Self-Survival: 15 Years Behind Enemy Lines

By Christopher Artis

There is no profanity in this book.

While serving his sentence, this man obtained a diploma in SBM by corresponding with Huntington Health Science. He also obtained a personalized diploma for general contracting/construction management. With the underworld being all he knew, he challenged himself to change. Inside is a compelling story about his process. Since being released in February 2016, he now works as an independent contractor for a prestige trucking company. He dedicated his life to making his mother proud, who is watching over him from heaven.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781644240533

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Self-Survival

15 Years Behind Enemy Lines

Christopher Artis

Copyright © 2018 Christopher Artis

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2018

ISBN 978-1-64424-052-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64424-053-3 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Introduction

I’ve learned, everybody who walks this earth has a purpose for living. It’s our responsibility to live life and pay attention to the signs our Higher Power used to expose to us our vocation. It may take many years for some of us to discover ourselves. If we just believe that there is a purpose for our life and never give up searching, we will find our blessings in due time. Some of our trials are longer and more intense than those who discovered themselves with little to no trial at all. We all have different purposes that cause for different training. Our Higher Power will take us through the things we need to go through so we will have the experience to be the person we were put here to be.

Looking back over past events, we encounter some situations that we really don’t understand how and why we persevere. We must understand the universe has its ways of fixing the earth with the things it’s made up of. Life existence consists of rain and sunshine, day and night. Life is impossible without either element. We can’t enjoy the sun without the rain. It’s just the way the world works. I’ve learned to appreciate the hard times that come, because according to the laws of the universe, better days are coming. Everything and everybody was put in this universe to serve a purpose. It’s our responsibility to communicate with the universe through our higher power. Pay attention and the universe will reveal your purpose to you. Whenever we see it, we must believe it and take full advantage of it and use it to make this world a better place to live, the same as our forefathers have done for us. Today I accept responsibility.

It’s my duty to make sure that those people behind me have a better life than the one I’ve lived. I’m contributing my life to minimizing the statistics of juvenile delinquency, to reduce the feeling of hopelessness in our brothers and sisters throughout, no matter your creed or your race—black, white, Latino, or Native American. If you put your pants on one leg at a time and bleed red blood, at the end of the day we are all going to be counted as one human race. It’s mathematically impossible for one man to save the world, but with the help of a higher power—and the more people who are willing to contribute their lives to redirecting today’s youth—this movement is quite possible.

The misconception about this movement is that one must set aside his or her plans to get involved in this process. This process is more effective when it takes place inside your own household, paying more attention and getting more involved in the personal lives of your children. I believe that we, as adults, need to remain a part of every aspect in our children’s lives up until they’re fully prepared to leave home. Paying more attention to the cognitive development of our children will give us a sure sense of the responsibility our children are ready to take on. This must be monitored more carefully, instead of depending on the laws to confirm adulthood for our children.

My mother believed strongly that by the age of eighteen, her children were ready to take on this world alone. Due to some moderate setbacks in my life, primarily my juvenile incarceration, at the age of eighteen, I was not mentally mature enough to deal with the challenges that our society have to offer. The laws that govern our land convinced my mother that I was ready to leave home, despite of the fact that I spent from the age of fourteen until my eighteenth birthday in juvenile reformatory school being sheltered from society. I could have used a few more years of in-house training before being turned loose to the real world. My mother was only doing what she was raised to believe was right. My mother’s intentions were good throughout my entire childhood. I must accept responsibility for my own failures.

The culture we live by could use some modifications. We, as independent thinkers, must come together and rationalize logically on what needs modification for the sake of our future. Our future would be our youth. Our future is in their hands, and we must prepare our youth for what lies ahead. It’s our responsibility to rear them to take full control of our society and lead them to a peaceful and more productive tomorrow.

We must lead by example, and share our experiences to give our youth the head start they will need to ensure a successful future for themselves and society.

Chapter 1

It’s January 26, 2015, 5:30 a.m. Over the course of my incarceration I’ve found it to be mentally relaxing to sit on the edge of my bed and meditate for at least five minutes before kneeling down to give thanks to my Higher Power for that current, present day.

