God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys
Saturday, January 26th, 2008By R25288 ( c ) 2006-2008
Chapter Thirty-Five
December, 2004 (Part 3)
“One hour of right-down love
Is worth an age of dully living on.”
Aphra Behn, The Rover
Like A Virgin
By Madonna
I made it through the wilderness
Somehow I made it through
Didn’t know how I was
Until I found you
I was beat incomplete
I’d been had, I was sad and blue
But you made me feel
Shiny and new
Chorus:
Like a virgin
Touched for the very first time
Like a virgin
When your heart beats (after first time,
“with your heartbeat”)
Next to mine
Gonna give you all my love, boy
My fear is fading fast
Been saving it all for you
’cause only love can last
You’re so fine and you’re mine
Make me strong, yeah you make me bold
Oh your love thawed out
Yeah, your love thawed out
What was scared and cold
(chorus)
Oooh, oooh, oooh
You’re so fine and you’re mine
I’ll be yours ’till the end of time
’cause you make me feel
Yeah, you made me feel
I’ve nothing to hide
(chorus)
Like a virgin, ooh, ooh
Like a virgin
Feels so good inside
When you hold me, and your heart
beats, and you love me
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Ooh, baby
Can’t you hear my heart beat
For the very first time?
From my journal of 12-15-’04:
First, I was conceived with God. Then, the way I figure it, he knew my feminine nature was not going to provide me any advantages, so at least, he’d stuck me in a white womb. Then he gave me another big break, and stuck me in a womb living on American soil. This way, I wouldn’t have to learn a foreign language. Thank you, Jesus!
I grew, and had many great teachers; Jesus, Gandhi, Thoreau, King, Jr., Malcolm X, Machiavelli, Mao, Kennedy, Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Mandela, Whitman, Eleanor, Jacqueline, Lady Di, Churchill, ma and pa, and others.
My spirit forged with the underdog. I was with Tom of “The Grapes of Wrath”. I shared the cell with Mandela. I stood before the tank with the Chinese student in Tienanman Square. I placed the daisy in the soldiers barrel. I cried at the cross. I still say, “Father forgive them for they not what they do.” And they still don’t, but we still have to try.
I was born in the city of brotherly love, Philadelphia. I took the meaning seriously, personally, and literally, and tried to love as many brothers that would let me. I’ve won at the U.S. Supreme Court. I’ve walked among the bunkers at Wounded Knee, while they were at war with America. I’ve shaken hands with American Presidents, and slept with priests and nuns. I’m the boy next door; I’m an American dream.
Give me the opportunity, a computer, and the software, and I can legally make millions of dollars, as I did as a Stockbroker, for my clients. Give me the opportunity, and if I had the desire, I could seduce your wife or husband. I use to rent a Holiday Inn room, and slept with a man’s wife in the morning, and him in the afternoon, in the same bed, but not at the same time, and neither knew, until we all ended up together in the same bed. I became the surrogate father to their daughter, the old fashioned way, naturally. I remain HIV negative. Ain’t life grand?
While receiving Secret Service clearance once, I was reminded that I was not born in the city of brotherly love, but rather one of her suburbs. The government, bueracracy, and technicalities; I’m surprised myself, sometimes, that I’ve not yet become a Republican, favoring limited government. However, with my sexually liberating, liberal politics, I’m sure they’re glad I’m a Democrat.
I’m a late bloomer; I was seventeen before I had sexual intercourse. She was a cute classmate. Barbara Streisand would have loved her nose. It was a drive-in theater on 63rd St. and Grand Ave., in Des Moines, Iowa. It occurred on the front seat of my 1953 Ford, in August. By the time we finished, got up, and looked around, the drive-in lot was vacant, the movie was over, the windows were steamed over, and it was 2am. I was an animal. Those were the days.
