One Moonlit Night - 7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The first day of school was predictable. The usual orientation as to books required; what the teacher expected; class test schedules, etc. No formal classes were held, so it was mainly getting reacquainted and finding out what everyone did over the summer. A few, of course, were aware of what Scotty went through so he got quite a bit of attention. Then there were those who didn’t know and upon seeing Scotty in his neck brace, which he wore reluctantly, and the scar on his eyebrow they, of course with all the tact of teenagers, would ask, “What the hell happened to you?”

I think by the end of the day Scotty was pretty sick and tired of rehashing the event.

The final thing I need to do that day in order to take part on the wrestling team was turn in my parental permission slip and attend the pre-practice orientation meeting. Scotty had been requested to go to the music department so asked if I’d take his neck brace and book bag with me so he didn’t have to lug it around. He said he’d stop by my gym locker, pick it up, and then wait for me on the bleachers. When I walked into the gym I got a very pleasant shock by the presences of Junior being there. Junior had volunteered to be the assistant wrestling coach. And neither he nor Scotty told me—I’ll have to spank my young boyfriend for keeping secrets. I gave him a big smile and a thumbs up. After listening to the usual lecture about sportsmanship and team camaraderie, from Coach Hastinger, we were then assigned workout partners and given the schedule of meets. Junior was introduced—well, Mr. Phillip Tucker, Jr., was introduced—and we were all given his history of being City and State wrestling champion and of course an alumnus of our school. We were also told by Coach, Junior’s word carried just as much weight as his. If he told us to do something, we did it, without questions or arguments.

Though many of us knew each other from previous years there were some new faces so we were encouraged to introduce ourselves. I was partnered with one of the newcomers named Gordon. As I was on my way to introduce myself to him, he did the universal; I’ve got to go to the bathroom dance, grabbing his crotch, and indicated he’d be right back. I nodded my understanding and just milled around chatting, saying hi and introducing myself to the new guys while I was waiting for Gordon’s return.

Scotty in the mean time had finished meeting with the music teacher and came to the gym to pick up his stuff. As he was bending over to take his bag out of my locker Gordon roughly jerked him around.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ punk? This isn’t your locker.”

Before Scotty could even respond, Gordon grabbed him by the nape of the neck and pushed him toward the gym.

Scotty was in excruciating pain and yelled for Gordon to let him go and that he was hurting him. Gordon didn’t relent and continued to maneuver him toward the gym. Bursting through the door we all heard the commotion and Gordon shoved Scotty and he stumbled and fell onto the laid out wrestling mats.

“I found this little sneak taking some stuff from someone’s locker,” he yelled.

I saw my lover lying on the floor and I started to run over and I had that look of murderous rage, and Junior yelled, “Bash, you stop and stop right now!”

I turned to him confused. “What the…?” But, I stopped.

Junior had reached Scotty, picked him up, and asked if he was okay. He then turned to Gordon who was gloating at having caught a thief.

“Did you bother to ask him what he was doing in the locker?”

“Uh, well, no not really, I just suspected…”

Junior didn’t let him finish but continued as his voice started to rise, “Did the thought ever cross your mind that he might have had permission to get into the locker?”

“Uh, no, I uh…” Gordon stammered.

“Did it ever occur to you to come and inform Coach or me instead of taking matters into your own hands?”

“Uh, no I…”

Gordon wasn’t getting that those were all rhetorical questions as Junior cut him off again.

“If you ever physically accost another student while I’m around you will not only be off the wrestling team, you will be suspended and when you return will do detention until the end of the school year! Do I make myself clear?”

“And just so we are all clear on this issue,” as his voice continued to grow louder, “Coach Hastinger and I will not tolerate any physical violence or harassment from any member of this team on another student at anytime for any reason. Do you all understand me on that?” his voice thundered throughout the gymnasium.

We all responded in unison, “Yes, Coach.”

Turning and looking directly at me he asked, “Bash, do you understand that?”

“Yes, Junior uh, I mean Coach.”

