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| Meat displayed not as far up as the boo-tay! |
Thursday, May 24, 2018
MY BOYS' FACE DOWN "MEAL"
Thursday, April 5, 2018
A DAY IN MY APPOINTMENT BOOK
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| My appointment book deal with how best to have harm done to these beauties! |
Between the time I arrived in Los Angeles and the day I married Jen in Hollywood, Florida, I used some money I had so far earned and purchased a storefront on the Pacific Coast Highway in Trancas, a section of Malibu situated about three miles west of my house. The purpose of this storefront was to open a teaching facility where young gay men can come and either enjoy themselves or teach young boys to learn how best to feel and/or bite male thighs and calves and lick male kneebacks. My office and training area was in the back of the storefront. The front office was where my gay secretary would welcome visitors and have them fill out their applications to the fullest before they would be escorted into the training area where they would find me shackled face down to an ornate table, dressed in such a way that my legs would be exposed from the top of my thighs to just below my calves and my kneebacks would be tightly stretched.
On a hot Monday morning during my second summer in Los Angeles, I awaited a single father who was bringing his two young sons into my business...he to bite my thighs and calves, his two sons to lick my kneebacks. My male secretary, attired in a short suit and dress knee socks, had the young man wait in the reception area while he helped me make ready for their appointment.
"Sasha, your morning appointment, David Tucker and his sons Michael and Daniel, have arrived", he said.
"Good. What's on their docket?"
"The man wants to bite your thighs and calves just hard enough to leave indelible teethmarks which you can display in public when you wear shorts. He wants his sons to learn how to properly lick kneebacks".
"Okay. Use the anchors and pull my body tight. My thigh and calf meat may be a bit difficult for the father to get a proper bite...but my kneebacks will be tight enough for his sons to enjoy licking them to their hearts' content".
Outside in the waiting room, the father was anxiously waiting to be ushered into the place that I called The Tasting Room. After waiting for fifteen minutes, my secretary came out.
"Mr. Kasdan is ready to receive you. If you and your sons would please follow me".
The young father took his sons' hands and followed my secretary. All the time he followed my secretary, the man kept glancing down at my secretary's kneebacks, licking his lips. But he came to this place to bite legmeat...my legmeat...and not taste my secretary's kneebacks. At the door to The Tasting Room, my secretary stopped, opened the door, turned and entreated him and his sons to enter. As the young father and his sons entered the darkened room, the door closed behind them.
The young man and his sons stood there in the darkness. Suddenly, an light from overhead illuminated my welcoming figure, resplendently attired in a white shorts suit with white dress below-the-calf socks and dress shoes.
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| How I met my "tasters". |
The overhead light went off. Soon, a second light came on, illuminating my real body, prostrate upon a table on which a hump under the front of my knees forced the back of my naked legs to be tight. I came into the light once again.
"Yes, Mr. Tucker...you were welcomed by a preprogrammed hologram of myself, dressed as I am upon this table", my hologram replied to ease Mr. Tucker's puzzlement. "Please...step forward and place your hands upon my meats so you can be assured that you will be biting real thighs and calves and your sons will be licking real kneebacks".
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| What Mr. Tucker and his sons would taste. |
"I told you, Mr. Tucker", my hologram said. "That which you shall be enjoying is my true body, ready to receive your teeth and the tongues of your sons. However, the kneebacks which your sons will be licking have no meat beneath the skin...only nerves, blood vessels and fat which lubricate the joints. Meat is solely beneath the skin of the thighs and calves. And do not worry about inflicting pain upon my meats. I have been duly sedated so you and your sons may enjoy biting and licking my meats for your entire visitation time. Do you have any questions before you take your first taste?"
"What if I can't get your meat inside my mouth?" Mr. Tucker asked.
"Open your mouth as wide as you can against my meats. As you begin to close it, my nerves should sense your teeth wanting to bite them and they will fold within your mouth. Then you may be free to bite my meats without any further problems", my hologram answered.
"Can my sons bite your kneebacks?"
"As I mentioned before...there is no meat under the skin of my kneebacks. The skin, however, will be tight enough for them to thoroughly lick them to their satisfaction".
"Where is the boundary between your kneebacks and the meat?"
As Mr. Tucker looked down at my meats, two dotted lines appeared at the edges of my kneebacks.
"These dotted lines shall stay on so your sons will know what are lickable kneebacks and what is meat which can be bitten", I answered.
"How hard may I bite your meat?"
"You may bite my meats as hard as you want...so long as you do not puncture the skin. My meats must remain undamaged so others may enjoy them", came my answer.
"What about teeth marks?"
"Teeth marks are acceptable. They shall be the stamps of honor that I would be proud to display in public. They shall show others that people love my meats enough to leave their teeth marks upon them. And now, if there are no further questions...bon appetit!"
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| Mr. Tucker's sons stuck out their tongues upon my handsome kneebacks! |
"These kneebacks taste great, Dad!" he said, joyfully. "And they smell nice and clean".
That said, Mr. Tucker opened his mouth and bit into my nearest thigh, biting down until he felt the meat crunch within his mouth, a sign that he was biting the meat as hard as he dared. He licked his lips as he smiled at his son.
"You're right!" he said. "This meat tastes delicious!"
Father and sons continued their enjoyment, the father biting my meats and the boys licking my kneebacks with fervor. They were enjoying themselves so much that they grew unaware of the passage of time...until my hologram reappeared dressed in black knee-length dress shorts, black dress knee socks and dress shoes.
"Your time is up, Mr. Tucker", I said, smiling. "Did you and your sons enjoy yourselves?"
"Immensely!" replied the highly satisfied father as his sons nodded.
"Good" Please tell your friends that if they should wish to taste my meats and lick my kneebacks, they can make an appointment by leaving a text message at 310-257-8311. An appointment shall be made and a text message shall be sent to them. Have a good day and please come again".
"Oh, we will!"
The hologram nodded and, before vanishing, opened the door, revealing my secretary. Mr. Tucker turned to look at him as he and his sons exited The Tasting Room.
"Will you be making yourself available for tasting?" he asked.
"Sorry, no. I just welcome the guests and give them a view of what they can look forward to from Mr. Kasdan".
"Shame".
"Why?"
"You have such delicious-looking meats..."
"And kneebacks!" his sons chimed, licking their lips.
"I shall speak with Mr. Kasdan and see what can be done about my being put on the menu!"
Mr. Tucker and his sons left the studio as the secretary locked the door and went into The Tasting Room. He approached my prone, still-sedated body and glanced at my meats and kneebacks. All the bites were deep and red.
"Boy, he really loved your meats, Sasha", he said. "These teeth marks are really deep".
He placed his hands upon my kneebacks, still wet with the saliva of Mr. Tucker's sons. He smiled and shook his head as he removed a towel from one of the drawers of the table and vigorously wiped my kneebacks as I started to regain consciousness. I turned and looked at my secretary, smiling groggily. By the look on his face, I could tell that David Tucker loved the taste of my thighs and calves and his sons loved licking my kneebacks.
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| I sincerely hope you loved this tale of how one man and his sons loved biting my meats and licking my kneebacks. If you should wish to do likewise, text me at 310-257-8311. Sorry...California residents only! |
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| Who knows? These may be in your mouth someday! |
Monday, March 19, 2018
MY HANGING PLEASURE
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| It would be such pleasure to be dressed like this, with white dress knee socks and dress shoes to complete the perfect hanging ensemble! |
I have been visiting Taipei, the capital city of Taiwan, home of the Nationalist Chinese Party, unaware of a new law which had been initiated against white men displaying naked legs in public. I found myself under arrest, tried and sentenced to immediate death by hanging, without any hope or chance of reprieve.
On the date of my execution, I stand facing away from my all-male public, dressed all in white (the traditional death color), my tanned and deliciously-handsome thighs and kneebacks facing the slant-eyed buggers who hungered to see my naked legmeat die before them.
My Taiwanese guards tie my hands behind my back and my feet together at my ankles and a piece of tape over my mouth to prevent me from screaming before placing a white hood over my head. They lift me up and stand me on a chair before placing the noose around my neck, tightening it and anchoring it at the top of the gibbet from which I would remain suspended as I choke to death.
The mayor of Taipei steps forward and pronounces my upcoming doom to the audience:
"Sasha Kasdan de shenti jiang jixu liu zai zheli, zuowei jinzhi bairen luolu tui bu de falu yinggai yu dao de siwang, chuanzhuo tamen pi fa xian de yifu!" ("Sasha Kasdan is to hang to death for breaking the law forbidding white men from displaying naked legs!"), he calls out to the populace before taking his seat in the front row in order to get a wonderful view of my hanging. As he stares at my naked thighs and kneebacks, he nods at the guards, who pull the chair out from under me.
As I struggle for dear, sweet breath I can hear the men and boys who have come to watch me die laughing and shouting as they talk about the death throes they are witnessing going through my meats as my bound hands jerk about, trying in vain to loosen the rope. After I am hanging for ten minutes, my airless lungs collapse. After fifteen minutes, my heart ceases to pump the blood throughout my hanging body. Without the blood to feed them, after twenty minutes my thighs and kneebacks lighten in color. After thirty minutes, the physician who is attending the hanging, upon orders from the mayor, rises and approaches my body. He sticks out his tongue and places it against my stiff kneebacks, feeling for a pulse or any vestiges of life. Feeling nothing, he turns to the mayor and nods.
The mayor orders the guards to cut my dead body down. Once my dead meat is face down on the ground, the guards cut my thighs open to reveal the red meat beneath. They dump my body into a meat wagon, bringing it to the harbor and placing it on a boat which is in readiness to take me out to sea and place me face down in the water. No sooner am I placed in the sea then sharks appear and begin to tear away pieces of my dead legmeat as they pull me deeper into the water and out of sight.
My Taiwanese guards tie my hands behind my back and my feet together at my ankles and a piece of tape over my mouth to prevent me from screaming before placing a white hood over my head. They lift me up and stand me on a chair before placing the noose around my neck, tightening it and anchoring it at the top of the gibbet from which I would remain suspended as I choke to death.
The mayor of Taipei steps forward and pronounces my upcoming doom to the audience:
"Sasha Kasdan de shenti jiang jixu liu zai zheli, zuowei jinzhi bairen luolu tui bu de falu yinggai yu dao de siwang, chuanzhuo tamen pi fa xian de yifu!" ("Sasha Kasdan is to hang to death for breaking the law forbidding white men from displaying naked legs!"), he calls out to the populace before taking his seat in the front row in order to get a wonderful view of my hanging. As he stares at my naked thighs and kneebacks, he nods at the guards, who pull the chair out from under me.
As I struggle for dear, sweet breath I can hear the men and boys who have come to watch me die laughing and shouting as they talk about the death throes they are witnessing going through my meats as my bound hands jerk about, trying in vain to loosen the rope. After I am hanging for ten minutes, my airless lungs collapse. After fifteen minutes, my heart ceases to pump the blood throughout my hanging body. Without the blood to feed them, after twenty minutes my thighs and kneebacks lighten in color. After thirty minutes, the physician who is attending the hanging, upon orders from the mayor, rises and approaches my body. He sticks out his tongue and places it against my stiff kneebacks, feeling for a pulse or any vestiges of life. Feeling nothing, he turns to the mayor and nods.
