God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys
By R25288 ( c ) 2006
Chapter Seven
Receiving My First Prison Blow Job
“His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.”
Song of Solomon 5:16
“Within a few months, our life settled into a pattern. Prison life is about routine; each day like the one before; each week like the one before it, so that the months and years blend into each other. Anything that departs from this pattern upsets the authorities, for routine is the sign of a well run prison.
“Routine is also comforting for the prisoner, which is why it can be a trap. Routine can be a pleasant mistress whom it is hard to resist, for routine makes the time go faster.
“…Losing a sense of time is an easy way to lose one’s grip and even one’s sanity.
“Time slows down in prison; the days seem endless. The cliche of time passing slowly usually has to do with idleness and inactivity.”
Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom
On day sixty of my imprisonment, I wrote:
“Cellmate
Thank you God for sending me my cellmate
My homey, my man, my dawg, my whobe-yoube
Thank you God for sending me to prison
With a cellmate who is lessening my hate.”
I am a literalist. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. So, in Chapter Four, when I say I came out in prison, that is what I meant. For fifty-two years, I created my own prison, and lived in it. God sent me to prison, to escape the prison of my mind. So, I decided to live the life that God graciously gave me, and to no longer live in shame, but to live proudly the gay life, that he chose to give to this child of his.
However, it still took me about a year in prison, before I could live the truth of my gayness. Thank you God for giving me the gift of gayness, and the courage to finally live it freely, in prison.
On the morning of December 24th, 2001, they sent Tom away to another prison. A safe prison for law enforcement types. I never told Tom that I was gay. My wife knew, and we had good sex. So, you can call me gay, or you can call me bisexual, but I think you would be mistaken to call me a straight white male.
On the evening of December 24th, 2001, I wrote:
“It’s Christmas eve. I ate my Snickers
And wished Jesus a Happy Birthday
I hear in the cell next to me
An inmate reading the Bible his way
A letter from my attorney says the judge
canceled my bail-he said my appeal was frivolous
Tonight I pray, the law I’ll fight another day
The cold air blows through the window crack
Through Your Word and Spirit, there’s nothing I really lack”
On January 2nd, 2002, I arrived at Liberty Correctional Institution, in Bristol, Florida. Later that month I wrote:
“Is it three months lost, wasted, or saved?
Blood was spilled today in the Liberty yard.
Deals were made unknown to the guards.
Through sadness and pain, here your path is paved.”
When I speak of Virginia, I do not mean the state, or Virginia Wolfe, I mean the child who asked basically, if Santa Claus was real. Yes, Virginia , Santa Claus is real, and God is real, and the ultimate goodness of man can bring tears to my eyes. And the next time you see Santa, ask him what does God want for Christmas?
On Monday, February, 24th, 2003, at 7:02 am, I wrote:
“It’s all about the honeybun. The hustle, the con, the game, the daily chase for a soup and a chip, or a honeybun. Something to eat in the evening after supper, before bed, when the lights go out at 11 pm To be able to throw a solidified package of soup noodles on the floor, to break up the noodles. It is a daily symbol of affluence, because most have no money, no paying job, and no consistent outside support system. And everybody wants others to notice that they’ve got. As in, ‘Hear that, man? I got. I ain’t po’. I’m living off the land. I know how to hustle. I ain’t going to bed hungry, at least, not tonight. I need no one. I’m a survivor. I’m a convict.”(a ‘convict’ is a respected term, one who has been down, and knows the games, whereas ”inmate” is a less respected term, however I continue to utilize it throughout this book, without any disrespect meant).
They get that soup, chip, or honeybun basically through intimidation, extortion, gambling, prostitution, and stealing. That is the game the system perpetuates in prison, because they offer basically no paid jobs. They perpetuate the spread of AIDS, by providing no free condoms, or buyable ones through the canteens, nor do they allow your families to send you any.
Did President Johnson contribute to the assasination of President Kennedy? Is AIDS a government conspiracy to wipe out the African continent? I don’t know, Virginia, what I do know is that the majority of people incarcerated in this country of prisons are African-Americans, and the fastest growing group of persons with AIDS/HIV is young African-American women. The system, the American government, is perpetuating genocide on the African-American race in America through it deliberate indifference to the medical needs of it’s incarcerated by failing to offer condoms, knowing full well that 90% of them will return to the streets and infect their wives, their unborn children, and their fellow incarcerated brothers will infect their sisters, and mothers, who will then infect their fathers.
