Date: Wed, 05 Oct 2016 15:10:50 -0700
From: h.schreiber@hushmail.com
Subject: Chapter 33 of Come Christmas Steve by Hans Schreiber

Come Christmas Steve

Chapter 33

In the Caspar Federal Court facility, everything was very well run. In
fifteen minutes, I'd been checked in, fingerprinted, photographed, assigned
a number, strip searched, showered, and dressed in the newest fashion. The
jumpsuit for the Federal court was grey instead of orange and had a sewn-on
patch with my number on the back. No one called anyone by name, but by the
last four digits of our numbers. I was 8623.

I was briefed with the rules and expectations, appeal procedures for any
grievances I might have, and then asked if I had any questions. When I
didn't, I was escorted to my holding cell. It was a regular cell with seven
cell mates. My bunk was on top at the end of the row, near the wall. There
was an exposed toilet and wash basin just next to my bunk. I was very
excited for that. No need to crap on schedule like at the last place. The
fact that it was exposed didn't bother me, I was way over any embrassment
in doing my business in front of others by then.

The second day of my incarceration in Caspar was enlightening. I met my
cell mates. Michael, the junior attorney, was right about the inmate crowd
being different at the Federal facility. There was a very wealthy
contractor who was accused of ripping off the government somehow on a
construction job. He used some big word for what it was he'd supposedly
done, but I didn't understand it and didn't want to ask. There was a tax
fraud, embezzler, bank robber getaway man, two multi-state drug dealers and
me, the child molester, which I didn't disclose. One Hispanic, two blacks
and the rest of us were white. The racial ratio was much different back at
the jail. Life here was less depressing. I actually thought to myself that
I might survive twenty years in a place like this without losing my mind or
my dignity.

The afternoon of the second day, Adam showed up. That was a relief. He was
very busy and all business.  There was no time for small talk. "I have some
difficult things to work out," Adam said. "First of all, a quick schedule
of events. You will be arraigned and enter a plea tomorrow. You will be
dressed in a suit that will be here for you. Make sure your tie is
straight. I will do all the talking. You need to keep your mouth shut
unless the judge asks you a direct question. If he does, I'll turn and look
at you. Answer whatever he asks honestly, but keep your answer brief. Don't
elaborate. Don't smile and for hell's sake don't laugh at anything. Look
worried, scared even. Behave like a second grader standing in front of the
principal accused of something you didn't do."

"Okay. I will."

"Stand up. Let me see it," Adam said.

"See what?"

"Your courtroom look. We are going to role play a minute."

"Oh. Okay." I stood up and looked somber as Adam pretended to be answering
the attorney's questions.  Then he stopped and pretending to be the judge,
asked, "Do you understand the charges that have been levied against you?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Yes, sir," Adam corrected. "Always respond to the judge with a high degree
of respect. Either yes sir or yes, your honor. Got it?"

"Okay. I get it," I responded.

"The look is good. Not overdone. You appear genuinely frightened without
looking guilty."

"That doesn't require any acting," I said.

"Sit down now. Here is the list of charges against you. You are charged
with indecent exposure with the special circumstance of exposing yourself
to a minor in the Daniel case. You are also accused of child sexual assault
against Daniel based on the allegations in the video testimony, which so
far, I have been unsuccessful in getting tossed out. For the Colt portion
of the accusations, you are also charged with sexual assault as well as
aggravated assault by penetration with a foreign object, referring to the
brush.  Additionally, you are charged with sexual abuse of a minor with the
special circumstance of interstate publication of child pornography over
the internet. For good measure, they tossed in a second count of indecent
exposure to a minor for Colt. He claims now that you exposed yourself to
him multiple times and encouraged him to expose himself to you when you met
up together."

I was sick. "None of this is true, Adam. The Colt thing is just not
true. None of it. He just kept coming around and I kept telling him to
leave me alone. This last time was all a complete setup. I swear."

"I believe you. There are some very big hurdles, however. First of all,
your boxers that were found along with his underwear under your mattress. A
large quantity of your semen and his minimal amount of semen was found on
them. Some of his semen was also found on his underwear, but thankfully,
not yours. Still, how is that explained?"

"I told Michael, I had a wet dream. I'd left my boxers in the dirty clothes
pile and Colt must have found them there and jacked off onto them and also
onto his own."

"Okay. I guess we go with that, but it won't sell easily. This is a smoking
gun," Adam said. "Next concern is the expression you apparently are in the
habit of using when you ejaculate. Colt claims that when you ejaculated in
his mouth and at other times, you groaned and said, 'Cum Shaney, Cum'."
Adam paused and when I didn't say anything, he continued, "I have
interviewed Steven Fahrenheit, David Whittaker, and your brother,
Billy. All three have confirmed that this is a habit of yours and none of
them have any idea how Colt would have known that without having heard it
from you."

A wave of nausea overcame me. "I ..." I bit my lip. "I have no idea
either. I can promise you that I never said that to him and that I never
did anything sexual at all with him. Not ever. I can't explain how he knows
that. It's totally true that I like to say that when, when I ..., you know,
cum. But I never did anything with him. You have to believe me. Maybe he
was hiding in my room sometime and I jacked off without me knowing that he
was there. I honestly don't know. I just don't know."

"Is there anyone else who might be aware of this little habit of yours?"
Adam asked. "A schoolmate you masturbated with or told that to perhaps?"

"NO! I never told anyone that and I never masturbated with anyone else, not
even Billy," I said. "Billy, Steve and Whittaker are the only ones who know
it. Possibly, my other brothers heard me say it through the bathroom door
when I was growing up and I didn't know about it. Maybe they told."