The mayor orders the guards to cut my dead body down. Once my dead meat is face down on the ground, the guards cut my thighs open to reveal the red meat beneath. They dump my body into a meat wagon, bringing it to the harbor and placing it on a boat which is in readiness to take me out to sea and place me face down in the water. No sooner am I placed in the sea then sharks appear and begin to tear away pieces of my dead legmeat as they pull me deeper into the water and out of sight.
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| These kneebacks are the last things the guards see as the ravenous sharks eat my thighs and pull me underwater and out of sight! |
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| I hope you enjoyed reading this delicious tale of a fantasy hanging as much as I enjoyed writing it. Writing tales about doing harm to my legs...especially my kneebacks...is something that I thoroughly relish and would love to continue bringing more such tales to you! |
Friday, March 9, 2018
WHO KILLED THE CAPTAIN OF THE SWIM TEAM?
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| The team captain died face down in his white shorts... with an AK-47 rifle's bullet in his back! |
Saturday, March 3, 2018
LEAVE THE STATE DECIDE!
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| It would be delicious to see this handsome guy executed dressed like this! |
Michael Tanner sits in his jail cell on Death Row. Since he has been judged guilty of a charge which warrants the death penalty, the state has the last word on what form of execution he is to get...which means he could face death at the end of a rope, face down on the bed of a white-hot bladed guillotine which would seal his neck and keep all body fluids within, face down with his hands tied behind him and shot at heart level or burn alive for a limit of ten minutes. These forms of death are all still legal...and will all be performed with him just displaying his legmeat. One thing all these forms of execution have in common...any hair on the legs would have to be painlessly removed via electrolysis so that all men and boys can take pleasure with Michael's meat as he dies...at the state's request.
Two weeks ago, the warden of the prison, Jeremiah Codwell, officiated over the electronic hair removal of all of Michael's body hair, running his hand over the muscular thighs and calves to be absolutely certain that not one bit of hair remained and slapping Michael's kneebacks when he was finished.
"Well, warden...have you decided how best my legs would be made available to all the men and boys in this fair municipality?" Michael asks, sarcastically, as he looked up from his prone position.
"Not yet, Tanner", the warden says. "The state's prison board has to take a vote on whether you will hang, be decapitated, shot in the back or burned alive. Whichever way they decide, the audience is going to enjoy themselves watching you die. Concessionaires are going to earn a lot of money as well".
Tanner turns over and, throwing his naked legs over the edge of the cot, sits up.
"How so?"
"Son, here public executions are just like movies, concerts and athletic games. Men and boys come from all around to watch criminals being put down for their crimes. They laugh when they watch a falling guillotine blade slice off a criminal's head and his legs jerk around because the nerves are separated from the brain. They scream for more when a man is slowly hanged and brought down when he's at the point of death, just to be hanged and brought down again and again...before he's finally hanged high and left there for anywhere between two hours to two days. They love watching a criminal burning until he is either ashes...or put out and butchered to be served up as dinner for the other convicts who are imprisoned for lesser crimes. Movies, concerts and sports make men and boys hungry and thirsty. So does watching a man being put to death. That's why I say that all the concessionaires will make a lot of money when you're put down".
A bell rings from outside the young man's cell. Tanner looks in the direction of the bell. Is it the phone with the state prison board's decision?
"Tanner! Face down for leg hair check!" comes the gruff voice of the prison's electrolysis expert. The warden opens the door to admit the man whose expert hands will feel Tanner's legs for any signs of hair. If he finds any, the hair will be removed by electrolysis once again...or waxing, if the hairs are too light.
Tanner turns over onto his stomach, exposing the back of his legs to the ceiling. Immediately, the man goes to work, opening his hands and touching Tanner's legs, skimming down along the thighs, down the kneebacks and across the calves, sliding them under the thighs and calves to feel for any amount of hair on the front of his legs. When he is finished, he slaps his palms on Tanner's kneebacks, signifying that he has completed his inspection.
"Legs are hair-free!" he says. He then turns to look at the warden. "Any call on when the execution date is set and how it's to take place?"
"Not yet", the warden replies. "I was thinking that the bell may have been the call from the state capital with the Governor's go-ahead with the date and style of execution".
"Well, I hope it's soon. Otherwise, I may have to come back here in two more weeks to do this all over again. Not that I don't mind it, you understand? I love my job...electronically removing hair from the legs of men condemned to die and feeling them every two weeks to make certain they remain hair-free...until the appointed time of their execution".
"I hope it's soon, too. I have concessionaires lined up to serve fried chicken, sandwiches, buttered corn, popcorn, sodas and beer to hungry and thirsty men and boys anxiously waiting for Michael Tanner's execution".
"I also noticed that you haven't got a proper gallows for a hanging death. Just a gibbet with a notched crossbeam. Why?"
"Because I was thinking of holding an Old English style hanging. You know...pulling him up and lowering him when he's about to die to give him a chance to get his breath. Then doing it over and over again to let the men and boys take their pleasure with his naked legs in their death throes...until I see fit that the victim should be left hanging and having the rope anchored down with the hook in the rear of the gibbet. The condemned man will be left hanging 20 feet above the ground from anywhere between a couple of hours to whenever the body starts to go ripe...maybe longer".
The young Death Row guard approaches Michael Tanner's cell.
"Warden, the Governor's on the phone", he says, a slight smile on his face.
"Excuse me, Inspector", the warden says before turning to take the call at the nearest phone station. "Yes, Governor?...Yes, sir....I understand, sir. Yes, sir". Replacing the phone on its cradle, the warden turns and walks back to Michael Tanner's cell. "Well, Inspector...it seems you get your wish. Execution is set for 12 noon on Sunday, June 21st. Old English hanging".
"Today's the 10th". The Inspector turns to look at Tanner, with a smile on his face. "Well, Tanner, it appears you're going to meet the Devil in a week and a half. I hope you intend to give all of us the best time we'll ever have".
"He'd better. The Governor and the state prison board are all going to be in attendance for this special event". The warden turns to look at Michael, still laying prone of his cot. "Won't you, Tanner?"
The warden escorts the Inspector out of the cell. When the young guard closes and locks the cell, the warden turns to him.
"I want you to exercise him three hours a day, every day except Saturday and Sunday. I want those legs to be built up and muscular when he hangs on the 21st. Must have plenty of meat for the crows to eat. And make sure his death-uniform is nice and clean. Nothing attracts tanned legs more than shorts and socks that are nice, clean and bright".
"Yes, sir!" the guard says, smiling and turning back to look at Tanner as the warden walk to his office to make ready the certificate of death which would go into effect on the 21st.
"Come here on the 20th for one last check", the warden says to the Inspector.
"Gladly", the Inspector says. "And I'll be here bright and early on the 21st. I want to get a good seat for the execution. After all...I've never witnessed an Old English hanging". The Inspector recalls the upcoming date of Michael Tanner's execution. "Good way to start off a new season".
The two men laugh together as they go off in opposite directions.
Sunday, June 21, 2020...0600 hrs.:
Michael Tanner is performing push-ups in his cell in preparation of his execution today. His arms and legs are undoubtedly bigger than they were a week and a half ago. The young guard approaches the cell with a cart on which are Tanner's last meal...a thick, juicy steak, baked potato, orange juice, milk and coffee. On the lower shelf of the cart is a new death-uniform with larger leg openings to accommodate the now-thicker thighs, made meatier due to Tanner's daily rigorous exercise schedule.
"Here's your last meal, Tanner", he says. "And you new clean death-uniform".
The guard wheels the cart into the cell and deposits the trays on the table and the clothes on the cot before turning and wheeling the cart back out. Tanner finishes his push-ups, rises to his feet and watches him.
"How does it look outside?" Tanner asks the guard.
"It promises to be a beautiful day, Tanner", the guard replies. "Not a cloud in the sky. And the temperature at noon should be a hot 90 degrees. Great day for a hanging".
"Are you going to the execution?" Tanner asks with a smirk on his face.
"Of course", he says. "So are all the other guards on the Row. Who do you think are going to lift and lower you all the time until the order comes from the warden to hang you high and leave you there?"
As the guard closes and locks the gate, Tanner sits down and begins to eat his final meal.
"Eat hearty, Tanner", the guard replies. "Oh, and don't worry about getting your clothes soiled. Your clean shorts and socks are on the cot. Remember...the Governor's going to be in attendance. And he loves seeing a condemned man wearing a nice clean uniform".
The guard disappears with the cart...but returns shortly and sits down in a chair down the hall, reading a newspaper. The headline of the paper tells it all:
MICHAEL TANNER TO DIE AT NOON!
CONVICT TO HANG OLD ENGLISH-STYLE IN SHORTS!
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| 16-year-old Michael Tanner led away by police after his capture for first-degree murder! |
"Man, even the newspapers are all screaming about your execution today", the guard says. "The warden says that all the television stations have crews here to cover it".
"That's great!" Tanner says. "All my life, I wanted to become famous. Now it looks like I'll become famous by being hanged Old English-style in a prison courtyard...with only my legs seen twitching in death throes by men and boys here and on TV all over the country".
"All over the world, Tanner", the warden says as he enters the Row and approaches the condemned man's cell. "We have reporters here from CNN, Al Jazeera, Tokyo Broadcasting, the People's News from China, Tass and Pravda from Russia, a few TV crews from all over Africa...all here to view and videotape your hanging in living color. Or should I say in your specific case...dying color?"
"Ha, ha!" Tanner replies, sarcastically.
"Now, as soon as you finish your last meal, the guard is going to take you to the gym. I want you to get in another two or three hours of pumping your legs to build them up some more before the prison chaplain gets here to give you the last benediction and walk with you to the gibbet to offer you last-minute peace and solace".
"Peace and solace? How do you expect me to find peace and solace when I'm going to be doing a floorless jig in less than six hours?"
"Look, son...after 12 noon, all your troubles are going to be over. What happens to you after that is going to be up to God...or Satan!" The warden looks at his watch and smiles. "If you'll excuse me...I have to meet with some of the newscasters in the courtyard. They're extremely anxious to learn what curtails in an Old English-style hanging". The warden turns and proceeds to go to the exit of the Row. He turns to the young guard on his way. "Make certain he gets in as much leg-pumping exercises as possible. I want to make certain those meats are nice and well-muscled as he hangs before the public...especially the Governor!"
"Yes, sir", the guard replies. "What's going to happen to him after he dies?"
"That depends on the Governor and the prison board. They may decide to take him down and bury him a few hours after he dies...or leave him hanging as crow food until he rots".
"That should be fun to watch!"
"I'm sure it will be. Are the coaxing signs ready for the prompters?" The guard points to a couple of placards that are standing against the wall. The warden checks them out. The placards read out, in large capital letters: "HANG HIM! HANG HIM! HANG HIM!" The warden smiles. "Good!"
Then, he is gone.
