My name is Peter Hargrove.  I was 20 years old, 5’11 and 180 pounds.  Physically fit.  A strong athlete.  Short brown hair, blue eyes, and a clear complexion.  My high school grades weren’t earning any college scholarships so I considered joining the army.

The recruiting officer had many encouraging things to say.  Good pay.  A signing bonus.  Training.  Promotions.  An honorable career.  I was just the sort of young man they were looking for.  And they did need me.  After several unfortunate wars, the volunteer army was shrinking.  Candidates with preferred qualifications were joining the navy, air force, and marines. 

As my family in Ohio was poor, I signed the enlistment papers and went home to tell my folks.  The money was going to help.  With my two younger siblings still in school, inflation taking a bite, and healthcare so expensive, times were tight.  When the day came, I carried a duffel bag with my toothbrush, hairbrush, electric razor, and a graphic novel to read.  I didn’t bring any clothes as the recruiting officer said the army would supply everything.

It was a long bus ride to Fort Ruggles in western Texas.  The small town of Wesley was nearby.  The base specialized in boot camp training, a company of two hundred and eighty recruits divided into four platoons, and each platoon divided into four squads.  The squad sizes would be reduced as some failed the training.

I was put in a group of sixteen, waiting in line for preliminary induction.  We signed documents, took an oath, and were congratulated.  There were twelve men and four women, generally looking fit.  Two of the women were very attractive and one, Linda Hemmings, was gorgeous.  Our unit, designated 3rd Platoon, D Squad, was intended to become a rifle company.  We were last in line.

Late in the morning, it was finally our turn.  “Okay, boots, time to strip,” the sergeant-major commanded, a thick old man with a lot of stripes on his sleeve.  The men stripped in one room, the women in another.  The instructions came rapidly as we moved in a line from one inspection station to the next.

“Step on the scale.”

“Raise your arms.”

“Bend over.”

“Spread your cheeks.”

“Cough.”

“Read the bottom line on the chart.”

We were kept nude the entire time, examined like cattle.  Shuffling before men and women serving as doctors and technicians.  Poking and probing.  It was very embarrassing.  When we finally emerged from a long corridor into a warehouse, I saw the guys were dressing in their street clothes.  The table was almost empty.

“Sir, where are my clothes?” I asked, not finding anything.  A corporal looked around, dug through boxes, and looked under tables.  He shook his head.  The sergeant-major took a look, too.

“Sorry, we can’t find your clothes, young man.  You’ll need to report the loss to administration,” the sergeant-major said.  “It’s over there, across the parade ground.”

“All the way over there?  I need something to wear,” I replied, covering myself with my hands.

“We don’t have anything here.  Now no more back talk.  Get going,” he brusquely ordered.

In a daze, I left the warehouse and walked along the edge of a huge flat field used for parades, drills, and sports.  The two-story stucco administration building, probably built in the 1940s, was busy.  The receptionist, an amused female, looked up as I entered.

“Why are you naked?” Corporal Jenny Diller asked with big brown eyes.

“They lost my clothes,” I answered, hunching over.

“Oh, I see.  We have a form for that.  Sit over there and fill it out.”

I sat in a cheap plastic chair with a clipboard and a pencil, making out the details.  Along with my birthdate and home address, it wanted my serial number which I didn’t have yet.  Others entered the office.  Messengers.  A repairman.   A mail girl.  They saw the naked guy in the corner and decided not to say anything.  I turned the form in.

“Can I get something to wear now?” I requested.

“No time for that.  You need to get over to the supply depot,” Corporal Diller instructed.  “It’s the big hangar next to the admittance building.  Hurry.”

Once again I was walking around the edge of the big grass training field drawing curious looks.  Most of the recruits were finding their units so there weren’t many witnesses.  There were a few grins from the groundskeepers. 

The supply depot was bustling.  As the new recruits were issued green army fatigues, their street clothes were thrown into a furnace.  A sign that their old life was over and a new one was beginning.  The men and women in front of me were given shirts, pants, undershirts, underwear, socks and boots.  The women were issued sports bras.  I was last in line, gradually noticed.  Eyebrows went up.  There were snickers.  The sergeants weren’t permitting anyone to speak but I knew there was curiosity.  When I finally reached the table, a grizzled clerk handed me a pair of size 11 boots.  I waited for more.