Scotty, rubbing his neck, had come over to stand by me. It was so hard not to grab him, hug him, and hold him. Junior came over to check on Scotty and as he was his brother had the luxury of being able to do what I couldn’t. He, after chastising Scotty for not wearing his neck brace and feeling assured Scotty didn’t need any medical attention, swatted his butt and told him to go sit in the bleachers. He said they would be dismissing that night’s practice shortly.

Junior turned to me and quietly said, “Bash, I love you like a brother, but if you attempt in any way to get even for what Gordon did, I will toss you off this team. I will not tolerate violence or harassment. Do you want me to talk to Coach about reassigning someone else as your work out partner?”

“Nah, Junior, it’ll be okay; promise.”

Junior then put his hands on my shoulders, pulled me toward him and whispered, “It was hard for me to see too, Bash.”

He squeezed my shoulders, released them, turned, and walked toward the other wrestlers.

As I headed back to the group, I saw Gordon head over to the bleachers. My heart skipped a beat, but I remained calm. I waited a moment and then walked over toward Scotty and heard Gordon saying, “Well, I really am sorry for what I did. I shoulda’ at least let you explain. Hope I didn’t mess up your neck. God, sometimes I can be such a jerk.”

“Hey, uhh…?” Scotty uttered.

“Oh, uh, my names Gordon, Gordon Starky.”

“Well, Gordon, apology accepted. It’s nice to know you were watching out for my boy...uh, my best friend’s stuff,” Scotty said with a smile.

As I approached, Gordon turned and when he saw me, he took a furtive step backward and then apologetically said, “Hey, man, I really apologize for grabbing your friend like I did. I wasn’t thinking and well… I’m sorry.”

I looked at Scotty and he gave me this lighten up and accept the apology look.

“No problem Gordon. It’s all water under the bridge. I mean that too,” and added jokingly, “If a certain friend wasn’t so lazy and carried his own books…”

Scotty gave me a confirming, way-to-go-wink and smiled.

We all shook hands and then we heard the announcement that practice started in two days and we shouldn’t be late or we’d have to do extra laps. Then class was dismissed.

Gordon turned out to be a really cool guy. He was a good workout partner too. Technically, he was very skilled, though he didn’t have the speed and strength that I had, he did keep me on my toes. Of course, I had the added benefit of having had Junior as a quasi-coach and instructor over the years, which had helped hone my abilities.

Junior was a great coach. He was firm and didn’t take any guff nor put up with those who weren’t there to learn. He didn’t care if you weren’t Mr. Wrestler of the year, as long as you gave it your all and tried your best.

I never understood why, but wrestling tended to attract many overweight kids. Maybe it was because they thought it was easy. Maybe because of their size they felt they would be assured a spot on the team. Maybe their parents pushed them into joining thinking they’d lose weight. Usually, most didn’t stay too long as you exercised and drilled your butt off. Physically it was very taxing and they soon realized if they wanted to make the team it was going to be a lot of hard work and their size didn’t mean a thing. Junior worked well with these guys. He always had an encouraging word. He drilled them equally as hard as he did the rest of us, but also, within their limits. Someone 30 to 40 or more pounds overweight is not going to be able to run as long or fast as someone who doesn’t have to carry that extra weight. They are not usually going to be as quick or agile either. Junior made sure they worked and did all the requisite exercises but in a way that was commensurate to their abilities. He, along with the school dietician, proposed a diet so they could optimize their nutrition and they were encouraged to cut down on junk and snack foods.

Along with the no physical violence being tolerated, neither would any disparaging remarks as to someone’s physical abilities or size be tolerated. One of our best wrestlers Jerry Watson, did not heed this warning when he yelled at Bobby Arnolds, who was a good 25 to 30 lbs. overweight.

“Hey, Bimbo Bobby, as fat as you are, all you’ll have to do is throw yourself on your guy and you’ll flatten him and pin him,” he laughed thinking he was being cute.

Though he had become accustomed to the name-calling and ridicule, I could tell Bobby was hurt by the remark. I felt bad for him. He hung his head momentarily, then, as though he was resigned to being taunted, he raised his head, faced his assigned partner and began wrestling.