Sunday, June 21, 2020...0700 hrs.:
The tall, handsome news reporter looks at his cameraman.
"Are we on?" he asks. Getting the signal from the cameraman, the reporter looks ahead. "Good morning, America. This is Jeff Grant reporting from the prison where, at exactly 12 noon, 20-year-old convict Michael Tanner will be led from his cell on Death Row to the gibbet standing behind me where he will then be hanged in what is termed as an Old English-style hanging". The reporter holds up several photographs of Michael Tanner at happier times in his life...as a toddler, a ten-year-old riding his bicycle, a young teenager going out on his first date, a high school senior with his date at the senior prom. "The handsome and charismatic former male model is, at this moment, working out in the prison gym for the last time in his life. I'm here now with Jeremiah Codwell, the warden of the prison where Michael Tanner's life will be ending later this very day. Warden Codwell, I'm a little bewildered at the term Old English-style hanging. What exactly does that mean?"
"Well, Jeff...an Old English-style hanging was actually one-third of what a man convicted of high treason was given in England between 1066 and 1581, when it was abolished by Elizabeth I after the description of a witness was given to the queen. She ordered that the condemned man was to hang until he was stone cold dead before being taken down and butchered in the execution that was labeled as hanged, drawn and quartered. The last Englishman to receive this kind of sentence was a Jesuit priest named John Ballard who was sent by the Pope to murder Elizabeth and free the throne for Mary Stuart. Today's execution of Michael Tanner will only contain the torturing and final hanging and not the gory event of disemboweling him and cutting off his head. What will happen then is up to the Governor. He may be taken down later tonight and buried in a private ceremony or left to hang as crow food until he decomposes in the elements".
"Thank you, Warden Codwell, for that detailed, if somewhat shocking explanation". The warden walks away from the reporter, who turns his attention back to the camera. "I will be going in to the prison to interview Michael Tanner in a few hours to get his opinion of his upcoming execution and how he feels going to his death with only his legs visible to the all-male audience and the worldwide television audience. He will then be visited by the prison chaplain at 11 a.m. who will offer solace and escort him down the proverbial last mile to the place of his execution. As I look around, I see men and boys beginning to enter the courtyard, armed with programs, their teeth and tongues anxiously awaiting to malign Michael Tanner's legs as they twitch and kick during the torture segment of the execution prior to when he will be pulled all the way up to mere inches from the crossbeam and left to become food for the crows. Now, anybody who reads stories about wars knows that when a body is left on the battlefield, crows gather around in the sky then come down to rip off pieces of meat from whatever body parts are visible. In Michael Tanner's case, it will be his muscular legs which will become food for the crows. Now, I can see that Governor Albert Morehead has arrived for today's event. It is Governor Morehead alone who can offer a last-minute stay of execution for the 20-year-old former model. But that seems highly unlikely".
The reporter rushes over through the crowd to the Governor, who is testing the rigidity of the gibbet from which Michael Tanner will hang.
"Governor Morehead...Governor Morehead, I'm Jeff Grant from Good Morning, America", the reporter replies. "Is it true that you and you alone can offer Michael Tanner a last-minute stay of execution and will you offer one?"
"I will not, Mr. Grant", the Governor answers. "Mr. Tanner has offered no repentance whatsoever after murdering this other young male model. He wantonly shot his victim six times in the back as he lay face down on the ground...then shot him once in the head just to see the back of his legs stiffen as he died. I came here with my two sons to enjoy an execution and watch an animal being killed by the state. I'm even pushing my boys to approach Tanner during the hanging torture segment of the execution and bite his legs, which, I have been informed by the warden, have grown increasingly muscular from constant leg exercises".
"I see you also brought a DVD recorder with you. Do you intend to record the execution?"
"I certainly do. I want a souvenir of this momentous event which I and my sons can watch and enjoy over and over again".
"Well, thank you very much for your time, Governor".
"You're very welcome, Mr. Grant. And I hope you and your crew will also stay and enjoy the execution".
The reporter holds up a drawing that was given him while talking with the Governor.
"A young boy handed me this drawing he made supposedly of Michael Tanner hanging from the gibbet, his eyes bulging from their sockets, his tongue sticking out from his mouth and other boys biting his thighs and calves and two boys licking his kneebacks with extreme fervor. This is Jeff Grant, returning you to our studio. We will return here when the execution is about to get underway".
Sunday, June 21, 2020...1000 hrs.:
Michael Tanner, with the guard at his side, is returning to his cell after exercising briskly and taking a nice shower to cleanse the sweat and dirt of the gym off his skin.
"When you get back to your cell, get yourself dressed in your new death-uniform as quickly as possible", he says.
"Why?" Tanner asks. "You in a hurry to execute me?"
"No, wise guy. There's a reporter from Good Morning, America...a Jeff Grant...who's coming to your cell to interview you about your upcoming execution. He..."
"He wants to know exactly how I feel about being hanged before I even had a chance to live?"
"You brought this upon yourself, Tanner. Nobody forced you to kill that other guy over a modeling job squabble. That was all your doing. And now...you're going to pay for it with your life". The guard opens the cell door for Tanner. "You'd better hurry and get dressed. That reporter's going to be here any time now. Then you got an 11 a.m. appointment with the prison chaplain. And, finally, your 12 noon date with the hangmen".
Tanner looks at the young guard with a air of sarcasm on his face. He walks into his cell, which the guard locks behind him, takes up his new clothing and disappears into his adjoining toilet, reappearing several minutes later all groomed and dressed for his three appointments...with the reporter from Good Morning, America, the chaplain and, last but not least, death itself. However, before the reporter even arrives, the body inspector enters the Row. Tanner sees him and immediately lies face down at attention on his cot. The Inspector enters the cell and goes to work, feeling first Tanner's thighs, then the front of his knees, then his kneebacks, then his shins and, finally, his calves, slapping Tanner's kneebacks when he is finished. He looks at the guard.
"You can report to the warden that Tanner's legs are as smooth as a baby's bottom", he says as he leaves the cell. "He's ready for the rope...at long last, thank God".
The Inspector walks down the hall and goes out the door, almost colliding with Jeff Grant on the way. Tanner turns to the guard.
"Can you tell me one thing? Why the hell is he always like that?" Tanner asks. "I mean every time he comes in here, feels my legs all over, slaps my kneebacks when he's finished...and says something sarcastic as he leaves. Why?"
"It's about time you found out", the guard tells Tanner. "That other model you murdered four years ago? Paul Davidson? He was that man's only son".
"His son?"
"That's right, Tanner. His son. That's why he's so anxious to see you die today. It may not bring his son back...but at least his family will have closure when they see you swinging at the end of the rope---and his son's spirit can finally rest in peace".
The guard turns and see the reporter approaching the cell.
"Mr. Tanner, I'm Jeff Grant of Good Morning, America. I'd like to interview you for our show", the reporter requests.
"Sure", Tanner replies. "Why not?" The reporter enters the cell, which is closed by the guard. Tanner shows the reporter the only chair in the cell. "Have a seat".
The reporter sits down as the guard takes his seat outside the cell, keeping his eyes on Tanner, then the clock on the wall...and finally Tanner one more time as the condemned young man sits on the edge of his cot.
The reporter removes a pad and pen from his briefcase and opens it to a blank page.
"Mr. Tanner, you're scheduled to be hanged precisely at noon today. How do you feel about that?" he asks.
"How do you think I feel, Mr. Grant?" Tanner asks the reporter. "I'm counting the minutes now instead of hours, days and years. I'm sweating bullets. My heart's racing like a locomotive. The guards of the Row are waiting to do their turn, hanging me to the brink of death and lowering me over and over again...until they get the nod from the Governor himself to hang me high and leave me there as food for the crows. An all-male audience of men and boys are waiting to sink their teeth into my thighs and calves and lick my kneebacks over and over until my legs are far out of their reach. And you sit there and ask me how I feel?"
Jotting this remark down in his pad, the reporter looks up at Tanner again.
"You shot another 16-year-old male model in the back", the reporter recollects. "Then, when he was laying face down on the ground, helpless, you shot him four more times in the dead center of his back between his shoulders...perhaps piercing his young heart. Then you shot him one last time in the back of his head just to see his naked legs stiffened as that hot lead entered his brain. Don't you think the people of this country have a right to see you die with your legs naked for them to see? Not just here in America...but around the world as well?"
Without uttering a word of reply, Tanner looks down at the floor of his cell.
"You didn't show one bit of repentance", the reporter goes on. "Not during the trial...not during the reading of the verdict...not during the sentencing. You probably don't have one bit of repentance now. What about at noon? Will you finally display repentance when that rope is anchored down and you're flopping around 20 feet above the ground with those death throes rippling through your arms and legs...with your heart pounding louder and louder in your head and then---nothing? No more visions of the blue sky above. No more sounds of cheering and laughter from the crowd. No more sounds of your heart beating in your ears. Nothing...but the silence of death".
The reporter sits there, waiting for a response from the condemned young man. But there is only silence.
"Get out of here, Grant", is the only response which leaves Tanner's lips.
"Sure, Tanner", the reporter says, rising to his feet. "See you at the gibbet".
The guard opens the cell door and allows the reporter to leave. As Tanner glances up and watches the reporter turn the corner to return to the courtyard, the only sound which he now hears distinctly is the ticking of the clock on the wall as it gets louder and louder with each passing second. Tanner lays back on his cot, his hands folded behind his head.
"Man, Tanner...you really have a knack of rubbing people the wrong way", the guard replies. He looks at the clock. "Well, 35 minutes to go before the last visitor in your worthless life arrives to see you to offer you some peace and accompany you to your execution".
"Oh, goody! I can hardly wait", Tanner mutters, sarcastically. Then, he closes his eyes.
Sunday, June 21, 2020...1100 hrs.:
"Wake up, Tanner", is the first sound Tanner hears after closing his eyes at 10:25 a.m. When Tanner opens his eyes, the face of the guard comes clearly into view. "Your last visitor has arrived".
Tanner slowly sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of his cot. Standing there before him was a young man of 30, crisply dressed in a black suit with the white collar of a priest or minister.
"Good morning, Michael", the young priest says. "I'm Father Richard Williams, the prison chaplain. I'm here to sit with you for your last hour and accompany you to your meeting with the Maker".
"Can God cancel my noon appointment with the hangmen?" Tanner asks.
"I'm afraid not, Michael. The Lord wants you to join Him as soon as possible...and the only way you can do that is to relinquish your mortal life to the hangmen". Father Williams sits in the only chair in the room...the same one which was recently occupied by Jeff Grant, the reporter from Good Morning, America. "Is there anything at all you wish to discuss with me?"
"Yes, Father. Is there going to be any pain involved?"
"I've attended several hangings during my tenure as prison chaplain, Michael. I've always been guaranteed that when the condemned man reaches the end of the rope and his neck snaps, his pain ends there".
"But, Father...I'm going to be hanged Old English-style. That means the noose will be placed around my neck and I'll be lifted off the ground and left there to die slowly. My neck won't break. I'll be hanging there, jerking around and choking to death. Can you do anything to make my execution easier?"