“Sorry, lad, we’ve run out of uniforms,” he reported.  “You’ll need to come back next week.”

“Next week!” I shouted.

“Sam, is there a problem here?” the sergeant-major asked, storming over.

“Ran out of uniforms again, Ron.  Requisitions have fallen behind,” Sam answered.

The sergeant-major looked me over.  “Well, can’t be helped now,” he decided.  “We’re behind schedule.  D Squad, assemble on the parade ground.  Now!  Go!  Go!  Go!”

The women joined us, frantically running out the door to the parade ground where hundreds were already gathering in long rows.  Lieutenants, captains, and a colonel were observing as the sergeants got everyone in order. 

“Line up!  Stand at attention!  Shoulders straight!” Sergeant Hartmeyer commanded, a giant bear of a man with a bald head and a jowly chin.  I was at the end of the line still covering myself.  “Hargrove, drop those hands!  Stand at attention!”

“Sir, I can’t.  Everyone will see me,” I begged.

“Don’t call me sir.  I’m a sergeant.  I work for a living.  Now shape up.  No excuses.”

I dropped my hands, standing at attention.  I got chuckles from my squadmates.

“Silence in the ranks!” Hartmeyer demanded.

There we were, four platoons, four squads each.  And three hundred veteran soldiers watching from the sidelines.  I also noticed office staff.  Cafeteria workers.  Photographers.  This was so awful.  But what could I do?

The officers walked up and down the lines of raw recruits.  Hurriedly dressed.  Most of us.  They grunted, made small comments, and evaluated what they had to work with.  And then they came to me.

“What’s this?  A nudist?” Colonel Halftrack blurted, 55 years old, short in stature, with square shoulders and a big white mustache.  His uniform was filled with decorations.

“No, sir, I’m not a—” I started.

“Silence in the ranks!” Sergeant Hartmeyer grunted.

I stood there red-faced.  Laughed at by hundreds.  Totally 100% naked except for the stupid boots.  I felt like crawling into a hole and hiding.

“Good looking youngster,” Halftrack conceded.  “Strong lines.  Clear eyes.  Sad that he’s a nudist.”  The officers withdrew but I could still hear them.

“Do you want him dismissed?” Captain Smithers asked, a young chiseled West Point graduate.

“No, we can’t afford to do that,” Halftrack replied, pacing as he thought the problem over.  “Recruitment is already down.  We can’t be rejecting alternate lifestyles without cause.”

Alternate lifestyles?  What the fuck were they talking about?

Nothing more was said to me.  Nor was I allowed to speak.  The units were dismissed, going to our newly assigned barracks.  Each was a Quonset hut large enough for twenty.  Our women were assigned the bunks closest to the front near the sergeant’s office.  We found a common latrine and showers.  I think the original intent of the barracks was for men only but had diversified through necessity.  Footlockers held clothing and personal items.  My duffel bag was there but nothing else.

“Shower before chow,” Sergeant Hartmeyer instructed.  “You have your training fatigues and camp wear.  Except Hargrove.  Colonel Halftrack has declared the army will honor his nudist lifestyle.”

“Sir!  It’s not my lifestyle!” I protested.

“I am not an officer, private, and you will know your place.  I promise you that,” Hartmeyer assured me.  I sensed he didn’t like me.  Perhaps offended by my alternate lifestyle.

We went into the communal showers.  Seeing the women naked was great.  The men, not so much.  It wasn’t like I hadn’t showered with others in high school were I’d played football, baseball, basketball, ran track, and been on the boxing team.

“I’ve got to say, Hargrove, you’re all man,” Private Wanda Greenly said, her deep brown eyes looking me over.  That part was true.  I had a nice package.  She wasn’t bad herself, with nice round breasts, long legs, and a trim landing strip above her smooth triangle.

“You’ve got the truth there, sister,” Keisha Motubo agreed, giving me a close inspection.

“How long have you been a nudist?” Jimmy Lugger asked.

“Damn it, I’m not a nudist.  This is all a big misunderstanding,” I answered.

“One hell of a big misunderstanding if you ask me,” Danny Lincoln observed.