Coach Hastinger and Junior immediately told Jerry to go get dressed and meet them in their office. He started to protest, but thought better of it and did as instructed. We later learned in order for Jerry to be reinstated on the team, which he was—he had to attend a sensitivity workshop, and apologize to Bobby, and the team for his remarks.

Some of the results of Junior’s training were amazing. Not just in the physical achievements of the less talented, coordinated and overweight, but there was a noticeable change in their self-esteem too. Many would go to Junior later and thank him and his stock reply was, “Hey, man, you did all the work. I just had faith in you until you could have faith in yourself. See what you can achieve with believing in yourself and hard work. And this will go with you, not just here on the mats, but anywhere you go.”

This attitude didn’t just benefit those individuals, but the team as a whole. It encouraged and built a good esprit de corps for the entire team.

I was so impressed with Junior’s achievements, that I went to Coach and Junior and asked if there was any way I could help. Junior and Coach both agreed that little Bobby Arnold probably could use some one-on-one coaching. Bobby Arnold was a short little blond kid who was grossly overweight for his size. He looked like a beach ball and he got picked on unmercifully. He stood about 5’ tall and was almost as wide as he was tall. Nevertheless, Bobby put his whole heart and soul in to his workouts and practices. He had a cuteness about him too. I went and talked with Gordon to let him know what I was going to do, but assured him I would not neglect our workouts. He thought it was great idea and asked if he could help too. I told him I didn’t think it would be a problem so we rearranged our workout schedule to accommodate little Bobby Arnold. When we approached Bobby and offered to help him learn some moves, he was in awe that two of the better wrestlers would take the time to work with him. I swear he doubled his efforts. We actually had to slow him down. In time, the other wrestlers took note of what Gordon and I were doing and the idea of giving attention to others caught on. My thoughts were, if we didn’t win one match this season, we’d still be the winning-est team in the State.

***[ ]***

Things were going well overall in Scotty’s and my life. We got back into our regular grind of combining schoolwork and our extracurricular activities. The sleepover regimen, which we both balked at in the beginning because of our newfound lust for one another, actually worked out fine. We still were always together when not busy with our own agenda. We studied together and even managed to sneak in a few ‘make out’ moments, but were for the most part too exhausted during the week to engage in too much lovemaking. We certainly made up for it on the weekends though.

It was a Monday in mid-September and the trial regarding Scotty’s assault was scheduled for the following Wednesday. A few weeks earlier we had attended depositions and interviews that were quite harrowing. Now I knew the legal system is adversarial in nature, but sometimes I just wanted to scream. It seemed to me the whole idea was to trip someone up or try to catch them in a lie. We went over and over the same stuff so often I could recite my testimony and Scotty’s by heart. Scotty’s attorney said he could almost assure a conviction, as there were many witnesses to Scotty’s assault. There was even the chance that I would not have to testify. We were informed the defendant’s attorney, Ms. Appleton, decided against a jury trial, as there was just too much evidence against her client. In addition, she didn’t believe the pictures being shown to a jury of Scotty’s injuries would work in her client’s best interest. I guess she was placing her reliance on a judge’s mercy and her silver-tongued rhetoric in order to get a more favorable outcome.

During the course of the trial preparation we also discovered that, the defendant’s Father, Mr. Polanski, had been tried and convicted of attempted murder on a police officer and was serving a minimum of 25 years with out the possibility of parole. The charges for the assault that he had inflicted on me were dropped in the plea bargaining process. We learned the inebriated Mr. Polanski while being escorted from the hospital to the police cruiser had thrown his handcuffed body into the arresting officer, with great force, causing him to land in the path of an oncoming car. The driver was unable to swerve out of the way completely and did hit the officer causing some injury. It was determined it was premeditated as Mr. Polanski was seen surreptitiously looking about just before he shoved the arresting officer. That along with his vindictive attitude and his violent outbursts did not bode well for him. Fortunately, but unfortunately for him, most of his behavior was caught on the security cameras at the hospital.