"I can call Governor Morehead on his cell phone and request a compassionate execution if you wish".
"Can you really?"
"I'll call him right now." The young chaplain rises from the seat, walks to a corner of the cell far from Tanner, reaches into his pocket, removes his cell phone and dials a number. He is talking on the phone for several minutes before he returns the phone to his pocket and returns to sit near Tanner, a solemn look on his face. "I'm sorry, Michael. The Governor refuses to offer you a compassionate hanging."
Tanner closes his eyes when he hears this. For the first time since he was arrested for the murder of 16-year-old male model Paul Davidson in 2016, tears came from Tanner's eyes. Is he finally starting to show a sign of repentance? The chaplain reaches out a compassionate hand and places it on Tanner's naked left knee.
"Don't worry, Michael", he continues. "I'll make a last request from the Governor before you're led to the gibbet".
"Thank you, Father".
The chaplain removes a pillow from his bag and places it on the floor beside the cot. Then, he looks up at Tanner and smiles.
"The Lord would accept prayers in any form, Michael", he continues. "But, confessions are easier when young knees are on a soft, warm pillow instead of a cold cement floor".
Tanner shifts from his cot, placing his knees on the offered pillow.
"Bless me, Father. I have sinned", Tanner starts, lowering his wet eyes to the floor. "It has been more than four years since I made my last confession to the Lord. I fear it may not be as quickly accepted by Him after so long a time".
"Time does not matter to the Lord, Michael", the chaplain replies. "There is no such thing as time in Heaven. Angels do not age. When they arrive before Him, they appear the same age for all eternity. Do you wish to confess before me?"
"I do, Father".
"Then take your time and say what you wish to say. The Lord's ear is inclined to listen".
"I repent what I had done that led me to the fate which I am now facing. It was stupid, petty jealousy which led me to kill Paul Davidson...a young man who I didn't even know".
"Why jealousy, Michael?"
"We were both competing for the same job...modeling sportswear for the same company. We both had the same attributes. Yet Paul was the one who had been chosen. I would have been able to handle losing out to him...but Paul had to lord it over me over and over again. Finally, the green-eyed monster in me took control. As Paul walked away, I took the small revolver which I always carried for my protection out of my pocket and shot him once in the back. As his blood began to spread across his back, he fell face first onto the ground. He turned to look at me. I saw the shocked look on his face as he started to slowly scramble for safety. I could have let it go at that. But I found myself pulling the trigger a second time...then a third...and a fourth...and a fifth. I looked down at Paul's prone body with his eyes glazed over and still wide open in shock...and the five bullet holes in his back at very close proximity and all the blood. Then, for some reason I can't explain, I placed Paul's hands at his sides, knelt down and fired the last bullet into his head. I looked towards his naked legs and smiled when I saw them stiffen as the bullet entered his brain. The next thing I remembered was laying face down beside Paul's dead body, having my hands cuffed behind my back and being taken to the police station. The time between my arrest and my arraignment is all fuzzy. I heard the judge announce me guilty and sentence me to death".
"Did you agree to anything at your arraignment that led the judge to pronounce the death sentence upon you?"
"I don't remember. But, after I heard people say what I did, I resigned myself to my fate and to face my death dressed as I am now".
"Because you had killed Paul when he was dressed like that?"
"Yes".
"And you felt you should be put to death dressed likewise?"
"Yes".
"Father?" the young guard calls from outside the cell. Without realizing how much time was going by, the chaplain notices that the other four Death Row guards stand outside the cell to prepare Tanner for his date with death. "It's 11:45. We have to ready the prisoner for execution".
"I understand". The young chaplain rises from the chair and moves to a spot in front of Tanner's kneeling figure. He looks upward. "Lord, I beseech you to take the soul of this sinner, Michael Tanner, into your gentle keeping for all eternity. May he find redemption and peace for what he had done. And may he find forgiveness from those he had hurt by his action". He looks down at Tanner's lowered head and makes the sign of the cross before Tanner. "In the name of the Father...the Son...and the Holy Spirit. Amen".
"Amen", Tanner mutters as he crosses himself.
The chaplain reaches down and gently takes hold of Tanner's elbow, raising him to his feet. Then, he reaches down, takes the pillow upon which Tanner's knees rested and replaces it within his bag, snapping it shut as he turns once more to Tanner.
"Don't worry, Michael", he says. "I'll make one more attempt to get the Governor to soften his stance so you may die swiftly and as painlessly as possible".
"Thank you, Father".
The chaplain smiles, turns and walks down the hall and out the door as the guards enter the cell. One puts long chained manacles upon his ankles. Another puts Tanner's hands behind his back and cuffs his hands. A third places a black hood over Tanner's head, lowering it to his neck. The fourth stands guard with a rifle in his hands. The young guard looks at the clock on the wall. It now reads 11:50. In ten minutes Michael Tanner will be escorted to the noose which shall be placed about his neck to snuff out his young life.
Sunday, June 21, 2020...1150 hrs.:
"Definitely not!" Governor Morehead yells at Father Williams, the prison chaplain who stands before him, requesting a last favor for Michael Tanner, who is about to die in ten minutes for a cruel and callous murder which he had committed four years earlier.
"Governor, that boy doesn't want to die torturously", the chaplain implores. "All I'm asking of you is to let the hangmen raise him up 10...15 feet above the ground and let him drop about four or five feet...just adequate enough to snap his neck, so he can die instantly. In the name of the Lord, show the boy a little compassion!"
"Why should I, Father? Did he show Paul Davidson any compassion? That boy lay on his stomach, looking at his shooter with a look not just of shock but pleading for his life. Tanner could have let it end there and be tried for attempted murder and serve 20 years. He would have been paroled after 10 with the compassion and blessing of Davidson's family...his father, his mother, his two older sisters. But, no! As that poor boy tried to scramble away on his stomach, looking for safety and help, Tanner stood over him, pointed his gun down and fired four more shots into his back, two of them ripping through his heart. That boy flung his arms out and fell dead on the ground, his eyes still showing shock now glazing over in death. Then, to make matters worse, he puts the boy's dead arms at his side, squats at his head, turns his attention to his dead, naked legs and fires one last shot into the boy's brain...and smiles as he sees Paul Davidson's legs stiffen into an early stage of rigor mortis. He showed no remorse at the arraignment, at his hearing, at the reading of the verdict or his sentencing to death." Governor Morehead turns and looks at the gibbet and the noose which waits to taste the young neck and snuff out the young life of Michael Tanner. "I was the one who ordered the uniform he was to wear while he was on Death Row and at his execution. The same clothes he wore when he murdered Paul Davidson. I was the one who ordered the style of death he is facing today. I was the one who demanded that each quarter of the audience come forward and bite his legs and lick his kneebacks each time he is raised and lowered as he is being hanged for torture. And it is going to be me who orders him to be hanged without a broken neck. He is going to suffer every minute until his neck muscles give out and his lungs collapse. He is going to remain at the top of the gibbet, guarded by four armed guards and serve as meat for the birds. And as his dead body turns green from a buildup of methane in his body and decomposition, it will still hang there as a reminder what the price of murder is until it finally wastes away to dust".
Sunday, June 21, 2020...1200 hrs....the hour of Death:
Governor Morehead looks over Father Williams's shoulder and notices the five Death Row guards ushering the chained and hooded Michael Tanner towards the waiting gibbet and noose.
"Here comes the condemned man now", he says. "I advise you to take your Bible and your place beside him as he is being led to the gibbet and noose. My boys and I intend to enjoy this execution with the rest of the audience. My boys especially, since they've prepared themselves to bite his thighs and calves and lick his kneebacks before the guard who stood watch over him firebrands those kneebacks eternally with his prison number before they hang him".
"I don't intend to be here when that happens", Father Williams says. "I don't relish the thought of seeing Michael Tanner suffer until Death finally claims him".
"Your place as prison chaplain relies on funding from the state...as well as your chapel off prison grounds. If you wish to continue receiving that funding, Father, I recommend you remain and watch every second of Michael Tanner's execution...and, at least, pretend that you're having a good time like everybody else".
"Is that a threat, Governor?"
"No, Father. That's a bona fide promise. You remain all through the torture and execution until that murderer's body goes limp and his heart stops beating...or live and support your chapel on welfare".
"Well, it appears I have no choice".
"That's right. You have no choice...whatsoever!"
The young prison chaplain approaches the hooded and shackled figure making its way to the gibbet and noose.
"Forgive me, Michael", Father Williams whispers in Tanner's ear. "I've failed you. The Governor refuses to give in to a compassionate hanging. He's even threatened to defund my prison position and my chapel off the prison grounds. It's either his way...or I starve and my chapel goes on welfare".
"That's okay, Father", Tanner says. "You did your best. Now, just pray for my soul".
"I am, Michael. Every minute now...and until I die". The chaplain opens his Bible and starts to read passages of redemption. "There is one thing I have to prepare you for, Michael. After the hangmen raise and lower you and each quarter of the audience takes their pleasure with you, the Death Row guards have been ordered to push your kneecaps in and for the one who guarded you during your four years on Death Row will scar your kneebacks with a firebrand that has your prisoner identification number. I pray the Lord strengthens you so that you may feel as little pain as possible". The execution party ceases walking. Father Williams looks up. "We're at the gibbet, Michael. I'll remain by your side, praying for your soul".
"Thank you, Father".
Seeing that Tanner is hooded, Governor Morehead removes his cell phone from his pocket and dials a number, angrily.
"Warden Codwell, order Tanner's guard to remove that hood!" the Governor seethes into his phone. "I want that young bastard turned around to see everything that goes on and everyone to see the pains of actual death on his face! And after you've read the proclamation of execution, turn his back to the audience. It's makes it easier to attack the legs when everyone is not being watched by the condemned man. Then, you may proceed with the four torture hangings and the last one where the guard will brand Tanner's prisoner identification number into his kneebacks just before he's raised and left to rot". Governor Morehead breaks the connection with the warden before squatting down before his sons, giving them what looks like pens. "Boys, when it's your turn to strike, I want you to take these and push the clips up. That will expose a sharp razor blade. I want you to stab them into Tanner's thighs and calves. When he's hanged for the final time, the audience will see blood running down his legs".
"Can we cut his kneebacks open too, Dad? asks one of the boys.
"No, son. His kneebacks are reserved for the branding of his prisoner I.D. number before he'll be raised to the top of the gibbet and left to choke to death".
The warden approaches the young guard and whispers the Governor's order into his ear. Reaching for the top of Tanner's head, the guard whips the hood off to reveal Tanner's face, his eyes squinting to the sudden outburst of sunlight. Turning Tanner to face the audience, the warden starts his proclamation of execution.