"I'll check into that. This is not only a smoking gun, it is a smoking gun
with your fingerprints on it."

"Will Whittaker or Billy have to testify against me about that?" I asked.

"I don't know. Potentially, but they would not have included that detail if
they didn't know about it somehow, so there must be another source for it
if the source wasn't you."

"It wasn't. I promise."

"Next item. Why in the hell did you attend the rodeo?"

"I told you about that already. Colt seemed so desperate for some approval
from someone. I was depressed and wanted to escape a little. I thought I
could just go show him some support and then sneak off undetected by anyone
besides him. I was also a little curious to see what his friend looked like
that he had a crush on. The one he kept asking my advice about."

"Enlighten me more on that," Adam urged.

"Colt met this kid at school, in gym class. Scott was his name. Colt had a
crush on him. They became friends and it turned out that Scott did rodeo
also, just not as much as Colt and in different events.  Anyway, Colt's dad
was dead set against the friendship until he found out that Scott was into
rodeo and got the idea that Scott was trying to get Colt a girlfriend, I
think. So then his dad was okay with it.  Something like that. Anyway, the
families started becoming friends, I guess. Then, Colt and Scott got caught
showing off their dicks to each other by Colt's mom up in Colt's
bedroom. She was going to tell his dad and he came to me again wanting to
run away or find some way to help him not get killed by his dad when his
mom told on him. Anyway, Billy and I convinced my mom to go talk to his mom
when we took Colt back home and somehow, my mom smoothed it over with
Colt's mom and Sheriff Withers never knew about it. Anyway, I was a little
curious to see this Scott kid that Colt had a crush on."

"So Colt felt he was gay and was afraid of his father because of the
father's prejudice against gays. You in particular, right?"

"Yes."

"And Colt kept seeking you out asking you for advice about being gay and
what to do about this Scott kid who he had a crush on?"

"That's right."

"And did you ever give him any advice about how to have sex or demonstrate
anything to him, real or simulated about having gay sex with his friend? Is
that when you said, 'Cum, Shaney, Cum' in front of him?"

"NO! Nothing like that. I swear!" I was very emphatic.

"This rodeo thing is not only a smoking gun, it's a smoking gun registered
in your name. It screams pedophile pattern behavior," Adam pined. "Last
item for today. The brush. Why did you clean the brush handle and why did
you use Clorox to do it with?"

"I found it in my room after Colt left. I was just putting it away and it
was all gross. I had to clean it before I put it away. Mom would have
freaked out if she saw it like it was."

"Why Clorox? Did you think that Clorox would destroy all traces of DNA on
it?"

"DNA never crossed my mind. It was a mess and Clorox is what we use to
clean and disinfect stuff at our house. That's all."

"Well, it looks very much like you were intentionally covering up
evidence," Adam stated.

"Evidence of what? I didn't do anything. It was all Colt. I was just
cleaning up the mess he left."

"STOP THE BULLSHIT!" Adam yelled. This shocked me and I jumped and pulled
away. Adam slammed his fist on the table as he yelled at me again, "I can't
help you if you keep lying to me! Just tell the damn truth so I know where
I stand when I try to plea bargain this case. You're a pedophile,
Shane. Just admit it. You fit the pattern. You had a confused childhood,
felt inferior, and needed a way to overcome that.  You preyed on younger
boys as a way to feel some superiority and acceptance. The two boys on the
bus that you took to the bathroom at the diner, you offered to do that for
a chance to get a peek at their little genitals. You didn't dare do
anything more than that with them but I'm sure you wanted to. It got you so
excited that you talked Steve into going into the bathroom on the bus
afterwards and engaging in sex in there. That's not normal behavior,
Shane. Tell me the truth!"

"What? NO! No, that's not true. How did you know ..."

Adam continued his tirade as I sat there shocked and stunned. "The boys at
the after school tutoring program is just another example of how you were
grooming young boys for sexual gratification. You just never got sufficient
time to finish the job. You sought them out and took interest in their
hobbies and you told one of them that you wanted to go see him play
baseball, didn't you?"

"No. I wasn't. I was just trying to ..."

"DIDN'T YOU?!?" Adam exploded, pounding the table again.

"I did, but it wasn't to ..." Again, he cut me off.

"You only tutored the boys, Shane. No girls. It was a perfect place to
scout for boys who you could gain trust with and then make your moves
on. How many others have there been, Shane? The prosecution is using the
media to call for any others to come forward and I'm guessing there will be
a few. You have to tell me the complete truth, Shane. All of it or I can't
help you. You'll end up spending the rest of your life in prison, Shane. Do
you want that?" he barked.

I was heaving great sobs now. But he just kept piling on me. He went on
yelling, "Tell me, Shane. Tell me what else you did to that little Daniel
boy you abused in Yellowstone. How far did you go with him before his
parents showed up? Did you make him perform oral sex on you? Did you? What
else Shane?  What else? And what about Colt? What nasty, perverse things
did you do to him? You were contacting him through your brother's
girlfriend, using her phone as a cover. But the Sheriff found out you were
having rendezvous' with his young son at the big oak tree on your
property. He found out that you went out running as a way to meet up with
Colt at the oak tree. Colt's father learned how you met up with the boy
there to entice him to engage in sex play, didn't he? That's why he showed
up one day instead of Colt and confronted you about it. He beat you up as a
strong message to leave his son alone, but you couldn't, could you? Even
after getting your ribs broken over it, you still pursued young Colt. You
wanted Colt's little sexy body too much, didn't you? You lured him over
when you knew you would be home alone and then you performed perverse sex
acts with him. You even posted your conquest on the Internet. You screamed
out 'Cum, Shaney, Cum!' when you ejaculated into his young mouth, didn't
you?" Adam pounded the table again, "DIDN'T YOU?!?"