Mr. Polanski also had quite a history of violence in his past. He was an unemployed alcoholic and had a succession of arrests ranging from spousal and child abuse to drunk in public, other assaults and DUI charges.

The night before the trial we had convinced my mother and Scotty’s parents to allow us to be together. After all, we wouldn’t be going to school probably for the next two or possibly three days, and we promised we would do our homework assignments that Gordon said he’d collect and drop by for us. I knew Scotty was a little nervous, as was I, and wanted to be there for him. Their collective permission was granted.

After completing our homework assignments and discussing briefly the trial and our nervousness about it, we cuddled together and ended up nodding off. I was awakened, according to the bedside clock, at 1:33 a.m. by a wonderful sensual feeling. Scotty was spooned up against me, his hand gently stroking my penis. The feeling of his throbbing cock in my butt crack was driving me to a greater state of arousal and I pushed back into him. Scotty let his hand drift under my ball sac and started massaging my perineum and working his way to my rectum. I automatically raised my leg a bit to allow him room to probe. As he continued his fondling, he ran his hand up to my now leaking penis, collected the oozing semen, went back to my rectum, started to probe, and then penetrated using my semen as a natural lubricant. I let out a gasp, he jerked his hand back, and I breathlessly pleaded, “Oh, Scotty, don’t stop. That feels great.”

He continued and slowly worked his finger into my rectum and started to gently push in and pull out. He located and pressed my prostrate; I moaned. Hearing my pleasurable moan, he teasingly continued to apply and release pressure. I was in ecstasy. Scotty then removed his finger and positioned the head of his now pre-cum oozing penis at the entrance to my rectum and slowly and gently pressed forward.

“Bash?” he whispers questioningly with heavy breathing.

“Yeah, babe, go ahead I want you to,” I replied.

I reached toward the drawer to the nightstand and grabbed the lube. I applied an ample amount to my finger, lubed my rectum, and then reached farther between my legs to apply some to Scotty’s engorged member. Scotty began his entry and as I felt his head passing through my anal ring, I let out a gasp. Scotty stopped and waited for a few moments before he proceeded. Slowly he began to penetrate deeper, stopping after a few inches had been inserted to allow me to relax more and my rectum to become accustomed to his girth. Once Scotty was in all the way, he stopped and reached around and began to masturbate me. His being inside me felt so good and I started to slowly pull away then push back into him. He grasped my penis more firmly, sped up his jacking me, and then began to pull almost out and thrust into me with more fervor. I loved the feeling of his pubic region slamming against my butt cheeks with each forward thrust. As he continued, I was emitting audible sounds of pleasure and nearing my peak.

“Oh, Scotty, I love you so much! Aahhhh, I don’t think I can hold out much longer!”

And then my entire body seemed to go rigid and tighten and I felt my cum surging from my testicles and I spewed a load of cum that splattered under my chin and all over the sheets in front of me. I then heard Scotty, gaspingly and loudly moan, “Oh, Bash, oh, babe!” His body jerked and trembled; with one final thrust, he too climaxed.

We lay there, breathing heavily and our bodies had gone limp. Scotty just clung to me until his penis finally went flaccid and slipped out. After finally catching my breath, I turned to Scotty and placed my hands on either side of his face and gently pulled it towards me and began to kiss him. A few minutes passed and we simultaneously rolled onto our backs—completely and utterly spent.

“God, Scotty, that was the best,” I emphatically stated! “I think I have died and gone to heaven. God, I love you so much Scott Anthony Tucker!”

“Well, babe if you’re in heaven, get your butt back down here, because I do think I might want to do this a few more times. That was great! No, correction—that was awesome! I love you too, Bash. Always have; always will.”

Upon regaining our normal breathing back, Scotty asked, “Uh, did it hurt?”

“Nah, not really. When you first went in it felt as though something was tearing and it burned a little, but the pain subsided right away. After that, well, it was indescribably fantastic. I didn’t know it could feel so good. And even more surprising is me getting that big wanker of yours up there!”