"Let it be known to all here", the warden begins, "that Michael David Tanner, having been found guilty of the murder in the first degree with special circumstances of Paul Casey Davidson, is hereby sentenced to death in the fashion, to wit: Old English torture-hanging. He is also to face extra punishment to be inflicted prior to death, to wit: to have one-quarter of the all-male audience to come forward and while he is suspended four feet above the ground to have his thighs and calves bitten and his kneebacks licked. After the fourth torture-hanging, he will have his kneebacks branded with his prisoner identification number before he is raised to the top of the gibbet, a height of 20 feet, and left hanging there to die slowly by asphyxiation. After he is hanged, his body shall be left to serve as food for the birds. May God have mercy on his soul". He rolls up the proclamation and replaces it in his pocket. This done, he turns Tanner's back to the audience once more, nodding to the guards. "Proceed!"
The guards take the rope in hand and raise Tanner four feet into the air. As he feels nothing below his feet, Tanner begins jerking about and taking choppy inhalations.
"Section One, come forward!" the warden calls out.
Immediately, all the men and boys in Section One approach the dangling, gagging figure of Michael Tanner and, for five whole minutes, bite his muscular thighs and calves and lick his kneebacks before returning to their seats. The warden gives the guards the signal to lower Tanner to the ground, permitting him to catch his breath. When he has fully recovered from the first near-death hanging, the warden signals the guards to pull Tanner up off the ground, again stopping when the condemned man is four feet off the ground.
"Section Two, come forward!"
Again, all the men and boys in the second section approach the gagging figure. This time, Tanner's face starts changing color as, for the proscribed five minutes, the men and boys proceed to bite Tanner's thighs and calves and lick his kneebacks and return to their seats. The warden nods and the guards lower Tanner to the ground, allowing him to breathe fresh air. Again, when has recovered and is breathing normally once again, the warden signals the guards to raise Tanner off the ground, again stopping at the height of four feet.
"Section Three, come forward!"
Once again, all the men and boys approach the choking, struggling figure. This time, Governor Morehead's sons step forward, carrying the concealed razors given them by their father. After they had bitten Tanner's thighs and calves and licked his kneebacks, the boys stab the razors into the condemned young man's thighs and calves before returning to their seats. The warden signals the guards to lower Tanner to the ground so he can recover his breath.
"I've been stabbed!" Tanner mutters between hard-held breaths to the warden, who looks at Tanner's legs. Sure enough, there are two fresh stabs wounds on each thigh and calf. Ignoring these fresh injuries, the warden signals the guards, who raise Tanner off the ground once again.
"Section Four, come forward!" the warden calls out.
For the last time, all the men and boys come forward the take their pleasure by biting Tanner's thighs and calves, avoiding the gushing blood and brushing the stream away before licking Tanner's kneebacks one last time. As they return to their seats, Tanner is lowered for the last time. As he is permitted to gain his breath completely, Tanner glares at the warden.
"You saw the blood on my legs and are doing nothing!" Tanner screams as best he can.
"Why worry about it, Tanner?" the warden asks. "You'll be dead soon enough! So quit your bitchin'! Brand him!"
The young guard who stood guard over Tanner takes the brand from the blazing brazier and scars Tanner's prisoner I.D. number on each kneeback. As the audience watches, they see the fresh flames licking the soon-to-be-dead kneebacks that they had recently licked.
"Hang him! Hang him! Hang him! Hang him!" comes the rhythmic chanting from the audience.
With a nod from the warden, the guards pull on the rope and raise Tanner the full height of the gibbet, this time anchoring the rope down, leaving the condemned youth kicking wildly and gagging furiously as the audience cheers and laughs. As his gasps become less and less frequent, Tanner's legs begin to slow in their death throes. Within ten minutes, all gasping and death throes cease as Tanner's legs become limp. Soon, the warden's cell phone begins to ring. He reaches into his pocket and answers it.
"Make the announcement that Tanner's body will be left hanging, protected by armed guards", comes the order from the Governor.
"Michael David Tanner has been duly executed by hanging", the warden says, returning his phone to his pocket. "By the law of Governor Morehead, the body is to remain hanging where it is until it is either fully devoured by birds or fully decays".
The audience rises to their feet and file out of the prison courtyard as the guards retrieve rifles and take their posts facing in all directions to keep Tanner's dead body where it is.
Monday, June 22, 2020...1200 hrs,:
The young guard who protected Tanner during his four years on Death Row passes the gibbet. He looks up at the dead body. The blood from the stab wounds inflicted by Governor Morehead's sons have dried and caked on the dead legs. Going around below the body, the guard notices that birds had already pecked out Tanner's eyes, leaving the orbs vacant.
Shaking his head, the guard moves on.
Wednesday, June 24, 2020...1200 hrs.:
As the young guard passes the gibbet on his way to the prison's dining room, he gazes up. Tanner's body is now bloated and beginning to turn green...a sign that methane has escaped from deep within the corpse and entered the space between the dead skin and decaying muscles.
Saturday, June 27, 2020...1200 hrs.:
Around the vicinity of the gibbet and the still-hanging corpse of Michael Tanner, there is a foul odor emanating from the decaying body. Even through their prison-issued masks, the guards are gagging from the stench floating down from what used to be the living body of Michael Tanner. Areas of the once-living thighs and calves have been eaten away by birds and other predators. The bloated blackened kneebacks have exposed fat which flows down the calves and drip from the sneakers onto the ground.
Tuesday, June 30, 2020...0700 hrs.:
All through the night of the 29th and early morning hours of the 30th, the stench arising from the decaying body of Michael Tanner was becoming so overpowering that Warden Codwell ordered the corpse to be lowered and finally cremated.
Tuesday, June 30, 2020...1200 hrs.:
Passing the gibbet on his way to the dining hall, Tanner's once-guard looks up and notices that the rotted body of Michael Tanner has been removed. Seeing one of the other Death Row guards, he approaches him.
"Where's Tanner's body?" he asks the guard.
"The janitors took it down five hours ago and cremated it", the guard replies. "The stench was getting too strong even for the warden to stand. He woke up the Governor and got his permission to cremate it".
The second guard continues on his way to return to his post.
Tanner's former guard gazes up at the now-vacant gibbet, freshly-scrubbed.
"Rest in peace, Michael Tanner", he murmurs. "It was a pleasure guarding you. I only wish circumstances were better and we could have been good friends".
Requiescat in Pace
"All over the world, Tanner", the warden says as he enters the Row and approaches the condemned man's cell. "We have reporters here from CNN, Al Jazeera, Tokyo Broadcasting, the People's News from China, Tass and Pravda from Russia, a few TV crews from all over Africa...all here to view and videotape your hanging in living color. Or should I say in your specific case...dying color?"
"Ha, ha!" Tanner replies, sarcastically.
"Now, as soon as you finish your last meal, the guard is going to take you to the gym. I want you to get in another two or three hours of pumping your legs to build them up some more before the prison chaplain gets here to give you the last benediction and walk with you to the gibbet to offer you last-minute peace and solace".
"Peace and solace? How do you expect me to find peace and solace when I'm going to be doing a floorless jig in less than six hours?"
"Look, son...after 12 noon, all your troubles are going to be over. What happens to you after that is going to be up to God...or Satan!" The warden looks at his watch and smiles. "If you'll excuse me...I have to meet with some of the newscasters in the courtyard. They're extremely anxious to learn what curtails in an Old English-style hanging". The warden turns and proceeds to go to the exit of the Row. He turns to the young guard on his way. "Make certain he gets in as much leg-pumping exercises as possible. I want to make certain those meats are nice and well-muscled as he hangs before the public...especially the Governor!"
"Yes, sir", the guard replies. "What's going to happen to him after he dies?"
"That depends on the Governor and the prison board. They may decide to take him down and bury him a few hours after he dies...or leave him hanging as crow food until he rots".
"That should be fun to watch!"
"I'm sure it will be. Are the coaxing signs ready for the prompters?" The guard points to a couple of placards that are standing against the wall. The warden checks them out. The placards read out, in large capital letters: "HANG HIM! HANG HIM! HANG HIM!" The warden smiles. "Good!"
Then, he is gone.
Sunday, June 21, 2020...0700 hrs.:
The tall, handsome news reporter looks at his cameraman.
"Are we on?" he asks. Getting the signal from the cameraman, the reporter looks ahead. "Good morning, America. This is Jeff Grant reporting from the prison where, at exactly 12 noon, 20-year-old convict Michael Tanner will be led from his cell on Death Row to the gibbet standing behind me where he will then be hanged in what is termed as an Old English-style hanging". The reporter holds up several photographs of Michael Tanner at happier times in his life...as a toddler, a ten-year-old riding his bicycle, a young teenager going out on his first date, a high school senior with his date at the senior prom. "The handsome and charismatic former male model is, at this moment, working out in the prison gym for the last time in his life. I'm here now with Jeremiah Codwell, the warden of the prison where Michael Tanner's life will be ending later this very day. Warden Codwell, I'm a little bewildered at the term Old English-style hanging. What exactly does that mean?"
"Well, Jeff...an Old English-style hanging was actually one-third of what a man convicted of high treason was given in England between 1066 and 1581, when it was abolished by Elizabeth I after the description of a witness was given to the queen. She ordered that the condemned man was to hang until he was stone cold dead before being taken down and butchered in the execution that was labeled as hanged, drawn and quartered. The last Englishman to receive this kind of sentence was a Jesuit priest named John Ballard who was sent by the Pope to murder Elizabeth and free the throne for Mary Stuart. Today's execution of Michael Tanner will only contain the torturing and final hanging and not the gory event of disemboweling him and cutting off his head. What will happen then is up to the Governor. He may be taken down later tonight and buried in a private ceremony or left to hang as crow food until he decomposes in the elements".
"Thank you, Warden Codwell, for that detailed, if somewhat shocking explanation". The warden walks away from the reporter, who turns his attention back to the camera. "I will be going in to the prison to interview Michael Tanner in a few hours to get his opinion of his upcoming execution and how he feels going to his death with only his legs visible to the all-male audience and the worldwide television audience. He will then be visited by the prison chaplain at 11 a.m. who will offer solace and escort him down the proverbial last mile to the place of his execution. As I look around, I see men and boys beginning to enter the courtyard, armed with programs, their teeth and tongues anxiously awaiting to malign Michael Tanner's legs as they twitch and kick during the torture segment of the execution prior to when he will be pulled all the way up to mere inches from the crossbeam and left to become food for the crows. Now, anybody who reads stories about wars knows that when a body is left on the battlefield, crows gather around in the sky then come down to rip off pieces of meat from whatever body parts are visible. In Michael Tanner's case, it will be his muscular legs which will become food for the crows. Now, I can see that Governor Albert Morehead has arrived for today's event. It is Governor Morehead alone who can offer a last-minute stay of execution for the 20-year-old former model. But that seems highly unlikely".
The reporter rushes over through the crowd to the Governor, who is testing the rigidity of the gibbet from which Michael Tanner will hang.
"Governor Morehead...Governor Morehead, I'm Jeff Grant from Good Morning, America", the reporter replies. "Is it true that you and you alone can offer Michael Tanner a last-minute stay of execution and will you offer one?"
"I will not, Mr. Grant", the Governor answers. "Mr. Tanner has offered no repentance whatsoever after murdering this other young male model. He wantonly shot his victim six times in the back as he lay face down on the ground...then shot him once in the head just to see the back of his legs stiffen as he died. I came here with my two sons to enjoy an execution and watch an animal being killed by the state. I'm even pushing my boys to approach Tanner during the hanging torture segment of the execution and bite his legs, which, I have been informed by the warden, have grown increasingly muscular from constant leg exercises".