"NO!" I screamed back. "NO! Adam, it's not true. None of that is true!
Please, please," I pled.

I was shaking and sobbing. I pressed my palms to my temples and sobbed out,
"God, dear God, please. I didn't do anything to these boys. I would never
do anything like that to any child. God knows I didn't.  Please Adam, you
have to believe me, there isn't anything else to tell. I didn't do any of
it! I just wanted to help little Daniel get in his room and then find a way
back into my room. Honest. I never pursued Colt.  He pursued me even though
I told him not to."

Adam stood up and gripped my shoulders. He gave a firm squeeze. "I believe
you. I know you didn't do it. I'm sure of it. Now. I had to be absolutely
certain. I had to subject you to that because I had to know where I stood."

I pressed my palms harder against my temples and fought to control my
sobbing.

"I also need you to know that all of what I just subjected you to will come
out in one form or another in the trial. You can't freak out when it
does. You have to maintain your composure. You have to continue to look
worried, but not appear repentant. This will be hell for you, Shane. I'm
not yet planning to plea your case. I would never get anything
acceptable. I'm holding out for a trial. If we win, you go free. If we
lose, you will spend the majority of your life in prison. At least the best
part of it. If you think of anything, anything at all, that might help me
with the smoking guns, tell me."

"Okay," I eked out while trying desperately to regain my composure. "I'm
scared."

"Stay that way," Adam said. "You need to be scared."

I returned to my cell and went straight to my bunk. My cellmates stared at
me but didn't speak. They could see I was a wrangled mess. I'm sure they'd
had their own turns with bad legal news. Adam's words about a smoking gun
with my fingerprints on it kept ringing through my head. He'd also said I
would spend the best years of my life, if not the rest of my life in prison
if I lost this case. When it came time for dinner, I asked if I could just
stay in my cell. I knew I couldn't eat. The answer was no, I had to go but
I didn't have to eat. I didn't eat, I couldn't eat.

The next day, they delivered a new grey suit, white shirt, and blue tie. It
felt good to be dressed in normal clothes. A suit wasn't exactly normal
clothes for me, but compared to a two tone grey jumpsuit with a number on
the back, it was.

I traveled on a short bus with a group of equally well dressed inmates and
two who hadn't bothered dressing for their appearances. I supposed they
were just pleading guilty and didn't see the point. Those two were
shackled, both hands and feet while the rest of us were only cuffed. We
were all placed in a holding cell until it was our turn to see the judge.

When my turn came, I took a deep breath and followed the bailiff. It was a
very governmental looking building. Older, but clean and polished. The
courtroom itself was not particularly large. The judge sat in front on an
elevated platform desk. A witness stand was next to it. All of that was
separated from the spectator seats by a wooden railing with a swinging gate
in it just like on TV. I was uncuffed and directed to sit next to Adam. He
surveyed me and nodded an approval, then turned his attention back to the
papers on his lap.

When my name was called, Adam and I stood and entered the front section and
stood at the table on the left. The judge surveyed some papers, peered at
me and waved toward us. "Sit down." We obeyed.  He continued reading for
five or six minutes. He called my name and told me to stand up. Adam and I
obeyed. "Shane Steele, you are charged with the following," he began. He
listed off the same charges that Adam had shared with me the day
before. Then he asked, "Do you wish to enter a plea on all counts or one at
a time?"

"All of them together, your honor," Adam said.

"Very well, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty on all counts, your honor," Adam said.

"Thank you, but I'd like to hear it from your client. Mr. Steele, how do
you plead?" Adam looked at me so I knew I was supposed to answer.

I swallowed and said, "Not guilty on all counts, your honor."  He studied
me for a bit and I held my gaze on his. I didn't have to act worried or
afraid, it came quite naturally. I felt drips of sweat running from my
underarms. He gave a slight shake of his head as if he'd come to some sort
of conclusion and resettled his wire frame glasses on his nose. He marked
some check boxes and took a calendar in hand.

"Counselor," the judge began, "this is not your regular venue. I have
penciled in forty-five days for discovery, is that sufficient?"

"Yes, your honor. Thank you." Adam made a note on a pad.

"I have set the pre-trial hearing for September 18th," the judge
stated. "I'd highly encourage you and the prosecutor to speak about
resolving this case outside of a trial."

"Thank you, your honor. I'm sure we will be speaking," Adam responded.

"That's all for now," the judge said and the next case was called. We
exited to the side of the courtroom where a bailiff was waiting for me.

"I'll be in touch," Adam said. "Have you thought of anything else you think
might help?"

"Just that I could tell Colt was not doing what he did willingly. He was
being forced into it somehow.  I think his father threatened him. I think
his own father must have been abusing him and then probably threatening him
not to tell."

"Why do you think that?" Adam asked.

"Things he's said about his father. He told me several times that his
father had threatened to cut his dick off if he was going to act like a
little girl instead of a man. Then, there's the brush. I think his father
must have done that to him. How else would he have learned to do that? Why
would he say I'd tried to fuck him if someone else hadn't already done that
to him?"

"Hmm. All right. Why do you think his father did all of that? Why wouldn't
you think he learned it from his friend that he was at the rodeo with?"

"Nah. They were both still too innocent. It sounded like that Scott boy was
very fascinated with sex stuff but as naive as Colt about most of it. I
just can't imagine them doing that together from what Colt told me about
him," I explained. I reminded Adam of what I'd told his associate, Michael,
about us catching the Sheriff and the Reverend meeting up for sex at the
motel. Adam nodded acknowledgement.