With that, Scotty rolled toward me and we kissed for a few minutes. He then grabbed a pillow and placed it on my chest; laid his head down on the pillow; draped his arm across my body and snuggled up. Contented and exhausted we fell into a deep peaceful sleep.

The morning of the trial Scotty and I got dressed in our suits. God, did he look sexy. Then Mom drove us down to the courthouse. The trial of the People of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania v Stanley Polanski began promptly at 9:00 a.m. I had to sit out in the hallway of the courtroom as did all the witnesses and we were admonished not to speak with one another. I nervously paced back and forth most of the time as it was boring to just sit still. I tried to read, but could not concentrate. After a little over an hour of pacing and sitting, I was called to give my testimony. I was asked what happened and I related what transpired at the theatre. When Mr. Walker was through, he thanked me. Ms. Appleton, the defendant’s attorney stood and addressed me, “Mr. Cocchetti, how long have you known Mr. Tucker?”

“Ah, since I was four and a half years old, ma’am, uh, almost twelve years.”

“And, exactly what is your relationship to Mr. Tucker?”

“Objection, your honor, relevancy?” interjected Mr. Walker.

“Well, your honor, I think it goes to the credibility of his testimony. Obviously, they are close so…”

“Sustained. Ms. Appleton, as my ears heard Mr. Cocchetti’s testimony, as did yours, it didn’t sound much different than the five preceding witnesses, who had no relationship with or to the plaintiff, so I see no relevancy to your question. Move on.”

“Thank you, your Honor. I have no further questions for this witness.”

“You may step down Mr. Cocchetti.”

I thanked His Honor; stepped down, and the judged recessed until 1:30 pm. The rest of the afternoon dealt more with expert testimony from doctors regarding the injuries Scotty sustained. The prosecution rested and the defense began to call her witnesses. She called a psychiatrist who had done an evaluation on Stanley Polanski—Scotty’s assailant. Around 3:00 p.m. the judge called a recess until the next day at 9:00 a.m.

That evening after Mom and I ate dinner together, we sat for a while and talked about the trial and her day. She then had to ready herself to go to work. As agreed upon, I went to spend the night at Scotty’s house. I sat around with Scotty, Aunt Liz, Uncle Phil and Junior and discussed a little about the trial. Scotty and I agreed that for the most part it was pretty boring. Nothing like what you see on TV. Of course, Junior, being a paralegal found it a little more fascinating and did answer a few questions that Scotty and I had.

Earlier Gordon had dropped off our assignments handed out that day at school. We said our goodnights, went to Scotty’s room, and did our homework. Upon completion of our assignments, we both were very tired. The previous night’s sexual activity had cut into our sleep time—mind you, no regrets whatsoever—and that day’s experience was if nothing else, emotionally draining. Yawning we decided to retire early. We brushed our teeth, gave each other a good night kiss, climbed under the covers assuming our habitual position by snuggling up together then entered dreamland.

The following day’s court session was much the same as the previous afternoon, more expert testimony from psychiatrists, character witnesses and Stanley Polanski’s teachers. Around noon, the defense rested and the judge adjourned for the day because he had another trial scheduled for that afternoon. Court would reconvene the next day at 9:00 a.m. for the final arguments and then the sentencing phase of the trial.

On the way home, Scotty was unusually quiet. I asked if something was wrong and he said, no, that he was just thinking. Both Scotty and I had a habit of doing this and we had learned over the years not to start asking a lot of question. Eventually we would divulge what was on our mind. Scotty just grabbed my hand and gently squeezed and gave me one of his cute, don’t worry smiles. Junior was giving us a ride from the courthouse to home. He asked if we wanted to stop off and get some lunch, his treat. Both of us were hungry so we took him up on his offer. Junior too noticed Scotty was out in the ozone and asked him if something was the matter. Scotty then turned to me and gave me a curious look, as if he wanted to say something and then changed his mind. He then addressed a question to Junior.

“Uh, Junior, if someone didn’t think the sentence would be fair nor just, does the victim have an opportunity to voice his opinion?”