"I see you also brought a DVD recorder with you. Do you intend to record the execution?"
"I certainly do. I want a souvenir of this momentous event which I and my sons can watch and enjoy over and over again".
"Well, thank you very much for your time, Governor".
"You're very welcome, Mr. Grant. And I hope you and your crew will also stay and enjoy the execution".
The reporter holds up a drawing that was given him while talking with the Governor.
"A young boy handed me this drawing he made supposedly of Michael Tanner hanging from the gibbet, his eyes bulging from their sockets, his tongue sticking out from his mouth and other boys biting his thighs and calves and two boys licking his kneebacks with extreme fervor. This is Jeff Grant, returning you to our studio. We will return here when the execution is about to get underway".
Sunday, June 21, 2020...1000 hrs.:
Michael Tanner, with the guard at his side, is returning to his cell after exercising briskly and taking a nice shower to cleanse the sweat and dirt of the gym off his skin.
"When you get back to your cell, get yourself dressed in your new death-uniform as quickly as possible", he says.
"Why?" Tanner asks. "You in a hurry to execute me?"
"No, wise guy. There's a reporter from Good Morning, America...a Jeff Grant...who's coming to your cell to interview you about your upcoming execution. He..."
"He wants to know exactly how I feel about being hanged before I even had a chance to live?"
"You brought this upon yourself, Tanner. Nobody forced you to kill that other guy over a modeling job squabble. That was all your doing. And now...you're going to pay for it with your life". The guard opens the cell door for Tanner. "You'd better hurry and get dressed. That reporter's going to be here any time now. Then you got an 11 a.m. appointment with the prison chaplain. And, finally, your 12 noon date with the hangmen".
Tanner looks at the young guard with a air of sarcasm on his face. He walks into his cell, which the guard locks behind him, takes up his new clothing and disappears into his adjoining toilet, reappearing several minutes later all groomed and dressed for his three appointments...with the reporter from Good Morning, America, the chaplain and, last but not least, death itself. However, before the reporter even arrives, the body inspector enters the Row. Tanner sees him and immediately lies face down at attention on his cot. The Inspector enters the cell and goes to work, feeling first Tanner's thighs, then the front of his knees, then his kneebacks, then his shins and, finally, his calves, slapping Tanner's kneebacks when he is finished. He looks at the guard.
"You can report to the warden that Tanner's legs are as smooth as a baby's bottom", he says as he leaves the cell. "He's ready for the rope...at long last, thank God".
The Inspector walks down the hall and goes out the door, almost colliding with Jeff Grant on the way. Tanner turns to the guard.
"Can you tell me one thing? Why the hell is he always like that?" Tanner asks. "I mean every time he comes in here, feels my legs all over, slaps my kneebacks when he's finished...and says something sarcastic as he leaves. Why?"
"It's about time you found out", the guard tells Tanner. "That other model you murdered four years ago? Paul Davidson? He was that man's only son".
"His son?"
"That's right, Tanner. His son. That's why he's so anxious to see you die today. It may not bring his son back...but at least his family will have closure when they see you swinging at the end of the rope---and his son's spirit can finally rest in peace".
The guard turns and see the reporter approaching the cell.
"Mr. Tanner, I'm Jeff Grant of Good Morning, America. I'd like to interview you for our show", the reporter requests.
"Sure", Tanner replies. "Why not?" The reporter enters the cell, which is closed by the guard. Tanner shows the reporter the only chair in the cell. "Have a seat".
The reporter sits down as the guard takes his seat outside the cell, keeping his eyes on Tanner, then the clock on the wall...and finally Tanner one more time as the condemned young man sits on the edge of his cot.
The reporter removes a pad and pen from his briefcase and opens it to a blank page.
"Mr. Tanner, you're scheduled to be hanged precisely at noon today. How do you feel about that?" he asks.
"How do you think I feel, Mr. Grant?" Tanner asks the reporter. "I'm counting the minutes now instead of hours, days and years. I'm sweating bullets. My heart's racing like a locomotive. The guards of the Row are waiting to do their turn, hanging me to the brink of death and lowering me over and over again...until they get the nod from the Governor himself to hang me high and leave me there as food for the crows. An all-male audience of men and boys are waiting to sink their teeth into my thighs and calves and lick my kneebacks over and over until my legs are far out of their reach. And you sit there and ask me how I feel?"
Jotting this remark down in his pad, the reporter looks up at Tanner again.
"You shot another 16-year-old male model in the back", the reporter recollects. "Then, when he was laying face down on the ground, helpless, you shot him four more times in the dead center of his back between his shoulders...perhaps piercing his young heart. Then you shot him one last time in the back of his head just to see his naked legs stiffened as that hot lead entered his brain. Don't you think the people of this country have a right to see you die with your legs naked for them to see? Not just here in America...but around the world as well?"
Without uttering a word of reply, Tanner looks down at the floor of his cell.
"You didn't show one bit of repentance", the reporter goes on. "Not during the trial...not during the reading of the verdict...not during the sentencing. You probably don't have one bit of repentance now. What about at noon? Will you finally display repentance when that rope is anchored down and you're flopping around 20 feet above the ground with those death throes rippling through your arms and legs...with your heart pounding louder and louder in your head and then---nothing? No more visions of the blue sky above. No more sounds of cheering and laughter from the crowd. No more sounds of your heart beating in your ears. Nothing...but the silence of death".
The reporter sits there, waiting for a response from the condemned young man. But there is only silence.
"Get out of here, Grant", is the only response which leaves Tanner's lips.
"Sure, Tanner", the reporter says, rising to his feet. "See you at the gibbet".
The guard opens the cell door and allows the reporter to leave. As Tanner glances up and watches the reporter turn the corner to return to the courtyard, the only sound which he now hears distinctly is the ticking of the clock on the wall as it gets louder and louder with each passing second. Tanner lays back on his cot, his hands folded behind his head.
"Man, Tanner...you really have a knack of rubbing people the wrong way", the guard replies. He looks at the clock. "Well, 35 minutes to go before the last visitor in your worthless life arrives to see you to offer you some peace and accompany you to your execution".
"Oh, goody! I can hardly wait", Tanner mutters, sarcastically. Then, he closes his eyes.
Sunday, June 21, 2020...1100 hrs.:
"Wake up, Tanner", is the first sound Tanner hears after closing his eyes at 10:25 a.m. When Tanner opens his eyes, the face of the guard comes clearly into view. "Your last visitor has arrived".
Tanner slowly sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of his cot. Standing there before him was a young man of 30, crisply dressed in a black suit with the white collar of a priest or minister.
"Good morning, Michael", the young priest says. "I'm Father Richard Williams, the prison chaplain. I'm here to sit with you for your last hour and accompany you to your meeting with the Maker".
"Can God cancel my noon appointment with the hangmen?" Tanner asks.
"I'm afraid not, Michael. The Lord wants you to join Him as soon as possible...and the only way you can do that is to relinquish your mortal life to the hangmen". Father Williams sits in the only chair in the room...the same one which was recently occupied by Jeff Grant, the reporter from Good Morning, America. "Is there anything at all you wish to discuss with me?"
"Yes, Father. Is there going to be any pain involved?"
"I've attended several hangings during my tenure as prison chaplain, Michael. I've always been guaranteed that when the condemned man reaches the end of the rope and his neck snaps, his pain ends there".
"But, Father...I'm going to be hanged Old English-style. That means the noose will be placed around my neck and I'll be lifted off the ground and left there to die slowly. My neck won't break. I'll be hanging there, jerking around and choking to death. Can you do anything to make my execution easier?"
"I can call Governor Morehead on his cell phone and request a compassionate execution if you wish".
"Can you really?"
"I'll call him right now." The young chaplain rises from the seat, walks to a corner of the cell far from Tanner, reaches into his pocket, removes his cell phone and dials a number. He is talking on the phone for several minutes before he returns the phone to his pocket and returns to sit near Tanner, a solemn look on his face. "I'm sorry, Michael. The Governor refuses to offer you a compassionate hanging."
Tanner closes his eyes when he hears this. For the first time since he was arrested for the murder of 16-year-old male model Paul Davidson in 2016, tears came from Tanner's eyes. Is he finally starting to show a sign of repentance? The chaplain reaches out a compassionate hand and places it on Tanner's naked left knee.
"Don't worry, Michael", he continues. "I'll make a last request from the Governor before you're led to the gibbet".
"Thank you, Father".
The chaplain removes a pillow from his bag and places it on the floor beside the cot. Then, he looks up at Tanner and smiles.
"The Lord would accept prayers in any form, Michael", he continues. "But, confessions are easier when young knees are on a soft, warm pillow instead of a cold cement floor".
Tanner shifts from his cot, placing his knees on the offered pillow.
"Bless me, Father. I have sinned", Tanner starts, lowering his wet eyes to the floor. "It has been more than four years since I made my last confession to the Lord. I fear it may not be as quickly accepted by Him after so long a time".
"Time does not matter to the Lord, Michael", the chaplain replies. "There is no such thing as time in Heaven. Angels do not age. When they arrive before Him, they appear the same age for all eternity. Do you wish to confess before me?"
"I do, Father".
"Then take your time and say what you wish to say. The Lord's ear is inclined to listen".
"I repent what I had done that led me to the fate which I am now facing. It was stupid, petty jealousy which led me to kill Paul Davidson...a young man who I didn't even know".
"Why jealousy, Michael?"
"We were both competing for the same job...modeling sportswear for the same company. We both had the same attributes. Yet Paul was the one who had been chosen. I would have been able to handle losing out to him...but Paul had to lord it over me over and over again. Finally, the green-eyed monster in me took control. As Paul walked away, I took the small revolver which I always carried for my protection out of my pocket and shot him once in the back. As his blood began to spread across his back, he fell face first onto the ground. He turned to look at me. I saw the shocked look on his face as he started to slowly scramble for safety. I could have let it go at that. But I found myself pulling the trigger a second time...then a third...and a fourth...and a fifth. I looked down at Paul's prone body with his eyes glazed over and still wide open in shock...and the five bullet holes in his back at very close proximity and all the blood. Then, for some reason I can't explain, I placed Paul's hands at his sides, knelt down and fired the last bullet into his head. I looked towards his naked legs and smiled when I saw them stiffen as the bullet entered his brain. The next thing I remembered was laying face down beside Paul's dead body, having my hands cuffed behind my back and being taken to the police station. The time between my arrest and my arraignment is all fuzzy. I heard the judge announce me guilty and sentence me to death".
"Did you agree to anything at your arraignment that led the judge to pronounce the death sentence upon you?"
"I don't remember. But, after I heard people say what I did, I resigned myself to my fate and to face my death dressed as I am now".
"Because you had killed Paul when he was dressed like that?"
"Yes".
"And you felt you should be put to death dressed likewise?"
"Yes".