It’s not always the easiest thing to get up in the morning and look around and see four walls with a toilet in the middle of your floor and still be able to accept the fact that you’ve just spent the night in close quarters with another man. It takes deep meditation and prayer to endure the humiliation without allowing yourself to lose your sense of humanity. This has been my life for the last thirteen and a half years. I can’t remember a day that passed when I didn’t think about the events in my life that led to this institutional life I’m living. Understanding is the greatest thing in the world. Not understanding the world as I know it will destroy into absolute chaos. In order for me to completely understand what’s going on in my life, I have to go all the way back to the beginning and do some research on myself so I can understand what’s taking place in my life today. When reflecting back over my life, I too often start from the time I was delivered from my mother’s womb. We pay little or no attention at all to the nine months we spend developing from an embryo that’s vulnerable to environmental influences and agents that can alter the physical and mental capacity of a living being.

In doing this research, one of the main questions that should be asked is, what were the current conditions of my parents during the fetal stage of development? Researching the answer to a question such as that can help determine the stress level that can cause deficiencies in birth. Food consumption, prescribed medications, illegal drug use, obesity, or malnutrition are all factors in the development of a newborn. The events that took place in that nine months has an impact on the events that occur throughout the duration of year life. Unconsciously looking over these events can lead me to believing that the origin of my dilemma started from the time I was conceived. It’s impossible to find a real solution to a problem without knowing the origin and how it came about.

When I was one-year-old, my father was a preacher in the church. He had been home from the Vietnam War for four years at this time. As soon as he came home from the war, he married my mother, who had a daughter of her own. The two married and had another girl, and finally I came along. They divorced when I was only one-year-old. My father left my mother to raise three children on her own. He didn’t pay child support. He didn’t do anything for us. My mother was a woman who had a lot of pride. She took pride in being independent. With three kids to raise and not even a GED at the time, my mother refused to apply for government assistance. She worked three jobs and sold Avon products on the side to make sure we had a place to stay and food to eat. We lived in a housing development called Edgebrook. This development consisted of eight three-bedroom houses. Our household was the only home in that subdivision that was being governed by a single parent. The other families in the community would extend their hand to help my mother who was struggling, severely at times, to make ends meet. My mother would send me next door to borrow sugar for the Kool-Aid or flour for the biscuits on Sunday mornings, the only days she was off work and could cook for her family. Whenever the school year started, the families in our community would hand down to us clothes their children had outgrown from the previous year so we could get through the school year. Things were tight in our household. My two sisters and I had a lot of embarrassing moments. You can’t tell me a joke about a person who needs a haircut and new shoes on his feet that I haven’t heard before. Being that I was the only male in the household, I grew up using women’s cosmetics. There was only one brand of deodorant in the house, and that was Tussy, pH balanced for a woman but strong enough for a man. I remember times when I ripped the shoulder pads out of my mother’s button-up shirt so I could have something that I thought looked decent so I could go to school. I was picked on a lot because of the condition of my clothing. Wintertime was the worst because my clothes reeked from spilling kerosene when I filled the heater in our house. I just wasn’t strong enough to keep the five-gallon kerosene can steady enough to fill the tank without spilling it on my clothes. The kerosene smell was so bad at times that my teachers would isolate me from the others in class, and even sometimes they would send me to sit in the principal’s offices for the remainder of the day. I didn’t understand the significance, because the smell was normal to me. I was immune to the smell of kerosene.

Being the only male in my household, I was very protective over my two sisters and crazy about my mother. The town of Princeton, North Carolina, was not big at all. There was only one school in this town that housed kindergarten through the twelfth grade, all on the same schoolyard. Kindergarten through the fifth grade was in one department; sixth, seventh, and eighth grades were in the middle department; and ninth through twelfth grades were in the last department, all sitting side by side.

Everybody knew everybody. Our friends knew that me and my sisters were wearing our neighbor’s clothes from the last year, and we were often taunted about that. A lot of the kids’ ridicule turned into fistfights, where I felt that I needed to be the aggressor in order to induce fear and keep people from giving my sisters, as well as myself, a hard time. After being involved in several altercations that led to my aggressions, and being suspended numerous times and excluded from attending after-school events because my behavior was triggered by the ridicule, people began to respect my family out of fear of the way I would behave if I found out. The respect and the approval that we received reinforced my desire act out and maintain the reputation that kept us from getting picked on. In the process of living up to this reputation and sacrificing my education due to suspensions, I eventually dug a hole for myself so deep that I couldn’t be reached.

