had applied to and at first was turned down.    That left me a room of my own, I don’t think that was just a happenstance thing.  I figured that like Belmont lots of things around me were manipulated.

I had an advisor Kenneth in North Carolina and he was the only person I saw and knew at the University of Florida.  I didn’t see him often, but I figured he was around.

My first few days at the Gainesville school was like a memory test.  My name was Jackson and I lived in Jackson Hall, but my new name was Overton.  I had a new name, a new family history, even a different date of birth.

In North Carolina and before that in Florida I never needed or spent money.  In Gainesville I had to pay my fees and register for my classes.  In short I had to do all the things a freshman student would do.

Leonard Brown in New York City had explained in great detail how anyone looking into my background would not suspect the truth.  In New York I even had a fake family who answered the phone and discretely looked into any inquiries about Sallie Overton.  Any investigation of me would bring much investigation of those who wanted the info — and why? With two sons my father was very worried after one son blew up.  Heads could roll if the investigator wanted to know more than what cereal I ate for breakfast.

Before I landed in Gainesville I knew nothing about the PIN System.  but I saw male and female students wearing colorful pins.  There was a rather detailed explanation of the system in the U.F. catalog of courses and the local newspaper.  Various houses were social gathering places for students who were committed (by paid tuition and loans) to a certain company or organization.  Bank of the United States had a red bird pin.  That was the bank that I wrote checks on an account at.  I had asked Leonard Brown in NYC, “What is the account limit for my spending?”

“There is no limit on your spending or account, but a very big check might cause people to notice you.  It may be better for you Sallie to write smaller checks over time.

If there is something big you want to purchase like a car or real estate then write a letter to your fake father Fred Overton at the NYC apartment at 100 32nd Avenue and he will send a check to Gainesville to buy anything you want.”

I graduated from the military academy and that day met at least 20 beautiful girls wanting to marry me, according to their brothers.  I had a little book in my fake New York home with all their names, and phone numbers.  I couldn’t call any of them while disguised as Sal.  When I graduated college they would all have 3.2 children and be 20 pounds overweight.

The fact is I was girl crazy in New York and in Gainesville.  I had to be careful and make sure I was secure in my new identity before I got involved.

Jackson Hall had a cafeteria in the basement and I ate all my meals down there at a table by myself.  I did eat reading a book or looking up things on a hand-held computer-reader.  It was my 4th supper when a rather pretty girl sat across from me and said, “I’m Sandra Kenny and I know your Sal Overton from New York.”  I shook hands with her over roast beef and George Orwell’s  Animal Farm

Glad to meet you,” I said, “I notice that you aren’t wearing one of those colorful pins.”

“Most of us in Jackson don’t have pins.  Did you know that 25% of girls who have pins are forced to begin work before they graduate? With boys it’s about 10?”

“No I didn’t.  I thought the deal was funds were provided until you graduate?”

“No, the small print of the contract says, “the indentured’ can be called to work anytime after signing.”

“Well that sounds bum, so where are you from Sandra?”

“Memphis Tennessee.”

I ate my meat and some green beans and finally said, “What has caused you to sit at the table of a boy like me?”

Well that got Sandra nervous.  Some girls twist their hair and that’s what she did along with tapping her left foot.  Then finally she said, “Research and mystery are the reasons.”

I figured she would explain herself if I gave her time so I fiddled with sips of iced tea and minute bits of pie.  I didn’t want tea or pie

“My reasearch tells me that rich boys go off to college as a diversion.  They study liberal-arts subjects like philosophy and sociology.

Rich girls attend college to find and marry a rich boy.

I’m a sophomore and think you’re the richest I’ve met so far.”

“Why do you conclude I’m rich?”

“Your shoes are Conjuers”

“How do you know what brand they are, they don’t have labels on the outside.”

“You know what they are, each time you got shoes since you were a little boy a special team came to you and made molds of your feet so the arch and pads would be exactly right.

One pair of your custom shoes is equivalent to the price of 5 female slaves.”

“How many people have you shared your theories with?”

“Just Albert Lacy who does my boy investigations for me.  He was once a police officer.”

Sandra Kenny was not the best looking girl around in the dorm where I lived, but she had sent a detective into my room illegally.  She had a sort of regular face, with maybe breasts that were a bit big for the rest of her.  When most girls are rather foreign and stand-off-edge well anything is better than nothing.

She had said enough that I knew that I should take action, or maybe lose my status as an unknown, anonymous boy.