"Father?" the young guard calls from outside the cell. Without realizing how much time was going by, the chaplain notices that the other four Death Row guards stand outside the cell to prepare Tanner for his date with death. "It's 11:45. We have to ready the prisoner for execution".
"I understand". The young chaplain rises from the chair and moves to a spot in front of Tanner's kneeling figure. He looks upward. "Lord, I beseech you to take the soul of this sinner, Michael Tanner, into your gentle keeping for all eternity. May he find redemption and peace for what he had done. And may he find forgiveness from those he had hurt by his action". He looks down at Tanner's lowered head and makes the sign of the cross before Tanner. "In the name of the Father...the Son...and the Holy Spirit. Amen".
"Amen", Tanner mutters as he crosses himself.
The chaplain reaches down and gently takes hold of Tanner's elbow, raising him to his feet. Then, he reaches down, takes the pillow upon which Tanner's knees rested and replaces it within his bag, snapping it shut as he turns once more to Tanner.
"Don't worry, Michael", he says. "I'll make one more attempt to get the Governor to soften his stance so you may die swiftly and as painlessly as possible".
"Thank you, Father".
The chaplain smiles, turns and walks down the hall and out the door as the guards enter the cell. One puts long chained manacles upon his ankles. Another puts Tanner's hands behind his back and cuffs his hands. A third places a black hood over Tanner's head, lowering it to his neck. The fourth stands guard with a rifle in his hands. The young guard looks at the clock on the wall. It now reads 11:50. In ten minutes Michael Tanner will be escorted to the noose which shall be placed about his neck to snuff out his young life.
Sunday, June 21, 2020...1150 hrs.:
"Definitely not!" Governor Morehead yells at Father Williams, the prison chaplain who stands before him, requesting a last favor for Michael Tanner, who is about to die in ten minutes for a cruel and callous murder which he had committed four years earlier.
"Governor, that boy doesn't want to die torturously", the chaplain implores. "All I'm asking of you is to let the hangmen raise him up 10...15 feet above the ground and let him drop about four or five feet...just adequate enough to snap his neck, so he can die instantly. In the name of the Lord, show the boy a little compassion!"
"Why should I, Father? Did he show Paul Davidson any compassion? That boy lay on his stomach, looking at his shooter with a look not just of shock but pleading for his life. Tanner could have let it end there and be tried for attempted murder and serve 20 years. He would have been paroled after 10 with the compassion and blessing of Davidson's family...his father, his mother, his two older sisters. But, no! As that poor boy tried to scramble away on his stomach, looking for safety and help, Tanner stood over him, pointed his gun down and fired four more shots into his back, two of them ripping through his heart. That boy flung his arms out and fell dead on the ground, his eyes still showing shock now glazing over in death. Then, to make matters worse, he puts the boy's dead arms at his side, squats at his head, turns his attention to his dead, naked legs and fires one last shot into the boy's brain...and smiles as he sees Paul Davidson's legs stiffen into an early stage of rigor mortis. He showed no remorse at the arraignment, at his hearing, at the reading of the verdict or his sentencing to death." Governor Morehead turns and looks at the gibbet and the noose which waits to taste the young neck and snuff out the young life of Michael Tanner. "I was the one who ordered the uniform he was to wear while he was on Death Row and at his execution. The same clothes he wore when he murdered Paul Davidson. I was the one who ordered the style of death he is facing today. I was the one who demanded that each quarter of the audience come forward and bite his legs and lick his kneebacks each time he is raised and lowered as he is being hanged for torture. And it is going to be me who orders him to be hanged without a broken neck. He is going to suffer every minute until his neck muscles give out and his lungs collapse. He is going to remain at the top of the gibbet, guarded by four armed guards and serve as meat for the birds. And as his dead body turns green from a buildup of methane in his body and decomposition, it will still hang there as a reminder what the price of murder is until it finally wastes away to dust".
Sunday, June 21, 2020...1200 hrs....the hour of Death:
Governor Morehead looks over Father Williams's shoulder and notices the five Death Row guards ushering the chained and hooded Michael Tanner towards the waiting gibbet and noose.
"Here comes the condemned man now", he says. "I advise you to take your Bible and your place beside him as he is being led to the gibbet and noose. My boys and I intend to enjoy this execution with the rest of the audience. My boys especially, since they've prepared themselves to bite his thighs and calves and lick his kneebacks before the guard who stood watch over him firebrands those kneebacks eternally with his prison number before they hang him".
"I don't intend to be here when that happens", Father Williams says. "I don't relish the thought of seeing Michael Tanner suffer until Death finally claims him".
"Your place as prison chaplain relies on funding from the state...as well as your chapel off prison grounds. If you wish to continue receiving that funding, Father, I recommend you remain and watch every second of Michael Tanner's execution...and, at least, pretend that you're having a good time like everybody else".
"Is that a threat, Governor?"
"No, Father. That's a bona fide promise. You remain all through the torture and execution until that murderer's body goes limp and his heart stops beating...or live and support your chapel on welfare".
"Well, it appears I have no choice".
"That's right. You have no choice...whatsoever!"
The young prison chaplain approaches the hooded and shackled figure making its way to the gibbet and noose.
"Forgive me, Michael", Father Williams whispers in Tanner's ear. "I've failed you. The Governor refuses to give in to a compassionate hanging. He's even threatened to defund my prison position and my chapel off the prison grounds. It's either his way...or I starve and my chapel goes on welfare".
"That's okay, Father", Tanner says. "You did your best. Now, just pray for my soul".
"I am, Michael. Every minute now...and until I die". The chaplain opens his Bible and starts to read passages of redemption. "There is one thing I have to prepare you for, Michael. After the hangmen raise and lower you and each quarter of the audience takes their pleasure with you, the Death Row guards have been ordered to push your kneecaps in and for the one who guarded you during your four years on Death Row will scar your kneebacks with a firebrand that has your prisoner identification number. I pray the Lord strengthens you so that you may feel as little pain as possible". The execution party ceases walking. Father Williams looks up. "We're at the gibbet, Michael. I'll remain by your side, praying for your soul".
"Thank you, Father".
Seeing that Tanner is hooded, Governor Morehead removes his cell phone from his pocket and dials a number, angrily.
"Warden Codwell, order Tanner's guard to remove that hood!" the Governor seethes into his phone. "I want that young bastard turned around to see everything that goes on and everyone to see the pains of actual death on his face! And after you've read the proclamation of execution, turn his back to the audience. It's makes it easier to attack the legs when everyone is not being watched by the condemned man. Then, you may proceed with the four torture hangings and the last one where the guard will brand Tanner's prisoner identification number into his kneebacks just before he's raised and left to rot". Governor Morehead breaks the connection with the warden before squatting down before his sons, giving them what looks like pens. "Boys, when it's your turn to strike, I want you to take these and push the clips up. That will expose a sharp razor blade. I want you to stab them into Tanner's thighs and calves. When he's hanged for the final time, the audience will see blood running down his legs".
"Can we cut his kneebacks open too, Dad? asks one of the boys.
"No, son. His kneebacks are reserved for the branding of his prisoner I.D. number before he'll be raised to the top of the gibbet and left to choke to death".
The warden approaches the young guard and whispers the Governor's order into his ear. Reaching for the top of Tanner's head, the guard whips the hood off to reveal Tanner's face, his eyes squinting to the sudden outburst of sunlight. Turning Tanner to face the audience, the warden starts his proclamation of execution.
"Let it be known to all here", the warden begins, "that Michael David Tanner, having been found guilty of the murder in the first degree with special circumstances of Paul Casey Davidson, is hereby sentenced to death in the fashion, to wit: Old English torture-hanging. He is also to face extra punishment to be inflicted prior to death, to wit: to have one-quarter of the all-male audience to come forward and while he is suspended four feet above the ground to have his thighs and calves bitten and his kneebacks licked. After the fourth torture-hanging, he will have his kneebacks branded with his prisoner identification number before he is raised to the top of the gibbet, a height of 20 feet, and left hanging there to die slowly by asphyxiation. After he is hanged, his body shall be left to serve as food for the birds. May God have mercy on his soul". He rolls up the proclamation and replaces it in his pocket. This done, he turns Tanner's back to the audience once more, nodding to the guards. "Proceed!"
The guards take the rope in hand and raise Tanner four feet into the air. As he feels nothing below his feet, Tanner begins jerking about and taking choppy inhalations.
"Section One, come forward!" the warden calls out.
Immediately, all the men and boys in Section One approach the dangling, gagging figure of Michael Tanner and, for five whole minutes, bite his muscular thighs and calves and lick his kneebacks before returning to their seats. The warden gives the guards the signal to lower Tanner to the ground, permitting him to catch his breath. When he has fully recovered from the first near-death hanging, the warden signals the guards to pull Tanner up off the ground, again stopping when the condemned man is four feet off the ground.
"Section Two, come forward!"
Again, all the men and boys in the second section approach the gagging figure. This time, Tanner's face starts changing color as, for the proscribed five minutes, the men and boys proceed to bite Tanner's thighs and calves and lick his kneebacks and return to their seats. The warden nods and the guards lower Tanner to the ground, allowing him to breathe fresh air. Again, when has recovered and is breathing normally once again, the warden signals the guards to raise Tanner off the ground, again stopping at the height of four feet.
"Section Three, come forward!"
Once again, all the men and boys approach the choking, struggling figure. This time, Governor Morehead's sons step forward, carrying the concealed razors given them by their father. After they had bitten Tanner's thighs and calves and licked his kneebacks, the boys stab the razors into the condemned young man's thighs and calves before returning to their seats. The warden signals the guards to lower Tanner to the ground so he can recover his breath.
"I've been stabbed!" Tanner mutters between hard-held breaths to the warden, who looks at Tanner's legs. Sure enough, there are two fresh stabs wounds on each thigh and calf. Ignoring these fresh injuries, the warden signals the guards, who raise Tanner off the ground once again.
"Section Four, come forward!" the warden calls out.
For the last time, all the men and boys come forward the take their pleasure by biting Tanner's thighs and calves, avoiding the gushing blood and brushing the stream away before licking Tanner's kneebacks one last time. As they return to their seats, Tanner is lowered for the last time. As he is permitted to gain his breath completely, Tanner glares at the warden.
"You saw the blood on my legs and are doing nothing!" Tanner screams as best he can.
"Why worry about it, Tanner?" the warden asks. "You'll be dead soon enough! So quit your bitchin'! Brand him!"
The young guard who stood guard over Tanner takes the brand from the blazing brazier and scars Tanner's prisoner I.D. number on each kneeback. As the audience watches, they see the fresh flames licking the soon-to-be-dead kneebacks that they had recently licked.
"Hang him! Hang him! Hang him! Hang him!" comes the rhythmic chanting from the audience.
With a nod from the warden, the guards pull on the rope and raise Tanner the full height of the gibbet, this time anchoring the rope down, leaving the condemned youth kicking wildly and gagging furiously as the audience cheers and laughs. As his gasps become less and less frequent, Tanner's legs begin to slow in their death throes. Within ten minutes, all gasping and death throes cease as Tanner's legs become limp. Soon, the warden's cell phone begins to ring. He reaches into his pocket and answers it.