“Well, in many cases the victim does get the opportunity to express his or her feelings. It is not an uncommon occurrence.”

“What if I would like to do that? What would I have to do?”

“Well, you should contact Mr. Walker and tell him you wish to speak to the court and he can handle the matter from there,” Junior responded.

“Okay, thanks Junior,” Scotty said. “I think I’ll call Mr. Walker when we get home.”

I was going to return to school to attend wrestling practice, but for some reason was feeling lazy and decided against it. I told Scotty I thought I’d just go home, work on the essay for history, and then wait for him to come over. He said he was going to practice piano for a few hours then he’d be by. As we pulled up to my house, I turned and looked around to see if any one was about, and then leaned in and gave Scotty a kiss.

“See ya’ later babe,” I said.

“Yes, you will,” Scotty replied. “Oh, and Bash, I want to run something by you tonight so have your thinking cap on,” he stated.

I gave him a curious look and he told me not to worry, he just wanted my opinion on something. I assured him I would be all ears; leaning on his every word. Then I remembered something I wanted to ask Junior.

“Oh, Junior, Will you tell Bobby Arnold and Gordon I’ll be there for practice tomorrow if the trial lets out early enough?”

“Sure, kiddo, and I want to tell you that you and Gordon are doing a great job with Bobby. He gave Chris Kreider a run for his money for the first three minutes of his match yesterday. His stamina and technique are really improving.”

“Well, that little guy works his butt off. And against Chris, that’s quite an accomplishment.”

“Yeah, and surprisingly, Chris—normally a little arrogant cuss—acknowledge how well he did. I thought Coach Hastinger was going to pass out when he heard Chris’s compliment. He turned to me and whispered, “Did someone do a personality transplant on Kreider last night?”

“Well, I’ll have to remember to acknowledge Bobby for his efforts and Chris for his sportsmanship tomorrow. Well, see you guys later. Love ya’ Scotty; you too Junior and thanks for lunch.”

As I entered the house, I espied a note on the dining room table. I was pretty sure I knew what it said, but read it anyway. Yep, Mom had to work an extra shift as two nurses called in sick. Sometimes I worried about my mom working so much; not because it took time away from our being together; as she was the best Mother in the world. I worried more as she didn’t do much more than work, since my dad died. Other than social things with a few of the other nurses and the Tuckers, she spent most of her time caring for and doing things with me. Since we moved here, I think she may have dated two or three times and none of those dates turned into anything. I mentioned it on a few occasions but got her stock reply that she just had not met anyone yet with whom she was interested, not to worry, that she was fine and happy just as things were. Not much you can say after that, so I’d drop the subject.

After reading the note, I went and grabbed a soda from the fridge and plopped down on the couch and checked to see if anything was on the tube. Finding nothing of interest, I decided to go to my room and begin working on the history essay. Close to 5:00, I heard the familiar rap on the door and Scotty yelled, “It’s me!”

“I’m up here, babe,” I yelled back, “Oh, and lock the door!”

I heard the blop, blop, blop of Scotty racing up the stairs. For a little guy he sure made a lot of noise.

He bounded into the room all cheery and looking hot as ever and came over and wrapped his arms around my neck, rested his chin on top of my head and asked, as I’m typing my essay, “How’s the essay coming along?” Then, brought his cute little face around and started kissing me.

“Mith comoth among fimm,” I tried to respond while lip-locked.

“What did you say,” Scotty teasingly asked.

“I said, brat, it’s coming along fine.”

As I grabbed his one arm, pulled him around into my lap, and went back to one of my favorite pastimes—sucking face with the greatest and cutest guy in the world.

Once we took a breather, I asked Scotty what he wanted to talk to me about. He started to stand up but I tried to hold him on my lap.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked.

“Well, my wonderful hunk of love, I think I’d be more comfortable if we sat on the bed,” he stated with a more serious tone.

Taking my cue from his serious remark, we moved to the bed and sat facing one another with our ankles crossed in front of us, he reached for my hands and he held them so lovingly in his. Scotty then looked at me intently with those mesmerizing eyes and began.