The latest United Nations report on AIDS, of 11/’05, says that there are one million people in the United States infected with HIV; and roughly 40,000 are infected each year, and while blacks represents approximately 13% of America, nearly 50% of all new HIV cases in America are blacks; 40 million people worldwide are HIV positive, and 25 million have died worldwide of AIDS since the 1980’s. Genocide of American prisoners and African Americans is systemic violence that must end. If our current politicians choose to kill your families, you have no choice but to throw them out of office come November, or accept your complicity in the genocide that is being perpetuated with our current destructive, life denying policies toward prisoners, and blacks.
But it’s all good, Virginia, because they are just blacks, and it is just a form of population control. Who will stand with the homosexual infected with AIDS? Who will stand with the African-American infected with AIDS? Who will stand with the baby infected with AIDS? Virginia, honey, we all must stand. If we don’t, who will be left to stand for us, when, God forbid, our turn may come. The bell tolls for us all, Virginia. They took away my right to vote. Virginia, please help me come November, by voting out of office all the haters, and those who perpetuate genocide on the weak and powerless in our country and elsewhere. I have not had sex since July, 2005, and fortunately, thank God, I remain HIV negative.
In prison, “Charge it to the game,” basically means you lost, you got ripped off, you’ve been shorted, cheated, conned, and now it is time to move on, and forget it, and charge it to the game. You’ll be back to fight another day, or back to score or win another day, and now just accept your loss. It matters not whether it was a financial situation, physical, emotional, or the loss of a friend. It all comes down to charging it to the game, and get on with your life. Similar to forgive and forget. It is always a hard thing to do, because it is of God. And his way, doesn’t come easy.
During my unexpected sabatical to prison in America, in the 21st century, of our Lord, I discovered a liberation of my mind, body, and soul that I had experienced only one other time in my life(more on that later). Maybe it was the food, as in, it must have been something I ate. Or, maybe it was looking at men dressed in blue all day, day after day. Similar to Salvatore Dali’s, Elephants and Swans painting, or pictures that you focus on hard, and then see something not originally seen, even though it was always there. Who knows, maybe continued exposure to blue prison uniforms stimulates the left side of the brain, or creates post traumatic stress disorder, or pre-traumatic stress disorder, or maybe order, without the dis. Maybe it was just having the time to think and read. Maybe it was just my time, and I would have progressed, developed anyway; maybe my metamorphosis from my cocoon to this butterfly stage would have occurred without the experience of prison, but I doubt it.
Is prison a symbol of failure or an opportunity for growth and success? In school, I had been elected the President of the Student Council, at two different schools. I had been voted “Most Likely to Succeed.” So, I chose to look at my time in prison as just another part of my continued success. Life is all a process, part of that “road less traveled by”, that our former poet laureate, Robert Frost wrote about.
Now, in America’s current dysfunctional state of prison punishment, my attitude and outlook is not fully appreciated. However, as prison changed me, so too, must America change from it present destructive incarcerative mentality, to one of a more compassionate, constructive, instructive modality.
On Tuesday, February 25th, 2003, at 9:09 pm, I wrote:
“Stage right-enter my little boy Blue.
“Memories of the Way We Were’ is playing on my headphone radio, and count just ended. So, it is approximately 7:00 am. Count is at approximately, 7:00 am, 11:30 am, 4:30 pm, and 9:00 pm, and various other times while we sleep. It is basically to insure we’re all still here, and no one escaped.(In my four years, three months, and two weeks in prison, no one successfully escaped to my knowledge, but I’ll share an unsuccessful attempt later by a young prostitute, in on murdering his step father, and along with his mother, dumping the body off a bridge. He is # 2 in my study).
“He was a bit like the country of his birth; everything came easy to him.’ It is funny what we remember, and the fact that I planned to use Hubbell’s words to begin this paragraph. It was a 1973 movie, ‘The Way We Were.’ It starred Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford. It is one of my top ten favorite movies. But the coincidence is that the song played just now. Who would have thought? What dreams may come?
“I had just been awakened from a dream for count. In the dream, which really wasn’t a dream at all, which took place this morning…you see, it was a spontaneous day. It was not what Nelson would call a routine day. I didn’t plan it, it just happened, unplanned, and unexpected, and it was a glorious day. It is what I refer to as a peak experience day. Abraham Maslow may differ with my definition, but he’s already written his book. This one is mine, with my definitions. The day just joyously flowed over me in waves of warm sensitivity that I’ll always cherish, and never forget. Was it a karmic event, or spiritual, or even deserving. I don’t know, but I was touched by…
“Education, library clerks, inside grounds, go to work.’ It was 8:00 am, and the staff’s statement meant it was time for me to go to the gate. I was a teachers aide, and I taught adult basic education. That was until Governor Jeb Bush cut our seven teachers down to one. So much for, ‘No Child Left Behind’. They even cut out all of our vocational training. San Quentin has more education programs for its’ inmates than Liberty Correctional Institution.