The bailiff had reached his limit of patience and grasped my arm. Adam
consented and I was led through the door, cuffed and taken back to the
holding cell. I spent four more hours in the cell until all the other
prisoners had finished with their court appointments. When we arrived back
to the holding facility, I undressed and returned the clothing to a
guard. Once dressed back in my grey jumpsuit, I was led to the dining area
with the rest of the court group, except for the two angry ones. We were
fed separately since we'd missed our normal dinner time. It was cold and
stale, but we were much too hungry to care much.

I spent the next forty-five days, waiting and wondering what was going
on. Each Friday, Michael would show up and fill me in on any progress and
ask me questions. Unfortunately, there were many more questions than
progress reports. Questions that had no good answers. I struggled to keep
up hope.

On Michael's second visit, he asked me if Colt had ever seen my penis. I
answered that he had only seen it in the roadside bathroom where we first
met. Michael clarified that Colt had never seen my erect penis, and I
confirmed he had not. Michael had me rehearse every conversation I'd had
with Colt and I did my best to recall all the things we'd talked about.

On the fourth Friday, Adam showed up instead of Michael.

"Why are you here this time?" I asked.

"I have to present a plea bargain for you to consider," Adam responded.

"Really? A good one?" I asked.

"I'll let you decide. First of all, let me fill you in on some progress
we've made. Fortunately, there have been no other kids come forward to
accuse you of anything else, in spite of the State Prosecutor advertising
for them."

"That's because there aren't any out there," I said, indignantly. The idea
that the jackass was out soliciting others to come forward infuriated me. I
felt bad for my family, who were most likely getting a fresh dose of being
shunned and harassed.

Adam ignored my tone and went on, "Mrs. Whittaker's investigator ran down
evidence that little Daniel had been coached prior to his video
testimony. They obtained security camera footage showing the prosecutor's
psychiatrist meeting with Daniel and his mother at a conference room in the
public library multiple times before the deposition. The rental fee for the
conference room was paid on the psychiatrist's credit card and was included
in his reimbursements from the prosecutor's office. The State Prosecutor
has been dropped from the federal prosecution team over it. They are not
happy with him.  His career is pretty much over."

"That's great! That means only the Colt thing remains," I said. "Freaking
prosecutor deserves it!"

"Not so fast," Adam corrected. "The federal prosecutor wants to do another
video deposition by a mutually agreed upon psychiatrist. The parents will
be allowed to observe, but only by video from a neighboring room. No
telling how that will go and no telling what the judge will want to do
about that."

"Well, when the jurors hear about the coaching from the first video,
they'll be able to figure out that our story is true," I said.

"The court probably isn't going to allow any mention of the first
deposition or of the coaching. So all the jurors will see is Daniel's story
of what happened when he talks to the court appointed expert."

"That's not fair. They cheated and put ideas in his head. Why can't the
jury know about that?"

"Because the judge will almost certainly rule that it is not to be
allowed. End of discussion," Adam said.

"I might try to sneak it in and take the objection and endure the judge's
lecture over it. He'll tell the jury to disregard it, but that's
pointless. You can't un-hear something."

I laughed.

"As for the Colt situation, there isn't much change. One thing I want to
clarify: when you were in your room with Colt, when he was naked, did you
notice any evidence of physical abuse? Any bruises, red marks, welts or
cuts?"

I tried to think back. "No. No, I don't recall anything like that? I wasn't
really looking for something like that. I believe he did have some bruises
on him. I'm not real sure. Why?" I asked.

"Never mind," Adam said. "Just checking. Do you recognize this notepad?"
Adam showed me a picture of a promotional notepad with a green tractor on
it.

"Yes," I replied. It's from the farm show my parent's went to. They got a
bunch of them from the trade show. It's from John Deere. Why?"

"There is a note, written on this paper in what appears to be your
handwriting. All block print. It tells Colt to come to your house the next
morning in code - something like "Come play in my crib. Ten tomorrow." Colt
claims he found it tacked to the telephone pole just down the street from
his house. He further claims that was the way you contacted him when you
wanted to meet up, once you couldn't use Jaime's phone any longer. The
prosecutor has a handwriting expert claiming it is your handwriting. We
have an expert claiming it is not. To the untrained eye, ninety percent
would conclude that it is your writing. So the jury will believe it is."

"Oh my god. Is there anything else?" I muttered.

"Oh yeah. There is something else. Something very disturbing," Adam
answered. "This." He showed me another picture on his phone. This one was
of notes jotted on the same notepad paper. "The police found it in your
nightstand drawer. Both handwriting experts confirm that it is your
handwriting. Care to explain?"

I stared at it in complete despair. I knew immediately what it was. I had
written it. The notes I'd jotted to help me remember my bizarre wet dream
glared back at me from the picture in Adam's hand. It read:

I Go to prison but I don't care I want to be with my lover Others watch us
but I don't care

I want to get fucked by Steve. Hard!  Todd complains. Ignore Todd Colt
comes in naked with a boner We let him watch Colt climbs in bed I make him
get out. I wake up.

"I, I, I ..." I stammered.

"Oh no. You really did write this? Why?" Adam asked, pocketing his phone.

"I told you I had a wet dream. It felt disturbingly real. That's why my
boxers had my, uhh, semen in them. I'd learned in psychology class that
most dreams have deep seated meanings. I wanted to remember the details of
my dream so I could look up that section in my textbook and see if I could
figure out if I could learn something from it. I dreamt I'd chosen to be
sentenced to three years in Yankton with Steve and Todd. I dreamt that we
were in the same cell and we could have sex together.  The other cellmates
watched us and near the end, Colt's father pushed him into our cell and
Colt joined in watching us. Afterwards, he climbed into bed with us and
begged me to protect him from his father but I made him get out of
bed. That's why those notes are there. That's the absolute truth. I swear
it," I explained.