“Sebastian..,”

Uh, oh, it already was starting out ominously as he rarely called me Sebastian.

“Sebastian, I need you to listen to what I have to say in its entirety before you make any comments. You’ll also need to try and set aside any biases you have. Okay?”

“Well, I guess I can at least listen to what you have to say before I open my mouth. Since I don’t really know what you’re going to say…well, I’ll try also to listen with an open mind. ‘Kay?” I replied.

“Fair enough; Now, I’ve given a lot of thought to this and want you to know that what I’m about to say may be more of an emotional reaction. But, I have looked at it from a pragmatic aspect, also.” He continued.

“You know that Stanley Polanski was over 18 years old when he assaulted me so, as an adult, he is subject to fine and imprisonment of up to a maximum of two years. Also, he is still in high school and his teachers did testify it was just recently he started being a nuisance and a trouble maker at school. Now I know what he did cannot really be justified as far as my accidentally causing his Coke to be spilled on him. His reaction far exceeded my crime so to speak. However, after finding out about his family situation and hearing the psychiatrists’ testimonies, I would like,” and Scotty winced as he probably knew what my immediate visceral reaction would be, “to ask the judge not to sentence him to do time in jail.”

I did start to open my mouth and Scotty raised his hand palm out to silence me.

“Bash, this kid has been put through hell. I reiterate, I don’t justify what he did, but obviously this guy has a lot of residual anger bottled up. I’d rather he got help for his anger, and also, to come to grips with his feelings from being in a real crappy family situation. Now I know even my dad would like to see him strung up by the balls for what he did and I can’t say I didn’t think worse at one time. A part of me thinks he’s been through enough torment, though. Bash, I just don’t think throwing him in jail, especially at his age, is the best solution. I don’t think I have to detail a life in prison for you—you read. He’s sort of an attractive guy, and he’s young. Though I don’t think looks have much to do with the hole long-term or more hardened criminals stick their dicks into. Plus, I think that environment would breed more anger and contempt at this point in his life. I don’t think he needs that. I think he needs helpful caring people in his life at this time to help him deal with the hell he’s been put through.”

“Babe, I’m not asking you to agree with me. I just want you to know I feel pretty strongly about this. I do want you to tell me what you think, as maybe I’m not being rational. But, I’d also like you to be open to the possibility I am. So…your thoughts?”

My mind was racing 50 miles an hour with all manner of thoughts, so I said, “Scotty, I need to have a minute or so to think this through?”

I gave him a peck on the lips and told him I loved him and I would be back in a few minutes. I went downstairs and sat on the front porch. You see my blood boiled every time I recalled the vision of my lover crumpled on the floor of the theatre lobby, popcorn and soda strewn over him, bleeding profusely and unconscious. The hours and hours, I cried. The agony I suffered from not knowing if he would be permanently disabled; more the agony if he didn’t come out of the coma. And not just me—my mom, the entire Tucker family were put through hell because of Stanley Polanski’s senseless vicious attack; a senseless unwarranted attack on Scotty Tucker, one of the kindest sweetest most caring guys in the world. It was with this latter thought a light went on. Yeah, one of the kindest sweetest and caring guys and despite what he had been through, he still went on being just that. How could I not be supportive of his decision? As weren’t these attributes the reasons I fell in love with him? I stood up brushed away the tears that had started to fall and returned to my waiting lover.

As I entered the room, Scotty swiveled around on the chair in front of my computer and looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I corrected some spelling and punctuation in your essay while I was waiting?”

“Nah, I don’t mind, babe,” I said. “Scotty, I just want you to know I love you and that I will truly support you with your decision to ask for mercy or clemency on behalf of Stanley Polanski. I do not think you are being irrational.”

Scotty, excitedly jumped up ran over, threw himself at me wrapping his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck, and began smothering me with kisses.

“I knew you would be supportive of me Bash, as you are one of the kindest most caring and loving people I know. A few of the many, many reasons I love you,” as he continued to smother me in kisses.

Now the only thing we could hope for is the judge to be as like-minded as Scotty.