“The concept is simple, keep ‘em stupid, give ‘em no job skills, and they’ll be back within three years, and the system maintains its’ job security. God Bless The Prison Industrial Complex, and the destruction of the family, brought to you through the courtesy of your Republican government, and the systemic violence it perpetuates on the weak, the blacks, the gays and lesbians, the women, and the ignorant. And please be sure and keep ‘em ignorant. And please God, continue to provide tax cuts for the rich, and please continue to build more prisons, so we don’t have to look at the poor among us.
“I got to the gate, and was informed that the teacher I assisted was not there today. He was an excellent black teacher, who rarely took time off, and had a sincere love for education, and helping inmates learn. So, I headed back to the dorm, to await the opening of the yard.
“Liberty had a weight room, two basketball courts, a volleyball sand pit, a soccer field, a football field, and a third of a mile track, one time around. So, in my spare time, I walked the track, and I enjoyed that. Our inmate to staff ratio was approximaetly fifty to one. We had three gun towers. While I often heard target practice within sight of the prison, never once, to my knowledge, was a gun fired from a gun tower.
“So, I had a day off. ‘Yards open, if you’re not a houseman, get out,’ the staff announced over the dorm loud speaker, at 9:00 am. That was my call to put on my headphones and head to the Rec yard for some laps around the track. I usually walked three to ten laps daily. I was on my second lap, about a fifth of the way around when I heard someone moving up beside me. I glanced over and heard, ‘Hi, Chris’. I replied to the young black man, ‘Hey, sport’. That’s what I say when your name I’ve forgotten, or I don’t know. Now, this tall, slender twenty-ish man, I’d seen around, but I had never spoken with him.
“I glanced back to the track, and continued my own individual thoughts. The strange thing I noticed was that the individual had rapidly moved up on me, but now, for some reason, was not passing me, and was now keeping my pace. I hadn’t bothered to remove , or lower my headphones when I had said, ‘Hey’ to him. It is basically my non-verbal cue that I am into my own dream world, and not wanting to be disturbed.
“Finally, he had overcome his fear, and said, ‘Have you ever gotten a blow job from another man?’ Say what? I thought to myself. Did I hear what I thought I heard? OK, and if I heard what I thought I heard, then this would definitely qualify for my world to be disturbed, and I lowered my headphones, and replied, ‘Excuse me?’ To which he repeated his original question. I wasn’t sure of the intent of the question, so I replied, ‘Yes, I have, and I’ve given blow jobs.’ I don’t know if I said it proudly, defiantly, or defensively. I just said it.
“We hadn’t broken our pace, as I glanced over at the dark sunglassed, clean shaven, short haired, good looking young man with a muscular face, and protruding adams apple under his chin, with a black clear complexion. He was walking on my left side. It was a clear, and sunny day, in the sixties, temperature wise. Neither of us were wearing jackets. We were both in our dress blues, and I noticed we were both wearing white, long sleeved, long john shirts, under our dress blue, short sleeved shirts. I was wearing my tennis shoes with holes in them, and I observed a good layer of dust on his black boots from the dry sand of the track.
“He then said, ‘Could I give you a blow job?’ Yep, that’s what he said. OK, now maybe you have strange men in blue come up to you every day and say things like that, but I don’t, and never did. Did I tell ya that prison is strange? Anyway, without breaking our pace, and feeling blood rushing to my dick, I then decided to respond with the casual appropriate question of, ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Blue’, he replied. ‘Well Blue, I’d like that,’ I finally said, by now, with a full blown hard-on.
“I had a medical call out at 9:45 am. Blue and I walked the track several times together, chatting and getting to know each other. At 9:40, I told Blue that I had to go. He said he didn’t want to rush our friendship or relationship, but he asked when I would have free time again? I told him I was teaching one of my private Stock Market classes after lunch, and we could get together after that.
“In prison, you never know what an appointment may entail. I went to medical, and had my chest partially shaved, by the nurse, before she gave me an EKG, and that was the end of my appointment.
“After lunch, my student John had me called to the laundry room. The dorm is actually separated into two dorms, G1, and G2. I saw John through the gated doorway to the laundry, through the gated doorway on his side, about ten feet away. He needed to cancel our appointment, which was OK with me. I then saw Blue, and asked him if he wanted to walk after the yard opened, since John had cancelled, and I was now free. He said he’d be over after the yard opened.
“It was around 1:20 pm, when the staff announced, ‘Yards open.’ I laid on my bunk, as the dorm emptied out, and at about 1:35 pm, I decided to take a piss. As I walked to the bathroom, I noticed about only three other inmates sleeping on their bunks, and one female officer reading in the officer’s station.