"He was naked in your dream?" Adam asked.

"Yes. He was. You know how weird dreams can be."

Adam blew out a huge sigh. I don't think he had words to express his
exasperation. "Okay," he finally said. "I guess I don't have to tell you
how awful that is."

"No. I guess you don't," I agreed.

"There is another new problem for us. Colt was interviewed by a trained
psychologist who took his statement detailing the abuse. It was remarkably
consistent with his earlier reports given to the police investigators, the
parents and the doctors who examined him. The psychologist asked Colt to
describe your penis to him. Colt gave a very accurate and fairly detailed
description to the psychologits - not only of your flaccid penis, which we
know he saw in the bathroom, but of your erect penis and your testicles.
That was to be one of my aces, Shane. You told Michael that he never saw
your erect penis. I was hopeful I could get him to describe it incorrectly
in court and I was going to have a medical expert testify about the
incongruities. Now, that is gone. How did he know this Shane? If he never
saw it, how did he know?"

"Adam," I sputtered, "I don't know. I swear to you, he never saw my penis
except for that one time in the bathroom. I just don't know. Is there
anything else?"

"Just the plea offer," Adam said. "I'm sure the federal prosecutor is being
pressured into offering it by the judge, who wants to avoid going to
trial. He has shockingly offered eight years in a federal
penitentiary. Nothing like Yankton where Steven and Todd are at. But I did
at least negotiate you into a Low Security Sex Offender Prison in
Littleton, Colorado, or one like it. There are ten such federal
facilities. Your chances there will be much better than if you go to a
regular prison. Sex offenders are shunned, harassed and brutalized, and
occasionally murdered in the general population of a standard prison. You
will be twenty-six years old when you get out. There's really no chance of
a shortened sentence. You will be on the sex offender's list after you get
out for another ten years, which is a very difficult thing to live
with. It's the absolute best I can get out of him. He is very confident in
getting a conviction but federal judges always pressure the prosecutors to
settle out without a trial. If you turn down this offer, and they win at
trial, you will spend many more years than eight in prison. You may spend a
significant portion of your life behind bars. I cannot control where you
get sent to in that case, but wherever it is, it will most likely not be
pleasant for a convicted sex abuser of children. Especially a young
handsome one. You will be beaten, stabbed, repeatedly raped and possibly
murdered. That's not an exaggeration."

I was stunned into silence. I stared at my hands mulling over what I'd just
been told. Adam was patient and let me take my time. "What do you think I
should do?" I asked finally.

"I don't think it's my decision to make. It's your life," Adam said. "But,
I think it's quite obvious what I think you should do. Take it!"

"What are my chances of winning?" I asked.

Now it was Adam's turn to pause. After a long reflection, he sighed. "I
believe, at this point, the prosecutor's case is stronger than ours. If
Colt testifies in any sort of believable manner, I think we lose."

I fell back into silence. My head was spinning. "I, I ... don't know what
to do."

"I understand. Think about it. I'll be back in two days. I need your answer
by then," Adam said. He stood up and placed his hand on my shoulder. "I
wish I had more hope to give you. I know the offer sounds ominous, but
eight years is survivable and you will still have a large part of your life
ahead of you when you get out. The alternative is almost certainly much
worse. Think carefully about what you want to do," Adam advised.

"Okay." That was all I could muster.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to do more. Your parents have asked me to
tell you that they love you.  They want you to only think about yourself in
making your decision. They believe in you and in your innocence and nothing
you choose here will change that. Same goes for me." He choked back his
emotions.

"Thanks, Adam. Tell my parents that I love them. And Billy. And
Whittaker. And try to let Steve know.  Thank them for all they've done to
try and help me. And I want you to know I think you're amazing and I know
you've done all you possibly could for me." I started to cry. Adam
collected me into his arms and held me. Then, he wept with me. He held me
until I regained some measure of control. He didn't speak.  What could he
have said? His eyes were still moist. That said enough.

After I was back in my cell, I crawled up onto my bunk. I pulled my pillow
over my head and pressed it tightly to block out all light and sound. That
was as close to being alone as you could get in jail. I mulled over the
prosecution's offer and reviewed every detail of the case against me. I
thought about every time I had interacted with Colt. I couldn't believe
it. I just couldn't believe it. I realized that if I took the deal, I'd be
in jail five years longer than Steve and Todd. I worried that Steve
wouldn't wait for me and maybe no longer want me. He might believe I was
guilty. He'd warned me against being alone with those boys in the
diner. He'd scolded me about the Daniel incident. He may suspect my
behavior just because of what he'd been subjected to. I supposed that he
would hook up with Todd and they would move on with their lives. I stressed
over the idea of that happening anyway. I had never been able to completely
get the images I'd seen of Steve and Todd fucking each other on the thumb
drive out of my mind.

I had to consider the risk of losing and what that really meant. Taking the
deal allowed me to get into some kind of a safer environment, if I
understood Adam. I was pretty sure he'd said I could go to a prison just
made up of sex offenders so I wouldn't be a target like I would be in a
regular prison.

I thought over all the things Colt had ever said to me. I thought about how
afraid he was of his father. I understood why he was doing all of this to
me. I knew he was a confused and scared child. I was pretty sure he had no
idea how severe my punishment would be and hoped that someday, he'd mature
enough to realize what he'd done and confess. Perhaps, that way, I could
get whatever sentence I was given overturned. But, more likely, he'd just
go on with his life and forget about me rotting away in prison. I wondered
if he would be gay or straight, or if he'd live out a lie for fear of his
father, who was ironically living out his own lie. I couldn't understand
how he knew some of the things he knew.