My mother was never at home for my teachers to contact her about my behavior. She worked three different jobs and went to school three nights a week. It was impossible for her to be at two places at one time. So that left me and my sisters at home alone to fend for ourselves. As far as I was concerned, I was the man of the household and it was my job to protect my family at all costs. There was no man in my life to show me how a man was supposed to protect his family, so I did what any other male would do to survive. Without the proper education to know how, I beat on my chest and resorted to violence to solve my problems.

It’s proven to be a temporary solution that won’t last long at all. The risk taken for acting out in those ways is too high to take for a person who expects to live his life past the age of eighteen, or even younger than that, in my personal opinion, considering the crime rate in this day and time.

My mother got up at 6:30 a.m. every day after only a few hours of sleep. She would ask me every morning to get up and get her coffee cup out of the back seat of her car and pour some warm water on her car windows to get the ice off because there was no heater or air conditioner in her car. It was a 1979 Datsun with no hubcaps and bad pistons that caused the exhaust system to backfire as loud as a gunshot every time she downshifted the gears. In the mornings before she went to work was the only time I would get a chance to see my mother for the rest of the day. After she went to her second and sometimes third jobs it would be almost midnight before she returned and I would be dead asleep after having put everything together for school the next day. She would walk in and go straight to her bedroom, then get up the next morning, take a quick shower, and do it all over again. She didn’t take time to have a boyfriend or even make an attempt to be a wife to a man. Her whole life was spent making sure the bills were paid and we had food to eat. She was a strong-willed person, didn’t party, and didn’t drink or do drugs. She was a well-spoken woman who rarely cursed. She invested her whole life in me and my sisters. There were times that proved to be a bad investment, but she kept the faith and believed that everything would work itself out in the end. She was dealt a bad hand by my father, and she was determined to play that hand and win straight up, without cheating. It’s only because of my mother that I know what a real woman consists of. It’s only because of my father that the street had an opportunity to give me a false sense of what a real man consists of. It took her many years to come to terms with the fact that’s the life I chose.

Today, when I look back on my upbringing I see that things were not as bad as I thought they were. Dealing in the streets, I’ve been in some households where the conditions were ten times worse that the ones I came up in. I’ve been in and out of some homes and I’ve seen some things that made me appreciate the things I didn’t have to deal with growing up. I’ve never been exposed to child abuse, domestic violence, or drug addiction. I’ve brushed shoulders with people who grew to be successful that came from homes where there was no running water at times, with a mother and father both strung out on drugs, no food to eat, and no lights to see. They still found ways to be successful, having already been through things I went through and even far worse, yet these people are living out their dreams today with no regrets about how they were raised. So I stand fast to my past. I won’t complain or blame anyone, because at the end of the day, this is the life I chose. It’s evident that my mother did the best she could.

Sometimes the best a person can do is just not enough for some people, and unfortunately, I was one of the ones who weren’t satisfied with the things I had. Being young and unguided, I just thought it was other things that were supposed to be happening in my life. Today when I reflect back, I really don’t even know what else it was that I was looking for. Being young and unguided and suffering from lack from negligence, and of emotional attention from my father, my mother from working countless hours so we could eat. I strayed into the streets and found myself deep in a life of crime at an early age.

Going in to the fifth grade at the age of twelve, after repeating the fifth grade due to my lack of performance, I was too preoccupied with after-school criminal activities to allow myself to focus on an education. The kids my age were into having things like fancy bicycles, Mongoose with mag rims, and Reebok shoes, the top-brand shoes. In those times, school was starting to turn into a fashion show. If you didn’t own a nice bike and didn’t wear Reebok Classics, stone-washed jeans, and an Oakland Raiders hat to match, it was impossible to be part of the in crowd between the years of 1989 and 1991. We live in a society where anyone that doesn’t conform to the normal movement of our environment is considered an outcast. The only way to meet the requirements to fill the need to be socially accepted is through conformity. That need to be socially accepted is what motivated my desire to keep up with the Joneses, so they say.

The need to feel attractive and appealing to the eyes must be met to establish the level of confidence I needed to mingle with the opposite sex in hopes to attract a companion to satisfy my need to belong and be loved. It’s been scientifically proven that the human being will do whatever it has to do to get the things it needs. The human being will even resort to cannibalism if starvation is the issue.