After showering, everyone dressed except me and we went across the courtyard into the giant dining hall.  Hundreds of soldiers, ten cooks, a dozen busboys, and sergeants watching everything.  No officers.  We waited at a buffet, were served an excellent dish of corn beef and cabbage, and helped ourselves to coffee, cokes, or juices.  No argument with the food, it was great.

I sat at a table with Linda, Wanda, Danny, Jimmy, and Keisha.  The women were enjoying the comradery.  Danny was redheaded and gregarious.  Jimmy shy and gay.  I politely mentioned that I wasn’t.  Linda was my favorite, smaller than most with clipped brown hair and big brown eyes.  There were plenty of comments around us, which was to be expected.

“What are you going to do, Pete?” Linda questioned.  “Do you want to stay nude?”

“No, I don’t want to stay nude.  It’s embarrassing.  No one wants to listen to me.”

“Personally, I hope they keep you like this,” Keisha smirked.

The next morning, we were woken at dawn by Sergeant Hartmeyer pounding on a pan.  We climbed from our bunks standing at attention near our footlockers at the foot of the beds.  The women were barefoot in long t-shirts.  The men were in tank tops and boxer shorts.  I was in nothing.  And worse, I had a morning wood, all six inches bobbing.  I wasn’t the only one, but I was the most obvious.  Hartmeyer stood before me.

“Well, what do we have here?” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear.  There was nothing I could say, totally humiliated.

“Well, private, we can’t have this on the training field,” Hartmeyer declared.  “Work it off.”

“Sir?”

“Goddamn it, I’m not a sir!  Now jack that pickle,” he ordered.

I started working myself but the hardness was fading fast.  I felt sick.  Soon it was limp.

“Not much of a man, are you, nudist?  Even in front of these beautiful women.  Greenly, get over here.”

Wanda rushed up, stopping at attention.

“Greenly, time to prove your loyalty to this squad.  Relieve this private’s tension,” Hartmeyer said.  Wanda looked confused.  Hartmeyer pointed.  She took my manhood in her firm grip.

“Sorry, Pete,” she whispered, working me slowly and then harder.  And my arousal returned stronger than before.  Soon I was at full salute, strong and bulging.  My breathing grew short.  I couldn’t believe the sergeant would let this playout.  He did, grinning.  Wanda doubled down, trying to get the event over as soon as possible.  I exploded, squirting across the barracks.  There wasn’t a sound from my squad.  Hardly even a breath.  It was the most humiliating moment of my life.  I considered dropping out of the training program and going home, which is exactly what Hartmeyer wanted.

Wanda stepped back, her mission accomplished.

“Okay, boot scum, we have a hike this morning.  Saddle up,” Hartmeyer hissed.  The barracks jumped into action finding fatigues, boots, and backpacks.  All I had was a backpack and boots.

Hartmeyer left.  I expected my teammates to laugh.  Mock me.  Ridicule.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  They rallied to my defense.

“That was foul,” Danny said.

“We’ll get even with that motherfucker,” Keisha swore.

“I’ve never seen such disrespect,” Jimmy complained.

“He disrespected all of us,” Linda agreed.  “Especially Wanda.  We won’t forget.”

They all felt the same way.  I turned to Wanda.  “I’m sorry that happened,” I said.

“It wasn’t your fault, Pete.  I’m just sorry we couldn’t have had more privacy,” she replied with a grin.

It was a 15-mile hike over dry ground and low hills.  Occasional trees for shade.  We were issued camouflage caps for the march.  Now my head and feet where covered with nothing in-between.  At times, the pace was rapid.

Halfway through, my squadmates began to struggle.  I had gone much farther under worse conditions, and without heavy clothing, I wasn’t acquiring the sweat of everyone else.  The straps for the backpack dug into my shoulders a bit but I was able to adjust.  The boots fit well even without socks.  Toward the end, as the sergeant had disappeared, I took Linda and Keisha’s packs for the last two miles.  They were amazed at my strength.  My summers before enlisting had been laboring in a rock quarry.  I may not have appeared buff but I was all muscle.

