The Last Time I Ever Fell In Love

I turned 21 years old in prison protective custody where I sat for six months in a ten-by-six cell while the classification people decided what to do with me. It was a two-man cell, so I could play cards, and even have sex with my cellmate (if you can call being forced against my will to lick his smelly-ass balls while he sucked my dick and masterbated himself, having sex. Some people call it rape, but by then I could hardly tell the difference.) I also managed to study a highschool US History book and then write several essays that were counted as class credits; the last few credits I needed to get my highschool diploma. So I finished highschool in protective custody too. Besides having forced sex and finishing highschool I also fell in love... uh, with a real girl, not my cellmate. Her name was Anne Campbell, and she was my younger brother's 19-year-old x-girlfriend, and mother of his son. She wrote to me and sent me a picture of herself holding her baby boy, C.J., my nephew. My brother left her after getting her pregnant. I don't know why, but I suspect he accused her of getting pregnant in order to snare him. Whatever the reason, he abandoned her with the baby and shortly there after she started writing to me. Maybe she thought if she couldn't have one brother she would settle for the other; I don't know. But, she hinted that I would make a good father for C.J., and she made me feel not just wanted, but needed. I desperately wanted to make up for my brother's abandonment and my own criminal past. I imagined – fantasized really – that the parole board would realize how much she needed me and release me so I could take care of her and her child. In effect, I fell desperately in love with her. My desire to take care of her burned genuinely in my heart. I so desperately felt that my desire to help Anne was so strong that all my “deviant” desires would just go away, IF I could just be her husband. Indeed, I didn't fantasize at all about rape or sex with children while I was in love with Anne. She was my cure, my purpose, my love! I needed her, and I felt she needed me. I thought we would “save” each other, if only they just let me go, so we cold get married. Of course that never happened. I proposed to her in a letter, but she respectfully declined, and then gradually stopped answering my letters. I, of course, was heart broken, again (the first time my heart broke was when my first real girlfriend, Sharon Winget, was forbidden to me to contact by the sexual psychopath treatment program. They said I couldn't write her or call her because she was one of my “victims” because I had sex with her while she was under-age. Never mind that it was consensual, and that she was less than two years younger than me, and that we were both in the same grade together in highschool, and that we wanted to get married after highschool... the SP program rules were clear and inflexible...she was a juvenile, and I was declared an adult by the court at the age of 17, so that made her my “victim”... this was necessary for my “treatment”). The hardest part about being in prison is so tough that nobody even talks about it; it is the pain of being seperated from the people you love, especially when they need your help and you can do nothing. About a year and a half after my proposal to Anne, my nephew, C.J., was repeatedly abused by an army GI that Anne moved in with to help take care of the baby. C.J. Was permanently brain damaged from the abuse. He would never be able to develop mentally beyond the age of two as a result. The man who caused this brain damage by hitting the small boy only served a few months in jail for the abuse, and was then released on probation. If the same man had simply ejaculated in the boy's mouth he would have been sent to prison for 20 years and forced to register as a "sex offender" for life. But instead, to this day, C.J. Must still wear diapers, crawls on hands and knees to get around and can only speak a few simple words. His favorite words are, “I love you”. He is 28 years old.