"It's Whittaker's fault," I mumbled. "If he hadn't saved Agent Overcoat, he
couldn't have ratted me out.  He'd only found out about the Daniel incident
because he was undercover in Uncle Arty's sex ring. If he'd been killed,
the whole Daniel incident would have died with him. Without the Daniel
case, there would be no Colt in my life. We would have simply been two guys
who happened to go into the same truck stop bathroom. "Dear God, why?" I
asked. "Why?"

Agent Overcoat or Caprino, which was his real name, had been on our
side. He'd given Steve and Billy good advice when he arrested all of us. He
just had to fulfill his duty and that included sharing the Yellowstone
incident with the Montana authorities, even though he should have given it
to the Wyoming Federal Courts. I guessed most law enforcement people were
like him - bound by their sense of duty. I supposed they didn't always like
what they had to do. Except for Sheriff Withers. He was an exception. I was
sure he loved ruining people's lives. Especially mine and in the process,
his own son's. I marveled at how he could be so callous.

When dinnertime came, I climbed down and marched along with the others,
head down and despondent. I picked at my dinner and shared much of it with
one of my cell mates, the drug dealer on the bunk below mine. Other than
short responses to his inquiries as to what I was and was not going to eat,
we didn't converse. I shuffled back to the cell and climbed back up onto my
bunk. I started pondering all that had happened and reviewed the times I'd
met with Colt for the hundredth time. I was desperate to find some magical
thing that would make everyone go 'aha!' and realize I had been set up.  I
thought of Adam's question whether there was some sign of injury on Colt
and I suddenly remembered that Colt was fingering a small scab just at the
base of his penis. I had to get that tidbit of information to Adam somehow.

In the middle of that, my bunkmate climbed up on the ladder and nudged
me. "What up, celly? Bad news from the hack?" he asked.

I slid the pillow off my head and looked at him. He was thirty-something,
sort of short, and slightly overweight. He waited for me to answer.

"Yeah," was all I said.

"Case not going so good?" he asked.

"Yeah," I responded again.  "Wanna talk about it? I might render some
assistance. This here ain't my first rodeo," he said.

I snorted a sardonic chuckle at the rodeo reference. "Thanks, but ..." I
trailed off.

"I'm guessing you got tagged for KP or something like that. Right?"

"KP?" I asked.

"C'mon, don't play that shit with me. Like I said, it ain't my first rodeo,
bumpkin."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I answered. I was annoyed.  He
whistled through his big teeth. "You really do not comprehend me. Damn! KP,
my cute ass little bumpkin, is kiddie porn. I'm surmising you're in here
for messin with that there."

I stared at him somewhat shocked. "How ...? I mean, why? Why do you think
I'm in here for that?" I asked.

"Hah, Lawd-a-mighty, I'm correct. I knew I was right. You just lookin' the
type, bumpkin. You way too soft for any hard-ass crimes and you're green as
hell with all that choir boy talk of yours. I'm guessing you couldn't say
shit if you had a mouthful of it and prolly ain't never said fuck in your
whole life. Just dreamed about it while puttin' hair on your palms. You're
probably still a fucking virgin. So it had to be either kiddie porn or
computer hacking you was in here for. Can't be nothing else."

"That obvious?" I asked. I was stunned.

"Hell yeah. Me and the other cellies been speculating. I was powerful sure
of it. So lissen up, bumpkin.  When you get played out to the big house as
a fresh fish, you needs to quickly find a wolf you can ride with. Look for
the white boss and let him know you're for sale as a personal bitch. Get
yourself a Bruder if you can. Otherwise, your creampuff ass gonna get
turned out at will. So you just a KP junkie or you a full-fledged chomo?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're asking me," I stammered.

"Chomo, child molester. Did you actually fuck with the kiddies or just
trade the porn?" he clarified.

"Neither. It's all a big setup," I responded.

The man laughed so hard, he fell off the ladder. The others all peered over
at him. "He's in on a bum beef. He's all innocent and shit. Anyone heard
that pile of shit before?" he asked. They all laughed.

"I am, an innocent man," another cellmate started singing. He had a pretty
good voice. "Oh yes I am, an innocent ma-an." He got up and walked over
still singing. "Some people run from a possible fight, some people figure
they can never win. And although this is a fight I can lose, the accused is
an innocent man." He belted out the next line, "Oh yes I am. An innocent
man!" Everyone laughed. I clenched my teeth. I was innocent. But no one,
except maybe Adam and my family believed it. I wondered if they were losing
faith in me as well, the longer this went on and the more shit that kept
piling up.

"I am innocent!" I insisted.

"Okay, sure. You're innocent. So's you being accused of being a chomo?" he
rephrased.

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. That be a full fledge guarantee you gonna get fucked up if
it be gettin' put out there. Don't let nobody, and I mean nobody know
that. Don't trust no one to keep a damn secret neither. Eat your fucking
docket sheet, and I'm not shitting you here. Chew that fucker, swallow it
and shit it to hell. You'll be a fucking rapo if that gets out. Lissen
here, bumpkin, you's needin' to learn some shit before you get sent down to
the house. I'll educate you, if you want."

"I guess maybe I better get educated. I'm pretty scared. My lawyer also
warned me a bunch of times that I'd have it bad in prison. I really don't
belong here. I'm just a young, stupid kid. I really didn't do anything to
deserve all of this," I choked out. "I'm not a pedo. I'm not!"