So, skipping over being a newspaper publisher, TV producer, an open marriage that closed, orgies, Quaaludes, Black Beauties, Coke and runny noses, pot and the munchies, protests, drop in and drop out, hide and go seek, charades, Academy Awards parties, Halloween parties, New Years Eve parties, Las Vegas, Jamaica, Bahamas, Canada, San Francisco, Hawaii, New York, Chicago, New Orleans, Yellowstone, and Garden of the Gods, we’re now at the bar.
Not the corner bar; not the American Bar Association; but the bar. It is where all of your associates dress in blue. It is where once the soap hits the floor, that’s it honey, your shower is over, ’cause you ain’t bending over to pick it up. However, more accurately put, it’s behind the bars, behind the razorwire. This is the American nightmare, unless you’re Martha Stewart, or me.
So, basically, I’m John Heard in The Big Chill, where his college buddy, Kevin Kline, asks, “So, what is jail another experience you want to try?” Well honey, it’s not like I had a choice. But believe me, now that I’m here, it’s an opportunity, and God knows I like challenges and opportunities. So many men; so little time left to serve. And so this chapter of my life begins.
In prison, I became the Forest Gump of religion. Forest would say, “Life’s like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.” I would say, “God don’t make mistakes; he made me gay, so it’s OK.”
So, while I feel I do not belong in prison; and while I like the color blue and men, I’d rather not be around them 24/7. But hey, what do I know, I thought I’d use my college degree to help improve the world. Little did I know that God declared a shortage of college educated inmates in prison, and that I would be drafted.
I’m never one to shirk personal responsibility. So, I yelled at God, “How about one of the Bush brothers, aren’t they educated?” All I heard back was a thick Bostonian accent that said, “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” So, I yell back, “My country wants my ass?”
But, what do I know, I read in my Wall Street Journal yesterday that, “A Suicide Bomber Killed 13 Iraqis,” so there are worse places to be. At least I’m not that suicider or one of those 13 Iraqis. Life is a gift, a blessing, and although I tried three times to give the gift back, God would hear nothing of it. I guess I wasn’t good enough with the faith thing, so I was sent to prison to learn more. God had more plans for me, and he placed J.D. in my path.
On 12-18-04, I wrote Mrs D.:
Dear Mrs. D,
At this holy time of year, I just write to tell you that I was blessed, and am now out of confinement. Over six months ago, I was blessed by meeting your son. You have much to be proud of.
We have spent the last six months working hard on his legal case. Normally, you’ll find us doing legal research in the law library every Wednesday and Friday afternoons. I’m not sure if any lawyer could have done more than we did. And I have much respect for the profession, as my brother was an attorney, before he passed.
My own case is on appeal, but regardless of its’ outcome, I will max out my sentence in less than two years. I hope by that time that J.D. may also be free, or on the road to freedom. His sentence is too harsh, and I will continue to assist him in or outside of prison, to secure his legal release, so he may return to his family, and bless others, as his friendship has blessed me these past six months.
Blessings to you and yours at this holy time of year.
Sincerely,
Chris
On 12-20-04, I wrote this for J.D.;
Thy Art A Blessing To Me
For My J.D., compiled by Chris
I John 4:12
If we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us.
Galatians 3:28
There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Jesus Christ.
Psalm 139:2 & 3
Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off. Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.
John 5:20
For the Father loveth the son, and shewest him all things that himself doeth: and he shew him greater works than these, that ye may marvel.
John 13:13 & 14
Ye called me Master and Lord: and ye say well: for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another’s feet.
For My Dearest J.D.,
Learnest, Knowest, Believest, and Trustest, all of this, my boy, my son, my brother, my companion, my right hand man, my love, and I will always be yours, and be with ye always; that the almighty Lord workest in strange and mysterious ways, so fear not and haveth faith; that two are better than one, and that together we are stronger, healthier, and wiser, than if we were to drift apart; that ye are never alone, nor giveth more than ye can handle; that he is abundantly pleased with his loving creation of every glorious part of ye and me, so rejoicest in it all, as I rejoicest in all of ye; denyest me not, and I will never denyest thee; and I thanketh thee for loving me, as I love thee, and for being the daily comfort and blessing that thy art to me, and for sharing with me thy harvest of thy sweet fruit, that sustains my life. Thy art my bestest friend on this planet earth, and I thankest thee and gracious God for sharing thee with me.