“Let me see your driver’s license!” I said in my sort of commanding general voice.  She fished in her pocket and pulled it out — she was who she said she was and from Tennessee.  I put the license in my pocket and walked around like I was going to hold her chair as she got up, like a gentleman, but I said in my army voice again, “Your coming with me to explain yourself!”  I said it low so that she wouldn’t scream, but I wanted to show force and pulled her hair and arm to get her up.

“OK, OK,”  she said and didn’t fight me taking her out of the dining room.  Later in my room I saw how I had bruised her arm.  I was taught in the military, ‘Do all that’s necessary in a situation.’.  I kept one hand in her hair and one on her arm all the way to my room.  A couple of times she moved like to struggle out of my grip and I gave her hair a real pull. 

I think all she said going upstairs was, “Oh my god,”  When I had to let go of her to open my door by key she pulled real hard,  with the hand of hair I had, and that was her only real scream, a loud one, but no one was there.  We had a big audience all the way out of the dining room and on the stairs, but no one was around when I really yanked her hair.  I pushed her into my room, and sat her in a straight chair next to my table. 

She looked up at me standing above her and said, “Are you going to rape me Sal?”

“Why are you a virgin?”  I replied.

“No, so I guess I’m not rich boy marriage material anymore.”  That got her crying.

I wasn’t thinking at all about marriage, I guess college students of different genders think in totally different directions.  I mentioned the ‘virgin’ status because I thought that was what was scaring her.  My father thought of daughters as having to be virgin at marriage or they were ‘fallen woman’.

I wanted to know from either my father or maybe thru Leonard Brown what I should do with Sandra.  I called my fake apartment in New York City from my room and asked the woman who answered for Fred Overton, well I didn’t expect him to be there so I gave a detailed message about Sandra and the Albert Lacy investigator to the maid, or who ever she was.  At the end of my story I said, “I’m sitting here in my room with Sandra Kenny.  She didn’t come here willingly, so  what does he suggest right now!”

I hung up and we both just sat in our chairs.  Sandra cried a bit more and I didn’t comment about it.

In about an hour the phone rang and an older voice said, “Son I just talked to Lenard Brown and he says you sort of kidnapped this girl Sandra Kenny.”

“From a public place.”  I said.

“That was my next question.”

“We are both sitting in my dorm room and she’s crying.”

“How much does she know?”

“All the investigator told her and that seems quite a lot.  I guess we really don’t know until we talk to the detective.”

“Is this the Kenny girl from Memphis Tennessee whose father is big in the tire business?”

I looked over at Sandra and said, “Your father owns tire factories?”

“Flamestone Tred Ware.”

“That’s a yes dad,”  I said and he said, “I’ll call you back soon –sit tight with your captured girl.”

“Sure,” I said and hung up.

“What did he say?”  Sandra said.

“To keep you here and he would call back with a solution.”

“Will he call my father Sal?”


That made her cry some more and then she said, “My dad says I meddle in other people’s business too much.”

“That was really true this time.”

“Do you think he will tell my father that I’m not now a virgin?”

“Probably the first words out of his mouth.”

“Oh my god!  He’s going to beat me with an ugly stick!  she said.

It was another 30 minutes when the phone rang again and I answered, “Sal,”

“Let me speak to Elizabeth Sandra Kenny please,”  the gruff male voice said.

I handed the phone across the table to Sandra and she said, “Oh” and then “Well I didn’t know.”  She stood up with the phone and said, “You can’t be serious dad!  then she listened some and then sat down again.  She finally pushed the off button on the phone and laid it on the table.

“What did he say?”  I asked and she just sat there in a kind of daze, her mouth hanging a bit open and her hair in her face.

Just then the phone rang again and I picked it up and said, “Hello.”

“This is Fred again and everything is fixed son.  The investigator is missing, the girl is a gift from her father to you.  I would keep her maybe on a chain until you know she won’t blab around.

In a few days I’ll send you a better girl.  I got a picture of the one you dragged to your room and maybe she’s better in bed than in pictures, but I’ll be sending you something better.

Spend some money and have some fun son.  The University of Florida is not a military academy.”

“Your father told you?” Sandra said as I laid down the phone.

“Your father gifted you to me.”

“He’s a real so-in-so!” 

My fake father had now killed the detective that Sandra hired to find out about me and somehow induced Sandra’s father to make her my slave.  I knew he was right about chains.  She would think over her situation and maybe run away.