I climbed down and we sat on his bunk. He filled me in, translating the
prison slang into normal language so I could understand it. He explained
that I needed to find the white gang boss and let him know I wanted to
offer myself up in exchange for protection. He suggested one of the Aryan
brotherhood, also called a 'bruder', since they were usually not messed
with. That way, if I got lucky, I'd only have to get turned out by one guy
and maybe a few others he'd occasionally sell me to for favors he might
want done. So there'd be less possibility of me getting AIDS, or the
monster as he called it. We talked for about three hours, even past the
last bed check. All the other cellies had fallen asleep when I suggested we
should go to bed ourselves and maybe talk more in the morning.

"Yeah. That be cool. I'm fucking ready to collect, anyway. I'm in an
exceptional state of erection," he said. He gripped a large hardon through
his jumpsuit. "Strip yer ass down."

"What?" I stammered.  "Strip yer creampuff ass down. Time to pay
up. Fucking education ain't free, goddammit." He started to unbutton his
grey jumpsuit and motioned for me to follow suit.

"I, I don't know what you mean ..." He cut me off.

"I fucking mean, I'm gonna fuck your candy ass in exchange for all that
good educating I gave you. While I'm doing it, I'll give you tips on how to
make it hurt less. Strip! Now! And keep your fucking mouth shut while I do
yer ass and after the deed is done. You snitch me out and you won't fucking
make it to court.  Only thing more hated in the house than a chomo is a
snitch." He pulled down his grey boxers and exposed a rather impressive
erection. It bent awkwardly downward and was dripping precum.

"Hey! No! You never said anything about this," I complained. I was on the
verge of a panic.

"Should have read the fine print, fish." He stepped up and pressed me to
the wall with an unexpected strong grip to my throat, leaving me struggling
to breathe. His large hand wrapped three fourths the way around it. He
unbuttoned my suit with his free hand and pulled it down off my
shoulders. It fell to my feet. Then he forced my boxers down and wrestled
me to his bed.


"Please don't," I gasped. Fighting him off was useless. "Please, please." I
started to cry.

He snickered wickedly and forced himself between my legs. He pressed his
slippery dick against my asshole. I braced for his entry and clutched the
blanket in my grip and gritted my teeth. I tried to push my sphincter
outward so it wouldn't hurt as bad when he forced himself in, dry and
unprotected. I expected no gentleness from him.

Then, he pulled away. He slapped my bare ass and said, "Roll over, fish."

I just laid there, ignoring his demand. He slapped my ass again and said,
"Roll the fuck over!"

I slowly did so. He took my limp dick and balls in his hand and then let
them drop free. "I ain't no wolf. I ain't gonna tap your ass. But I wanted
you's to see what the fuck you be in for. It ain't no fucking joke,
bumpkin. You gotta gets yourself a white wolf as soon as fucking possible
when you gets to your new neighborhood. That be the only damn way you don't
end up dancing on the blacktop or doing the dutch."

"Okay! Okay. You definitely made your point," I stammered. Relief washed
over me.

"Did I?" he asked.

"Yeah, I got it. I do." I reached down and started to pull my boxers up,
but he stopped me.

"I ain't gonna fuck you, but I am gonna get paid," he said. "Jack me off,
and stay naked so's I can play with your junk whiles you do me. Been too
fucking long since I been properly manipulated."

I thought about objecting, but that seemed like a bad idea. So I took his
crooked boner in my hand and stroked him off. He fiddled with my dick and
balls while I did it and it didn't take long for him to cum. He wanted to
shoot on me, and I let him. We went to the small basin and washed up and I
thought for a minute he was going to kiss me, but thankfully he didn't.

That night, I dreamed bad dreams. The gorilla came back into my nightmares
and I was running from him all night long. I was stark naked but my
prisoner number, 8623, was tattooed on my back. The gorilla had a curved,
yellow boner in the shape of a large banana. I woke up just as he caught me
and pushed me to the ground, pressing his banana to my bare ass. I sat up,
my heart was racing and I was sweating like a quarter horse in heat. I
peered down at my celly who'd given me the education and he was sleeping
soundly. A smile creased his lips. I laid back down and pulled the pillow
over my head, pressing it to my temples. "Why God? Why?"

After the education, I was sure I had to take the plea deal. Eight long
years, but at least they would be spent in a place where I was less likely
to encounter serious abuse. Colt surely had no idea what he was condemning
me to. How could he? How could this innocent kid be so mean? He couldn't. I
just knew he couldn't be that mean. But that did me no good. His father had
gotten to him and probably threatened him. He'd done a thorough job of
framing me and I hadn't done myself any favors, innocent as it was.

I felt better after coming to a decision. I kept thinking about all the
evidence against me looking for some glimmer of a miracle, but nothing
came. After lunch and exercise period, I was back in my cell. I recounted
every time I had been with Colt. I reviewed everything I could think of
that he had said to me or that I had said to him. I couldn't remember
everything, of course, but what I did remember didn't trigger any ideas for
a miracle. The only possible bit of useful information was the scab I'd
remembered.  My celly came and stood next to me. "Want some further
education?"

"I don't know. What's the tuition fee?" I asked.

He smiled. "Nah bumpkin, I'm good. No charge this time. Complimentary."

"Then sure."

I spent the next couple of hours with him filling me in on the do's and
don'ts of prison life. I realized quickly that it was an entirely unique
culture that was completely foreign to me. I grew more and more anxious
with each new story and potential risk. I asked him if he knew anything
about the special prisons that were for sex offenders only. He didn't. He'd
obviously never been to one and didn't even know they existed.