      Hartmeyer waited for us at the end of the march calling us whimpy and pathetic.  It was a performance, a sergeant motivating his charges.  I had a coach like that in high school so I shrugged it off.  We showered again.  As our teammates finished and disappeared, Linda gave me a special look.

“Thank you for helping me today.  It was getting hard there toward the end,” she appreciated.

“I was happy to do that,” I replied.

“And now I’m going to make you happier,” she said, kneeling naked on the wet tile.  She quickly had me in her mouth, working me like someone with experience.  Though tired from the hike, I wasn’t that tired.  It didn’t take long for me to respond.

“Can I do anything for you?” I asked after she finished.

“Not here in the barracks.  One of these days, we’ll do something really special,” she promised with a twinkle in her eyes.

______

For the next ten days, we did calisthenics, made long hikes, and had big meals three times a day.  If I’d known how good the food was going to be, I’d have joined up years ago.  At night we studied military manuals.  Then my bunkmates would go out and socialize with other units.  I didn’t.  It would be flaunting myself, which I wasn’t going to do.  I stayed in, rereading our text books until having a good grip on the material.  My test scores were far better than they had been in high school.  From time to time, I hinted that I’d like to have my status reviewed by a superior officer, much to Hartmeyer’s resentment.

“You’re a goddamn nudist.  There’s nothing to review, unless you’re a goddamn libertarian, too,” Hartmeyer grouched.  I had stopped trying to correct him.  What was amazing is that after being naked on a military base for two weeks, the novelty had worn off.  I wasn’t an exhibitionist.  I would rather be wearing clothes.  Yet my squadmates hardly gave me a second look.  Soldiers on the base shrugged, thinking my nudity was none of their business.  The other sergeants ignored me.  Officers looked the other way.  And then a summons came.  My lieutenant wanted to speak with me.

I found myself hopeful.  Would I finally be able to explain how this had happened?  I walked to the administration building were I’d filed a form for my missing clothes on the first day.  They had never been found.  Slim and petite Corporal Jenny Diller, who I had met before, was at her desk just outside Lieutenant David Mullings’s office.

“Good afternoon, corporal,” I greeted pleasantly, finding her all prim and proper.

“It’s good to see you again, Private Hargrove,” she replied with a teasing smile.

Soon I was standing before him, Mullings in uniform, me naked.  There were plaques, certificates, and colorful flags decorating the walls. 

“Sir, I am not a nudist,” I announced.

“But you’re always naked?” he replied.

“At check-in, they lost my clothes.  I reported the loss to Corporal Diller.  She sent me to the supply depot where they’d run out of fatigues.  Then I was ordered out to the assembly area where Colonel Halftrack mistook my nudity for a lifestyle.  But it’s not my lifestyle.  I would like to get dressed.”

The lieutenant had listened carefully, and with understanding.  He stood up, looked out the window, and then went to a map on the wall showing hundreds of military camps across the country. 

“This is a very unusual situation,” he surmised.

“Yes, sir.  Being the only one naked on the entire base, I guessed that.”

“What we have here is a very complicated problem, private.  Very complicated.”

“Can we uncomplicate it by giving me a uniform?”

“Hargrove, these are hard times for the service,” he calmly explained, turning to face me.  “Since the war ended, recruitment has collapsed.  We’ve been reaching out in every way we can.  For a time, we were rejecting gay recruits.  Dismissing trans soldiers.  Not allowing women to serve in forward units, which robbed them of promotions.  Avoiding different backgrounds, and religions, on the theory that they couldn’t fit in.  And now we need them.  We need them bad or America won’t be prepared for the next struggle.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m not sure that I do, sir,” I answered.

“Having a nudist in the ranks proves the army is open minded.  That we’re accepting.  It will encourage enlistment across a wide range of demographics.  Son, I appreciate your situation.  I really do.  But the good of the service must take precedent.  I’m afraid you’ll just need to suck it up.  Be a patriot.  Can you do that?”

I had no idea what to say, or what my options were.  If I had any.  The good of the service?

“I don’t want to be naked forever,” I responded.

“We’ll work on that.  I promise.”  He offered a salute.  I returned the salute and left the office.  Fuck!

I returned to the barracks while everyone was out drilling.  Sergeant Hartmeyer came to see me, sitting on my...