Monthly Archives: August 2017

Story

Brig Story – Part 03

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By Tommy Guns

It didn’t take long before the pain in my shoulder blades from being cuffed in that position became severe. I could no longer feel my legs, just a tingling sensation every once in awhile in my calves. I have no sense of how long I remained kneeling, but what little light that had been coming through the cracks at the top and bottom of the cell door had long since disappeared, and I was in almost total darkness. From my years in the jungle, I had become used to extreme low light conditions, but this was beyond that. I could just make out the commode in front of me, and the outline of the steel rack next to me, but nothing else.

I must have dozed off, because I didn’t hear the key turn in the lock, and was startled by the sudden opening of the hatch and the rush of cold air that came with it. I could just make out one of my two guards of that morning when he entered my cell. He ordered me to turn around, but to remain on my knees. I tried to comply as best I could, but my legs would not cooperate. I fell over on my side, and my guard kicked my right leg and told me to get on my knees. I managed it after a couple of tries, and was facing him. I was on my knees, just about six inches from the zipper of his uniform trousers. I could see a bulge in his crotch, and something told me what to expect next. I was right.

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Brig Story – Part 02

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By Tommy Guns

When we got to the other room, I was ordered to sit on a chair, and another prisoner came in and took a pair of clippers and cut my hair and mustache off. I already kept my hair pretty close trimmed in the standard high and tight, but the brig haircut was even shorter, more like being back in boot camp, fresh off the bus, and getting your first Corps haircut. The loss of my well-trimmed and groomed mustache was a real pity. I had cultivated it and trimmed it with great care over the years, and it was one of my better features. Oh well, I supposed it was yet another part of the price I had to pay for whatever it was I had done to get myself locked up. At this point, I was more interested in what I was being charged with. It must have been pretty serious, given the high level of security they were using with me.

After the haircut, I was photographed, both full face and left and right profile, and then fingerprinted. This part of it was rather interesting, since they were taking no chances with me, and did not release more than one wrist at a time from the cuffs, and even then one of my guards had hold of my upper arm, while the other had his foot on the chain between my ankles. After a couple of sets of prints were taken, I was again fully shackled and led back to the holding cell I was first held in. They took my cuffs and shackles off once I was locked in the cell, and ordered to take the gown and slippers off and pass them through. I complied, and was given a set of utilities to put on, and a pair of flip-flops to wear with them.

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Brig Story – Part 01

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By Tommy Guns

I remember it as if it was yesterday. It was Tuesday, May 11th, 1971, the day I woke up in the Brig, my hands and legs tightly shackled to the bars at the head and foot of the rack on which I was laying. Most of all, I remember the smells. I was laying in my own waste, dried blood and vomit staining my ripped uniform blouse, and a tear at the knee on the left leg of my uniform trousers. There were the smells of despair and hopelessness, and the scent of cold, hard, oily steel, mixed with way too much pine cleaner.

But I still don’t remember much of the three days that preceded that May 11th, or what had brought me to that place, on that memorable day, in the disreputable state I was in. But I do remember what happened after my rude awakening by the sound of a nightstick being banged against the solid steel door of my cell.

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Story

Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 15

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By Greg Alexander

As I dangled from the basketball hoop, trussed up, totally helpless, and in constant pain from the excruciating hanging wedgie, the frat boys proceeded to ignore me completely for the next hour or so, as they fired up the grill and begin to whip up a spectacular feast. The frat boys had given me some dog food mixed with peanut butter for lunch, but I realized, in spite of everything, that I was pretty hungry . . . and of course, suffice to say, no one offered me any of the food.

The frat boys ate burgers, hot dogs, grilled corn and peppers and chicken.

They also made tacos and burritos, and, as if that weren’t enough, someone brought out a massive bowl of beans, which they eagerly began to devour.

During the whole time that they grilled, I simply dangled there, smelling the delicious aroma of food that I was not allowed to have.

Later, as the light began to fade, as the frat boys ambled around the yard and chowed done on their ample food, they began to pay attention to me again . . . much to my chagrin.

Continue reading Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy – Part 15 →