"I'm not sure I'd be trusting that. Seems like 'too good to be true'
bullshit to me. Who told you that?" he asked.

"My attorney. It's part of a plea bargain deal. Eight years, but in one of
those places. That's such a long time," I said.

"Yeah, I pulled a dime my first time in. Not sure what I'm lookin' at this
time. You just can't let yourself think about it. Day at a time; that's all
you can fucking do or you be making yourself bat-shit crazy in a hurry up."

"You already did ten years?" I asked. "How young were you when you went
in?"

"Twenty-two," he answered.

"How old are you now?" I asked.

"Thirty-seven," he answered.

"So you've only been out for five years? Why would you ever do anything to
risk going back?" I asked.

He laughed. "Gotta fucking eat. When you got no skills and a criminal rap,
crime is like the one boss what don't run no background check. My first
trip in, I did as the lamb. So I was owed by the boss I took the rap for
and it was a fucking good five years out. I got the Cadillac jobs, until I
fucked one up. I knew it too. I fucking knew he was a narc. But I got to
feeling all invincible and greedy. Fucking greed, man. It'll get ya, every
goddamn time."

"You were in a gang?" I asked.

"Yeah. I was in the distribution department," he joked.

"Drugs?"

"Of course," he responded.

"If you were only twenty-two when you went in the first time, did you get,
umm, you know, raped?" I asked.

He laughed. "Fuck no. I went straight to grandmother's house and got in the
circle. I had to participate in a few rumbles but that's all. I did pretty
easy time. I was in with a powerful prison gang." Then he added, "So I'm
consulting with my hack today. I'll tap him on what up with these special
chomo houses you heard about. I'll let you know if they be lit or shit," he
offered.

"Sure. Umm, is there a fee for that?"

He laughed. "You gettin' smarter already, bumpkin. You gettin' it, man. You
really gettin' it."

"Well?" I asked again. "Is there?"

"Nah, man. I told you, I'm good now. If you be feelin' like you wanna tip
me, however, that'd be cool. Up to you," He answered.

"In that case, yes. Please ask him. I'll think about the tip."

I was anxious for my new friend, 20765443, 5443 to the guards, or D.D. as
he called himself, to come back from talking with his hack. I figured it
meant his attorney. I was pretty sure. When he finally returned, he was in
an upbeat mood. "Things go well?" I asked.

"Oh, hell yeah!" he said. "Fucking hack swung for the fences and knocked it
clean out of the fucking park! Fiver with time off for playing nice with
others. Piece of fucking cake."

"That's great. I'm glad for you," I said. "What did he say about the
special prisons?" I asked.

"Yeah, they got these places but they're really not SO only places like you
heard. They gots these special programs for SO's to help rehab your
kind. If you join in those rehab programs, you can get some time off. So
the houses what have these SOMP programs, I forgot what the fucking letters
stand for ..." he said pausing to think about it. "Sex Offender Management
Program, that's it. Anyhow, these houses gots way more SO's in the
population than a high risk offender house gots, so the clientele is less
dangerous.  You hear me?" Then he added, "If you can for certainty get into
that hood, you fucking better sign the deed."

"Great! Then I'm definitely gonna take it. Sweet!" I thanked D.D. over and
over. I was relieved.

"Yeah, it's cool. Good luck to you, bumpkin," he said.

"When do you start your time?" I asked.

"Couple days. Paperwork and house hunting," he responded.

"House hunting?" I asked.

"Yeah, you know, finding a bed in a place that ain't too overcrowded."

"Oh," I said.

I thought I would sleep better that night since I had a decision. Eight
years in prison was not fair and it was definitely not deserved, but it was
better than the possible death sentence if I lost at trial. I remembered
D.D.'s tip and climbed down. I pulled his sheet off and started to unbutton
his jumpsuit.

"What you up to?" he asked.

"Your tip. You want it?"

He smiled. "Hell yeah, if you offerin'." I pulled his suit and boxers down
to his broad thighs and easily coaxed his willing penis into an erection. I
fondled his balls for him while I stroked his dick. He put his hands behind
his neck and let a contented smile spread over his wide lips. He started
oozing loads of precum which I spread in little circles over his frenulum,
causing him to moan softly.

"Finish me, bumpkin," he whispered. I took him in both hands and pumped
ferociously until he stiffened, arched and exploded. "Thanks for the tip,
bumpkin," he muttered sleepily after he was spent.

"Welcome," I answered. "Thanks for the education." I washed my hands and
crawled into my bunk. He was still lying how I'd left him, relishing his
orgasm.

I couldn't sleep. I struggled with the decision I'd made. "God," I prayed
silently as I lay in my bunk, "I'm taking the prosecutor's deal. Thanks for
providing it. I don't want to, but I know it's the practical thing to do. I
think it's time for me to start thinking practical. Let me know what I need
to learn from all of this. I don't understand why I'm going through it, but
there must be some reason you want me to spend some time in prison. Please
bless Steve and Whittaker and all my family, especially my good
parents. Give me strength to get through all this. Amen."

After my prayer, I didn't feel any better like I hoped I would. I'd been
praying more than I had in my whole life and yet, I hadn't gotten much of
what I'd asked for. I wanted God to give me that peace in my heart that
Pastor Nichols had spoken about in one of his better sermons. But, there
was no peace in my heart. I only felt uneasy and anxious.

*****###*****

Shane is forced into a terrible decision. They say it is always darkest
before the dawn, but you can't always count on a brighter dawn. I hope you
will keep checking back to find out how this all ends. The end is in sight.

Sincerely, Hans

h.schreiber@hushmail.com

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