All My Love,
Chris
From my journal of 12-21-04, 8:10am, Tuesday;
I went to jail 12-3-04 until 12-14-04, over Mr. B’s kitchen BS. I go to ICT at 9:30 for my new job-we’ll see. J.D. and I got together in his room last Saturday and Sunday mornings. (Sneaking into his dorm, which I often did, basically just entailed me changing out of my sneakers into prison boots, wearing a hat, and removing my glasses, and walking in with one of his friends who lived there, so it looked natural.)
We were doing law work, on his bed, at one point, when he whipped his enlarged dick out of his pants and told me to kiss it. ( Needless to say I did more than just kiss it, and we had a wonderful time. Oh, the hardships I suffered in prison. Did I ever tell you that prison was strange? )
Afterwards, we left together and went to the canteen. I bought him some food, paper, soap, and a pack of cigars. I bought myself some clippers, sunglasses, and a watch. We walked around the yard smoking cigars the other day. I also sent him some long johns I bought off the yard. I asked if we could get together again next weekend-we’ll see. He does love me in his own way. I sent him several notes with Bible verses the other day. I showed him the letter I had written his ma along with a Christmas card, and he told me to mail it; he was pleased with it. I received two books of stamp last night along with 14 blank Christmas cards. I had Juan sell 12 of them for $11.00, of which I gave Juan $4.00.
From my journal of 12-28-04, 7:20am, Tuesday:
I snuck in to see J.D. Friday, 12-24-04, in the morning. He had bought us some sodas, chips, and chicken sandwiches from the canteen. I also took in my Christmas present for him-cigars, a lighter, and a lighter holder, and cigar holder that an inmate had made. Since creativity is punished in prison, we both knew it was only a temporary gift, because once the guards would find it , they would confiscate it as contraband. But he liked ‘em anyway.
We ate the chicken sandwiches on his bed, talked of the future and our love for each other. Our legs touched as we sat beside each other on his lower bunk, eating our sandwiches. There was no towel covering the windows, so anyone walking by could see us. I would run the back of my hand against his outer leg closest to me, or his left forearm, as I sat to his left, as we talked and ate. We finished eating, and he asked if I was ready for his Christmas present to me. I told him I was. He told me to sit on the toilet by the cell door, and close my eyes. I complied. I heard him get off the bunk, and sensed his presence in front of me. I heard him say, “Merry Christmas,” as I opened my eyes to see his dick in front of my face. Never before or since, had I ever seen his dick so full of protruding, pulsating veins. It was a glorious sight, and the best Christmas present he could have given me. He made it a Christmas to remember.
Same Old Lang Syne
By Dan Fogelberg
Met my old lover in the grocery store
The snow was falling Christmas eve
I stole behind her in the frozen foods
And I touched her on the sleeve.
She didn’t recognize the face at first
But then her eyes flew open wide
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse
And we laughed until we cried.
We took her groceries to the checkout stand
The food was totaled up and bagged
We stood there lost in our embarrassment
As the conversation dragged.
We went to have ourselves a drink or two
But couldn’t find an open bar
We bought a six-pack at the liquor store
And we drank it in her car.
We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how.
She said she’d married her an architect
Who kept her warm and safe and dry
She would have liked to say she love the man
But she didn’t like to lie.
I said the years had been a friend to her
And that her eyes were still as blue
But in those eyes I wasn’t sure if I saw
Doubt or gratitude.
She said she saw me in the record stores
And that I must be doing well
I said the audience was heavenly
But the traveling was hell.
We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how.
We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to time
Reliving in our eloquence
Another ‘auld lang syne’…
The beer was empty and our tongues were tired
And running out of things to say
She gave a kiss to me as I got out
And I watched her drive away.
Just for a moment I was back at school
And felt that old familiar pain
And as I turned to make my way back home
The snow turned into rain-
“There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.”
George Sand, letter (1862)
