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Brig Story – Part 08

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By Tommy Guns

Finally, I came to that part of the story that is always the most difficult to tell to someone who has not been down that road themselves. I had been selected for advanced sniper training based solely on my performance during firearms training in Boot Camp. Being from New York, I had never fired a weapon before that first day, but I seemed to have an uncanny ability to put three rounds in a very tight grouping at 300 yards. My DI recognized my raw marksmanship skills immediately, and soon was lying down next to me on the range. He asked me how long I’d been shooting, and didn’t believe me when I replied that I had never fired a weapon before in my life.

My DI took the M14 rifle from me and made a couple of adjustments to the sight and windage setting, and gave it back to me. I zeroed in on the target down range and squeezed off three more rounds that went dead center and were so closely grouped that you could cover them with a quarter. This apparently impressed my DI to the point that he left me there to fire off the rest of my magazine. When I finished off, instead of returning to the rear area to clean my weapon, my DI instructed me to remain where I was. He had a new target placed on the frame, handed me a fresh magazine, and instructed me to take my time and fire off all 20 rounds in single shot.

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Brig Story – Part 07

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By Tommy Guns

A few minutes after Dr. Ira left me, two of the Corpsmen I knew from the unit came in and unlocked the restraints from my ankles. They gently lifted me to my feet and guided me down the passageway to one of the private rooms off the main ward. One of the Corpsmen, Charlie, asked me if I was going to give them a problem with the restraints, but I told them I was ready. They guided me over to the bed and told me to lie down on my stomach. They unbuckled the straight jacked and told me to turn over on my back.

I did as I was told, and they removed the jacket completely. I asked them if I could use the head before they restrained me, but they told me it would be bed pans for the next few days. Charlie told me to lie down and they fastened a leather restraint to each of my ankles, and locked them. Next came a tether belt that was run from each ankle and locked to the railing on each side of the bed. This was followed by wrist restraints that were locked on and similarly tethered to the side rails. Finally, a wide leather strap was placed across my chest, under my arms, and tethered to each side of the railings as well.

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Brig Story – Part 06

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By Tommy Guns

A few hours after my young Corporal left, I again heard footsteps coming down the passageway. The key went in the cell door, and it was opened by the Brig Commander. I jumped to my feet and stood at attention, but he told me to sit back down again and relax. He pulled out his pack of Camels again and offered me one. I couldn’t take one since my wrists were still shackled to my waist, so he unlocked my cuffs and lit my cigarette with his Zippo. He then told me that he had made some phone calls about my case, and that he thought I might be released back into the custody of the Special Rehab Unit.

It seems that the SP, whose nose I had apparently broken, had been counseled by some of my fellow rehabbers, and had wisely decided that it was all a big misunderstanding and he did not want to pursue any charges. That effectively knocked out both the assault and resisting arrest charges. All that was left was the catchall charge of conduct contrary to good order and discipline, the one they use when they just want to fuck with you and can’t figure out how else to do it. It could still spell the end of my career, but the likelihood of a long stint in Portsmouth Prison was effectively gone.

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Brig Story – Part 05

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By Tommy Guns

Finally, left alone in my cell, I laid down on my rack and got to thinking about the action the night before. My hard-on returned with a real vengeance, and I thought that I now had the time and opportunity to relieve myself. Alas, it was not to be. Just as I was getting into a rhythm, I heard footsteps coming down the passageway. They stopped at my door, and a key was put in the lock. I scrambled to get my cock stuffed back into my trousers, and almost made it before the cell door was thrown open. Standing in the doorway was the hot Corporal from earlier, framed in the light from the passageway overheads.

In his hands he had the leather belt and leg irons, and ordered me down on my knees facing the rear bulkhead. I said, “Sir, yes Sir,” and immediately got off the rack and hit my knees as instructed. He locked the belt in place, cuffed my wrists, and after he put the leg irons on, he ordered me to stand up and face him at attention. I struggled to my feet, turned around and stood before him. Just looking at his well toned body, deep blue eyes, and that uniform snuggly fitted to his body brought my cock to full attention again. He saw the effect he was having on me and a slight smile crept across his face. He then asked me, “I heard you’re a fudge packer. Is that true prisoner?” I replied, “Sir, yes Sir and this prisoner would be pleased to relieve the Corporal of his stress in any other way if would please the Corporal Sir!”

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Brig Story – Part 04

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By Tommy Guns

I awoke the next morning, still hog chained, and with a pounding headache that was beating rhythmically with my heart. I knew where it came from. I still had a raging hard-on, and the lack of blood flow from the head below the waist to the one on my shoulders was creating a problem for me. I had never gone this long without relieving myself, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not get the images of last night out of my head. They kept me harder than I had ever been before, and I was in dire need of release of some kind.

I had never been able to just rub myself off against a mattress, and this time was no different. This was going to be a serious and growing problem.

I had been awake for what seemed like hours before I heard footsteps outside my cell. It was a single set, so I assumed it was only one of my Marines from the day before, probably returning to see if I was still ready to service them. I would have been glad to, but now I really needed to pee as well as jack off, and things down below were getting serious.

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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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