I was a little less fortunate than a lot of my peers so I had to do more than just make good grades to get an allowance and the things I wanted. Allowances and things of that nature were out of question for me. There was no extra money to be given to me. There was barely enough to get the necessities.

I resorted to other means to keep up. Summertime I would get up early in the morning and walk to the neighborhoods where the families that were well-off lived. I would knock on every door, offering my labor in yard work, grass cutting, window washing, car washing—anything I could do to make a few dollars.

In the fall and winter, I’d rake leaves, pick up small tree limbs, and take them to a ditch and burn them. Not knowing anything about business I was just happy to get some work and make some money, letting the people I did work for pay me what they thought the job was worth. Some people would have me work all day and just give me a dollar or two; some would give me five dollars or more for the same work. I just figured that it was because I was so young. Some people, I guess, figured that they were doing enough by teaching me how to work and stay out of trouble. There were times I was paid so little, after I would go to the store and buy a soda and a couple of hot dogs to eat after a long, hot day of work, I was broke. I quickly saw there was no way I could get ahead and get anything I needed working like that. I was open to any idea that would treat me better than working for people who had the things I needed and wanted but were unwilling to pay me enough to take care of my needs and wants. I did see a lot of opportunities to just take the things I wanted. from those who wouldn’t pay me enough for my world, but I saw that as being completely contrary to my reason for working. There were nice bicycles in garages and go-carts in barns that these people’s kids had outgrown. Making matters worse, I would see these kids just roam around their yards while I worked. They wore name-brand clothes and shoes.

A few of my customers would invite me in to have a drink of ice water. They might even give me a plate of leftovers from their last night’s dinner, something I rarely had because my mother was working countless hours. My dinners were usually precooked foods like chicken pot pies and ramen noodle soups that my mother bought four for a dollar when on special at the grocery store Anything that could be slapped in the oven or microwave for a couple of minutes and be ready to eat was my normal cuisine, unless it was a school lunch. I was accustomed to fast food, which I believe leads a major health issue in America today. Unhealthy diets contribute to obesity, high blood pressure, and heart disease. They also contribute to stress, which also puts us all at a high risk of coronary disease and cancer. Stress sometimes lowers levels of cortisol and impairs the ability of the immune system to destroy cancer cells. Long-term depression for any reason can heighten the risk of cancer by depressing the functioning of the immune system This all can be minimized by eating a healthy diet. I felt like I would somehow have all the luxuries of these families if I just continued to work all day every day for a few pennies.

My patience began to wane, a problem I’ve had all my life. I’ve also suffered from a lack of persistence. Being at the bottom of the socioeconomic spectrum in both my school system as well as my community, I developed a sense of inferiority, making it uncomfortable for me to socialize.

My problems seemed to be growing by the day. The boys and girls my age had partners that they would stay on the phone and talk to all night and write letters back and forth to each other in school. Even though I may have been a good person at heart, no girl wanted to risk being ridiculed for being my partner due to my social class Those were the years when it was all about being cool and hip, and unfortunately, I didn’t possess those characteristics.

People feared me because they’d heard of the things I would do to protect my family from ridicule. It’s better for a person to be honored and respected for righteousness than for a person to be honored and respected out of fear. In this day and time, fear will be the reason that a person loses his life too soon. Too many murders are being committed with fear being the motivating factor.

The statistics are too high to even consider using fear as a technique to get your way in life. The benefit of inducing fear is short term. The midterm benefit is your mother and children outliving you and enduring the pain of having to make your funeral arrangements. If you’re lucky, you will live to see a life sentence in the state or federal penitentiary. Our society is determined to feel safe, even if they’ve got to lock you up for the rest of your life. Anything that poses a threat to the ways of this society will be destroyed eventually. Aggression is a sure way to induce fear and a sure way to count yourself out of being a part of this society, where people carry guns to feel safe and police officers carry guns to tame aggressive behavior.

Aggression is a characteristic of an uncivilized being, a beast that the people in our society see only fit to be caged. If you act like an animal, you will be treated like an animal.

My patience was running low and I was growing more frustrated by the day with my circumstances. My frustration led to anger, and I unconsciously developed a hatred for those who were more fortunate that I was.