I stood up and walked around to her and said while looking down at her, “The situation has changed now Sandra I want you to tell me what our relationship is now?”

She wasn’t looking up at me, but was shaking, quivering in her seat.

“I think I need a Florida lawyer.  I’m 19 years old and maybe in Memphis a man can just give his daughter away, but only a lawyer would know about Florida law, and you don’t even have any paper yet.”

“Lawyers don’t represent slaves and your choice now is complete submission and ten licks with my belt, on your exposed backside, or we can fight,  and when I win I will beat you into complete submission and brand your backside and hand with a hot spoon.”

She said nothing but bowed her head lower and said, “I need to pee real bad master.”

At Belmont Academy I had participated in wrestling and it was like in my subjects I always won.  Also at Belmont there was what was called ‘Military Sex’, and that was the dominate boy would screw his room-mate.  Until Sandra that was the only sex I had.   Of course I didn’t tell her that since seventh grade I had always had pretty and willing boys in my room who submitted in boy-boy ways.  My relationship out of bed with roommates was also a lot like slavery.   An adequate submissive boy put my shoes on and kissed and licked my hands.

I pulled Sandra by the hair into my bathroom.  After she  urinated I was not so careful in removing her clothing and with buttons flying off she said, “God what will I wear?”

Naked and on her hands and knees she counted the ten very hard smacks with my belt.  The room wasn’t so very sound proof and I’m sure the other students figured out the activities in my room.  I also didn’t muffle the sounds  — after every smack.

I had been sex deprived even since leaving North Carolina.  I had been aroused when I dragged Sandra to my room.  She probably noticed my pants erection and that’s why she asked if I would rape her.  During the phone calls the urge subsided and then returned when I knew she was my slave.

With her ready on my floor I undressed standing above her and she said, “God Sal, it’s just too big.  Have women complained before?”

“After a few rides they love it.”  I said and lied, of course that was true of the like-girl boys at the military academy.  After having nightly penis jabs they loved me more than their parents, brothers and sisters.  On holidays I went home with my room-mates and they serviced me like a dry cleaners does pressed pants, or like dogs clean their food bowls of steak.

Sandra’s womb was not at all like my room slaves and their anus’.  She was not a virgin, but the opening was tiny.  I would push in as she screamed as loud as her lungs would make sounds.  Then my thrusting penis would slide out.

Once in the process she said, “Master this is not going to work,”  While I was out again.

“So what kind of guy was it that took your virginity?”

“Oh so much smaller.” she said.

“Was he a dwarf?”

“No he was sort of obese, age 24 and a junior in engineering.  His father had a 100 year lease of a section of Australia.”

“So only his equipment was small?”

“Yes it took him longer to take off his clothes than to do me.  And he was so gentle it was like another girl with a dildo.”

“So you like cave-men tactics, a boy grabs you up like a cave man, and after enslaving and beating his meat he screws it?”

“I like the sexual idea of being a real male’s slave creature, but outside of sex I like freedom.”

“Well you can’t have everything can you Sandra?”

Just then i got inside again and I heard her loudest scream.  She screamed until my alarm went off for breakfast.  I padlocked her foot to my bed springs and dressed for breakfast.

She was sleeping when I left the room and locked it.  At breakfast lots of people sort of noticed me.  I guess they saw me take her out the night before or heard the screams.

I attended American Institutions and then went to College Math and after that Biology was cancelled because the auditorium was being fumigated.

While I sat in my assigned cubical at the library this beautiful girl stood in front of my desk and said, “I think you’re the Sal that was written about in the Florida Alligator this morning?”

“I didn’t see the paper today.”

“It said you dragged a girl out of the Jackson Dining Hall last night, pulling her by the arm and hair.”

“So sit down who ever you are beautiful and tell me the gist of the article that is about me.”

“I’m Randi Jenkins from here in Gainesville.  The article is one of those pro and con pieces written by two people.  THE BOY wrote that in our society slavery in various forms is common and of course force is the way slaves are controlled.  The girl being restrained did not call for the police or ask for help, she just struggled against her master.

THE GIRL wrote that female rape is a big problem in our society and so as an eyewitness she could plainly see that you (Sal) were aroused as you pulled the protesting girl along.  Well that’s the gist of it.”

“Sit down Randi and tell me which account you believe.”

“To me it’s a mystery.  I came here this morning and found out which cubical you have to find out more about the situation.”

“I see you wear the pin of my bank — the red bird.”