“I was at the first urinal, closest to the officers station when Blue walked around the corner, from the front door, and placed a broom at the locked utility room door. As I looked across the shelf separating the bathroom area from the shower area, where the utility room was, I said to Blue, ‘You do have easy access, don’t you?’ ‘Yeah’, he replied, as he walked around to the third toilet stall from the officers station, a few feet behind me, to my left. I glanced back at him while I was still holding my now enlarging dick, which seemed to forget that we were there to take a piss.
“Do you want to do something?’, he said. ‘What, where?’, I replied. ‘I’ll go down here’, he said, as he moved down to the eighth toilet stall, the last one, farthest from the officers station, and sat down. I walked over to him, and pulled out my dick, that I had temporarily placed back into my pants, for the few feet journey. I watched as he placed his sweet, wet mouth, with his soft large lips around my dick, and began sucking it. I placed my right hand on his head and ran it down under his chin and felt his smooth skin and large adams apple. By now, he had my whole dick in his mouth, and was pushing his roman type nose, and chisled face into my pubic haired thunder road.
“Our uniforms have front buttons for the fly, and I still had my belt on, and had only unbuttoned a few buttons of my fly, My left hand was holding down my blue gym shorts, which didn’t have a convenient opening for a dick, like our boxers did. I had been watching the officer’s station, and the dorm area for any interruptions. Each toilet stall had a four foot high divider, so from a distance Blue was not visible, and it just looked like I was standing there taking a piss.
“At one point, there was a loud noise around the officers station, that startled Blue, and he removed his mouth fom my dick. My dick missed the warmth, and felt deserted, so I said, ‘Don’t stop.’ Did I ever tell ya that at this point, my dick has little conscience. Anyway, Blue immediately wrapped his luscious lips again around my organ, and I tilted, and thrusted my dick farther into his mouth, with some positive feedback of, ‘Oh Blue, you’re good.’
“Blue was receptive to the feedback, and began moving his lips and mouth more feverishly up and down on my dick. However, since I was standing in front of him, I guess the more appropriate way to describe it would be, in and out. Of course, at this point, proper grammar usage wasn’t on my mind.
“I slid my right hand down Blue’s left shoulder and caressed the back of his neck. ‘Blue, I’m about to cum’, I offered, so Blue could pull away, since we hadn’t discussed this before. Blue tightened his lips around my shaft and didn’t miss a beat, as he continued to massage my dick with his tongue and lips. It was like he was riding a horse and didn’t want to miss a thing, or get thrown off. I looked down at Blue’s face pressed against my crotch. His eyes were closed, and he had attractive curly eyelashes. I felt his hands touch my balls through my pants, as I shot more than one load of cum into his hungry mouth, as he swallowed it all, and continued slowly blowing my now decreasing hard-on.
“It was one of those spontaneous, passionate moments, very rare in prison, that probably lasted all of five minutes. While I was wearing my watch, it wasn’t where my attention was concentrated. Yes, it was definately a fantastic moment, and a peak experience day. I would have approximately one hundred similar type experiences in prison. Blue is # 98 in my study. Yeah, I’m bad. I’m a sexual outlaw in prison, a member in good standing of God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys.
“If prison is an impersonal, oppressive, and inhumane environment, which it is, then this act, was a reflection, a reminder of our humanity, our individuality. It was a defiant act of freedom, a choice we made freely in an environment that allows minimal choices, and denies emphatically our sexuality.
“I was startled by another sound by the officer’s station, and pulled my dick out of Blue’s mouth, and stepped over to the sink. We made it , we had gotten away. I turned the faucet on, as if in washing my hands. Blue got up from the toilet seat, and walked over to me, in between me and the officers station. He was facing the officers station, with his back to me, as I said, ‘That was great.’ He reached behind himself, and touched my crotch, and replied, ‘Yeah, when can we do it again?’ ‘We got to go. Where are you going to be?,’ I asked, as I headed back into the living area past the officer, still reading, and unaware of our actions. No inmate either had seen us. ‘On the Rec yard’, Blue answered as he turned the corner, and headed out the door. ‘I’ll see you there’, I replied.
“I felt lightheaded as I walked back to my bunk. Yeah, that’s what he said, ‘When can we do it again?’ I think I could easily love this kid. He definitely has the right attitude. Intimacy in prison is like finding a diamond, it is a very rare commodity. Consciously choosing to reach across the great divide of space, tradition, security, rules, laws, time, and lonely isolation to touch another human spirit is also too rare. No one was the wiser, that for a brief moment, in a bleak place in the universe, two men took refuge, and expressed love, in their shared humanity, with God’s blessing.”
“As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.”
Song of Solomon
2:3