It seemed to me that being honest and humble was becoming more of a problem. Slaving all day for pennies was adding gas to my situation. Now the only shoes I had were permanently stained from cutting grass and my clothes were stained from yard labor. I had no money in my pocket to show for my filthy conditions. I felt used and abused. My mentality of an opportunist developed quickly. I was willing to take any risk that was necessary to get ahead of the people that I struggled so far behind, even if I had to ruin my reputation with my clients who trusted my labor so well. Patience is the key to success. Success comes before work is in the dictionary.

The only time anybody that ever worked hard for the things they had learned they had to crawl before they walked. Staying persistent and focused on your purpose and staying free from negative energy will keep you from straying from your original plan. Things will work themselves out if you allow them to. It takes time. Continue to work hard and have faith. Hard work without faith is dead.

It’s been said that birds of the same feather flock together. I’ve never seen a time where I was the only person experiencing difficulties, especially when it came to social economics. I found myself surrounded by people who share the same story as I do. The one thing we had in common is that we look at life through the eyes of a victim. At no time would I allow you to tell me that I was the reason I felt the way I felt about life.

I had a lot of people and things to blame for my shortcomings. I spent more time corning up with schemes to cheat my way through my situation than I did in maintaining the integrity that I had built from being a hard worker. I would sit in class and think of all the opportunities I had to cheat the people I worked for.

I recalled seeing the nice bikes, unchained go-carts, and in some cases even families that never locked their doors due to their comfortable lifestyle in a crime-free neighborhood. I networked with my circle of friends who shared the same energy as me, and we would put plans together to go in and take the things we needed and wanted. Being so young and inexperienced with crime, our mission was poorly planned. I made it a business to go door to door and ask for work. Once I was welcome, I would scope out the premises for potential robbery. I would sometimes move bikes to the front of the barns I cleaned and leave the door unlocked so I could double-back at night and seize the property.

I even went so far as to leave windows in houses unlocked so I could double-back and climb through them when no one was home. I would go in and take clothes and anything of value that could be carried out by hand. I got so comfortable with these acts of petty larceny that I even had the nerve to sometimes leave dirty dishes in the sink when I fixed me a bowl of cereal or a sandwich from their refrigerator. All this took place in the early nineties when the home-based security systems weren’t as common as they are today. I became a regular in the barber shops selling stolen merchandise, not really knowing the value of the property I was selling. I would never charge anybody over twenty-five dollars for anything I sold them. I had a ring that I ran across that I sold to this barber for twenty-five dollars. It was later found out to be worth six thousand dollars, after being appraised by a jeweler. I started keeping a nice grip of money in my pocket, a lot more than the other kids my age had. I had more bicycles that I could ride—Mongoose bikes, ten-speeds; I even had bike parts and mag.

In the meantime, I lie awake in my bed anticipating the day I’m released from this physical imprisonment. I have an image of what my mother’s gravesite will look like. I fantasize about my visit to her gravesite. I fantasize about how my sisters and my niece and nephew will look after not having seen them in almost fifteen years. I think about how people will react after seeing me, a person who has changed so much over the years. I wonder, do I have enough time left on this earth to share the knowledge I’ve been given from trial? Even though I have faith and truly believe that I will have a blessed future, I’m still human. Being human means pondering around on these thoughts and producing emotions that lead to stress, which I think every person can do without. Unfortunately, stress is a component in life. Stress will never be completely alleviated while walking this plane of life. The good news is that there are resources available to help bring stress under control. Confiding in my Higher Power has proven to me to be the ultimate stress reliever.

I’ll use the same techniques my Higher Power revealed to me during my trials to combat adversity in society. I’m more than confident that I have what it takes to win. I’m just longing for the day when I’m recognized as a contender in society. Notice that I used the word recognized when I referred to society.

Right now, the only person who acknowledges my brave heart is myself, along with my Creator. In this handcrafted society made by man, I’ve been written off as nothing but a number.