“Yes after graduation I plan to work for the Bank of the United States.”

“They pay your tuition and fees?”

It was then that she sat down.  That in itself was a thing nice to watch.  She had a ladylike way about her, but I saw what nice legs she had. 

“So how long have you waited and watched my cubical this morning?”

“After I read the paper i got right on over here.  I have all my classes at night, so I can study days.  Most people fail because they socialize too much.”

“So you waited 2 hours to see a boy you didn’t know, but who may treat women roughly?”

“You have an accurate but interesting way of putting it.”

“Now you’ve seen and talked to me Randi.  So what do you imagine I did with that other girl?”

“I think you forced her up to your room and raped her.”

“Do you think that I really raped her or did she really like it?”

“I don’t know, but you’re a good-looking boy.  Your not at all what I imagined by reading the paper.”

“Describe what you thought I would look like?”

“Rough, unshaven, a hard body — like you have, but a rough face.  Maybe extreme acme or a scar from a knife cut on your cheek.”

“I think Randi you would like to come to my room and meet the girl I took there last night?”

“Yes, I’d like to see her.”

I was going to push my bike home, but it was gone from the bake rack, I had used the chain on Sandra.  So I took Randi’s hand and walked across the Plaza of the Americas to my dorm.  As we walked I said, “Tell me about yourself and life in Gainesville.”

“I was born at Shands Hospital, went to PK Younge Lab School and my parents lived in NW Gainesville.  I was elected a cheerleader and was Miss Gainesville.  I went to the state contest and came in third.  That was when I was age 16.”

“So didn’t your parents warn you that getting a pin from the bank made you a sort of slave?”

“They are both doctors and my parents signed indentures to get and keep their jobs.  They are both a kind of slave to the hospital.  Our whole society is like that my father says, ‘All the way up the ladder of success there is always someone above you with his dick out to give you a good poke.’

“Good analogy.”

“That’s fathers example not mine, really my life has been rather nice.  I had good teachers and enjoyed school and everyone seemed to like me.”

“Well I bet boys liked you being a blond, blue-eyed cheerleader, with long sexy legs and big shapely boobs?”

“My father met lots of my boyfriends.  Even in high school he drove me on dates and for example when we went to the Center Theatre he sat on the row behind us.  He allowed no touching or feeling up.”

We walked a little further and she said, “Did you rape that girl last night?”

“Were almost to the dorm now and your can ask her.  Her name is Sandra Kenny, her father is a big tire manufacturer.”

“Are you married to her?”


“Well I think its normal for men to handle their women in rather rough ways.”

“Then you seem to approve that I removed the girl, Sandra, by force last night?”

“You probably had good reasons.  I think women should submit to their husbands.  For example women should be able to vote, marking exactly what their husband tells them.”

“So how long have your been a slave of the Bank of the United States Randi?”

“I signed in high school, but got my pin a week ago.  Two days ago I moved to my dorm room.”

“So you feel sexually liberated from your father?”

“Yes exactly”

“You dream of a husband, but get excited over possibly having a rough master.”


We were outside my dorm and lots of people were standing around the bike rack.  More were near the door and I let go of her hand and reached under her dress and pinched her ass cheek.  She had on satin underpants.   I did not give her a gentle pinch, but a rather vicious one.

“I live here,” I said smoothing down her dress and walking to the dorm with my hand grasping her bottom.

“Other pinned girls have told me that bank girls are never checked for virginity.  As long as we don’t get pregnant the directors don’t care how much sex we have.  I started on the pills for birth control, just in case you wanted to do what I want to do.”

‘FRESHMAN STUDENT SAL OVERTON IS CAUSING QUITE A BIT OF COMMOTION AT JACKSON HALL’  That was the title in the Florida Alligator –and there were pictures of me dragging Sandra out of the cafeteria by the hair and of me with Randi walking into the dorm building with my hand squeezing her butt.

In the part about Randi the article said, ‘Miss Gainesville screamed all night in Sal’s dorm room’.

Later in the article it said, ‘Some male students want him ejected from Jackson Hall so they can sleep.  Most female students interviewed echo the feelings of Matti Malard who has a nearby room and says, “I’ve seen Mr. Overton and he’s dreamy, it makes me excited being in his building.  Maybe he’ll drag me to his room next.”


Contact Ray Cates at  or fax him at 352-629-1573  Of course leave comments here.

His snail mail address is 2505 NW Magnolia Ave. Ocala Florida 34475   Some of his other stories with links are:

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