I’m excited because soon I will be able to prove to first myself and then the world that I was one who couldn’t be digested in the belly of the beast. When I write about the belly of the rims for sale. I kept a pile of stripped bike frames deep in the woods out in the country. Things were looking better for me, or so I thought. I could now afford new shoes and clothes to start the school year, a fresh haircut, and a pocket full of money. My confidence level went through the roof while my level of integrity fell in the gutter. It didn’t take long for the word to get around in the neighborhood where the wealthy lived that I was suspected to be a con artist and thief. I allowed my circumstances to distort my perception of the world to the point that I thought the people who tried to help me were actually my enemies. I see now that everybody who had ever tried to help me in life was victimized by my devilish ways. It’s been an ongoing process for me. Anybody who’s been a part of my life and given me the love that I needed ended up leaving with emotional bruises. I never took time to empathize and see the damage I did to the lives of those who cared. Being selfish and self-centered is the reason that today I find myself alone. No one wants to risk the chance of getting hurt by extending their hand to help me in a time of need. Being able to understand why things are the way they are will help you accept and deal with your situation more effectively.

It really didn’t matter to me what people thought—especially not the ones who had the things I traded my integrity for. Those people were now the opposition in my life. I was experiencing a sense of completeness now in the presence of my peers. I was more appealing to the eyes of the opposite sex. My appearance was now approved by the in crowd, passing letters during class breaks, and talking on the phone for hours, satisfying my need to belong. My popularity grew, the response I got from other people reinforced my desire for instant gratification. Trying to live up to the expectation of having money and the things I needed and wanted with no means of employment meant that I had to bully the rich kids at school to keep my pocket change intact.

The winter of 1990, a new family moved down the street from our neighborhood. There was a woman and her daughter who occupied the house. The daughter was admitted into our school, and we became classmates. Attempting to work her way into the in crowd, she saw me as her direct entrance to social approval.

I saw her as a new face who didn’t know anything about my past, and didn’t prejudge me. We gradually worked our way into each other’s confidence by flirting and passing letters to each other, telephone calls, and things of that nature. Her mother was a really religious person who held a high rank in a Pentecostal church. She attended church duties three times a week, leaving her daughter at home to attend to the housework. Those were the times she would invite me over and we would have our private time together. I was the first person she ever slept with, or so she claimed, considering the way she acted on our first encounter. I believe her claim still today. Her mother knew about her daughter’s interest in me and began to inquire about my character from different people she would meet in the community. I can just about imagine the things she were told about me.

Her daughter would tell me that her mother wasn’t too enthralled about our friendship, so she had to deal with me secretly. The relationship we had with each other was being talked about among the kids in our school at the time.

In fact, we were the most popular couple. The first of January in 1991, a friend of mine and I decided we would hang-out at my girlfriend’s house while her mother went to church and we’d all bring the new year in together. I called her and she told me that her mom would be leaving for church around 6:00 p.m., so she would be waiting around 6:30 or 7:00 p.m. for my arrival. She had no idea that I was bringing my friend along with me. When we got there, she welcomed him in with no problem. She said her mother would be gone until almost midnight. I knew we would be good and gone by then. The three of us sat in the front room and watched Boyz in the-Hood on the VCR. Midway through the movie, my girlfriend and I made our way to her mother’s bedroom where we would go to have sex just for the thrill of it. My friend stayed in the front room and continued to watch the movie that we had seen several times.

My girlfriend and I made our way into her mother’s bedroom. She turned on her mother’s stereo system and popped in a cassette tape of Color Me Bad playing the hit song I Want to Sex You Up. I sat on the edge of her mother’s bed and watched her seductively prep herself in the mirror, trying out different colors of her mother’s lipsticks, then turning around to ask me how she looked. I gave her a thumbs-up for the color red she was wearing. She was just beautiful, not even fully developed yet. She already had an hourglass figure, pretty brown eyes that were slanted, pecan-brown skin complexion, and naturally coarse hair, and she was just a little taller than me. She moved with eloquence, and she was becoming more comfortable with her sexuality with each of our encounters. She slowly undressed herself, maintaining eye contact with me throughout the process. I stood up and slowly began to undress myself, trying to maintain my composure by slowly breathing in and out through my nose. Every time for us was like the first time. It was like we just knew that something special and extraordinary was going to happen in our sexual episodes, and we couldn’t wait to see what would go on inside the course of our sexual relationship.

We stood there, wearing nothing at all. We stared and lusted off each other’s bodies, stimulating ourselves mentally to engage in this intercourse that we had anticipated all day long. She peeled back the sheets of her mother’s perfectly