"Make the announcement that Tanner's body will be left hanging, protected by armed guards", comes the order from the Governor.
"Michael David Tanner has been duly executed by hanging", the warden says, returning his phone to his pocket. "By the law of Governor Morehead, the body is to remain hanging where it is until it is either fully devoured by birds or fully decays".
The audience rises to their feet and file out of the prison courtyard as the guards retrieve rifles and take their posts facing in all directions to keep Tanner's dead body where it is.
Monday, June 22, 2020...1200 hrs,:
The young guard who protected Tanner during his four years on Death Row passes the gibbet. He looks up at the dead body. The blood from the stab wounds inflicted by Governor Morehead's sons have dried and caked on the dead legs. Going around below the body, the guard notices that birds had already pecked out Tanner's eyes, leaving the orbs vacant.
Shaking his head, the guard moves on.
Wednesday, June 24, 2020...1200 hrs.:
As the young guard passes the gibbet on his way to the prison's dining room, he gazes up. Tanner's body is now bloated and beginning to turn green...a sign that methane has escaped from deep within the corpse and entered the space between the dead skin and decaying muscles.
Saturday, June 27, 2020...1200 hrs.:
Around the vicinity of the gibbet and the still-hanging corpse of Michael Tanner, there is a foul odor emanating from the decaying body. Even through their prison-issued masks, the guards are gagging from the stench floating down from what used to be the living body of Michael Tanner. Areas of the once-living thighs and calves have been eaten away by birds and other predators. The bloated blackened kneebacks have exposed fat which flows down the calves and drip from the sneakers onto the ground.
Tuesday, June 30, 2020...0700 hrs.:
All through the night of the 29th and early morning hours of the 30th, the stench arising from the decaying body of Michael Tanner was becoming so overpowering that Warden Codwell ordered the corpse to be lowered and finally cremated.
Tuesday, June 30, 2020...1200 hrs.:
Passing the gibbet on his way to the dining hall, Tanner's once-guard looks up and notices that the rotted body of Michael Tanner has been removed. Seeing one of the other Death Row guards, he approaches him.
"Where's Tanner's body?" he asks the guard.
"The janitors took it down five hours ago and cremated it", the guard replies. "The stench was getting too strong even for the warden to stand. He woke up the Governor and got his permission to cremate it".
The second guard continues on his way to return to his post.
Tanner's former guard gazes up at the now-vacant gibbet, freshly-scrubbed.
"Rest in peace, Michael Tanner", he murmurs. "It was a pleasure guarding you. I only wish circumstances were better and we could have been good friends".
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| In Memoriam MICHAEL DAVID TANNER (August 5, 1999 - June 21, 2020) Repentant at the end |
Requiescat in Pace
Monday, February 5, 2018
WEARING SHORTS IN MY FAVORITE POSITION
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| Muy sabroso, ¿no? |
When I was six, my mother, having no visible means of support and raising a young child, had no other alternative than to move back in with her parents. Her father, a man who despised my own father, immediately ordered me to take off the clothing which I was wearing...jeans and sneakers...which ended up being thrown into a blazing fireplace. Looking through the rest of my clothing, he then proceeded to burn all the things which he found offensive. When it came time to go to school, he attired me in that clothing which he felt was proper for a young man...white long-sleeved shirts, black knee-length shorts, black dress knee socks and black dress shoes. This was the only kind of clothing I was ever permitted to wear at home and at school while I was living under his roof.
I was seven when I wore shorts to school for the very first time. I remember looking around and noticed that I was the only boy wearing shorts and knee socks in the entire class. I got into trouble and was sent to stand in the corner. When the teacher noticed that I was looking at the class, she ordered me to turn around and face the corner at attention. I recall the humility I felt...to be standing there, facing the corner with my
kneebacks facing the entire class. I wept silently as I thought about the other boys staring at my naked kneebacks and giggling. When my period of punishment was finished, the teacher had me resume my seat, which I did while some boys who sat closest to me were still giggling and smiling while looking at my knees. At the end of the day, the teacher had me stay behind while she composed a letter of admonishment addressed to my grandfather. All would have been well and I would have hidden the letter or threw it away had the teacher not order that I return the letter to her the next morning...with my grandfather's signature on it!
That clinched it. The minute I brought that letter home and gave it to my grandfather, I would be punished. And if I didn't return it to the teacher with his signature on it, I would also be punished. So I had to make a decision...be punished by my grandfather by his belt against my butt or stand facing the corner for an entire day. I decided that it would be best for me to have my classmates staring at my kneebacks for six hours and being sent to the principal's office afterwards. However, I later found out that the principal called my grandfather and informed him that I had disobeyed the teacher. So the old man ended up lashing my butt with his belt in any case...while I laid face down upon my bed.
I continued to wear shorts and knee socks until my father got custody of me in 1983, when I was twelve years old. Even during the court proceedings, I had to wear shorts and knee socks. Me...a boy nearly thirteen years old, the age when I would be considered to be a man in my religion. My father won the case in absentia and, because he lived in Florida and the case was in New York City, temporary custody was awarded to his father's cousin, who happened to be my attorney. Under his guardianship, I received the first pair of trousers I had worn in six years...and it felt great!
When I finally got to move to South Florida to live with my father, I found that I would get to wear shorts again...at my own discretion. I found that I had started to love it while I was still in New York. I also found that I loved laying face down while wearing shorts. And when school started, I found that I wanted to wear shorts to school once again...especially since the average temperature at the time I started to attend school was anywhere between 85 and 90 degrees. The only difference between attending school in New York and Florida...I wouldn't be expected to have only my knees visible during cool times. I would be expected to wear trousers to school between the months of November and March. When I did my homework, I relished doing it while laying on my stomach with my kneebacks facing the ceiling. And when class was held outside on a warm, sunny day, I relished laying prone while being propped up on my elbows with my kneebacks facing the blue, cloudless sky. I also found that other students loved seeing me in this position and would deliberately come near so they could get a good look at my thighs, calves and kneebacks.
And I wasn't the only one who loved laying face down while wearing shorts. So did my dad! He loved wearing shorts every day in any kind of weather. Dad used to be a crossing guard and loved working while wearing shorts. He told me about one day where he went to work wearing his uniform shirt, black mid-thigh cargo shorts, white athletic knee socks and sneakers and how so many of the boys he crossed looked at his kneebacks as they walked behind him. He said that even many of the male drivers of the cars that went by also looked at his exposed legs. While I lived with him, he taught me how to better appreciate my legs by laying on his stomach and running his hands along the back of my thighs and calves, finally extending his tongue and licking my kneebacks. Then, I asked him which of my shorts he thought I looked best in...to which he replied my mid-thigh cut-offs with athletic knee socks and below-the-calf socks. And when I asked him which position he thought I would look better in to accentuate my legs, he answered "face down and at attention". I found out later on this was the same exact position he liked to lay down dressed in shorts!
When Jen came along, it was the happiest day of my life. It happened when the Academy of Dramatic Arts and her finishing school put a dance together. There were twice as many boys at the Academy at the time than girls...so it seemed only natural to do this. When I saw Jen sitting dejectedly in a seat at the wall, I wanted to go over to her. My friends tried to warn me off her because she was a third-degree black belted martial artist and none of the boys wanted to dance with her. I decided to take my chances. And I'm sure glad I did! I approached Jen, held out my hand and asked her if she wanted to dance. She lifted her eyes and saw my smile. She took my hand and slowly rose from the chair and started dancing with me. Of course she was a bit clumsy at first, stepping on my feet (and scuffing my highly polished shoes). But, I didn't mind. After all, I did get this beautiful wallflower on her feet for the rest of the evening. We were inseparable from that day on.
When we came down to South Florida to stay with my father during the summer break, Jen got to see my well-built legs for the first time. Not a day went by that I didn't wear either shorts or swimsuits. Jen got a kick out of seeing me wearing mid-thigh shorts and athletic knee socks, laying on my stomach as I watched television or read a book or script. She would sit in a chair overlooking me, looking at my kneebacks and whatever of my thighs she could see. And when I was laying on my stomach either by the pool or at the beach, she relished putting sunscreen on my back and my thighs, calves and kneebacks.
When we started attending college at the University of Central Florida in Orlando, she went to visit her mother and father in Punta Gorda. I stayed behind to work on furnishing our off-campus apartment. I soon realized that the apartment was haunted by a savage spirit that loved the back of my legs, especially scratching, biting and eating them while I was hanged by an invisible rope. I passed out during the experience. When I woke up an hour later, I walked to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and noticed that my legs were in one piece and no sign of a rope could be seen around my neck. Nevertheless, I got on the phone and telephoned a parapsychologist who came over and proceeded to exorcise the spirit. When I told him that the spirit began its attack when I was laying face down upon my bed, he told me to take the same position. No sooner did I do so than the spirit started raking the back of my legs, digging deeper into my kneebacks. I blacked out from the pain. The parapsychologist started his work. When I woke up again, he told me that the spirit had been exorcized and to call him if and when the spirit should retrun. I never told Jen about my unseen attacker or the incidents which occurred in our apartment.
When the time came for me to finally meet Jen's folks, I decided that I would dress in a white long-sleeved shirt, white mid-thigh dress shorts, white dress knee socks and white dress shoes, finishing off the ensemble with a white sports jacket. People around Punta Gorda must have thought I was the "bee's knees" because all the men couldn't take their eyes off me...especially when my back was facing them, giving them a fabulous view of my kneebacks and lower thighs. I began to fantasize about what those men were thinking about...how some of them wish they could see me hanging at the end of a rope, dressed as I was and baring my visible legmeat to my viewing public and how others dreamed about licking my kneebacks and biting my thick, meaty thighs as I strangled to death. With these thoughts running through my mind, Jen and I proceeded to enter her parents's house to have dinner.
After dinner was finished, Jen decided to take a walk with her parents while I stayed behind, looking to see what was playing on cable TV. Then, an urge came over me...an urge to watch TV while laying prone on the carpet with my hands at my sides and my naked thighs and kneebacks facing the ceiling. By the time Jen returned with her parents, the urge had passed. They all found me sitting in the chair, reading the local paper. I stood up and welcomed them upon their return. Her father had quite a few questions he wanted to ask me. Jen and her mother went to make the guest rooms ready for us. When the news finished at 11:30, we turned off all the lights and proceeded to go to our bedrooms while Jen's father turned on the alarm so we would be protected while we slept.
The next day, I dressed myself in a shimmel shirt which bore my well-developed abs, mid-thigh denim shorts, ankle socks and sneakers and went with Jen and her parents to Busch Gardens. When other women, young and old, looked at me, I was greeted with wolf-whistles and occasional pinches on my butt. I didn't mind the attention...but it drove Jen a bit livid. Her father asked me why I even permitted other women to touch me in front of his daughter. When I told him that I was a model as well as an actor, he began to understand. Touchy-feely, as well as wolf-whistling, came with the modeling territory. But, I told him that since I first met Jen when I was 15, no other young women interested me. We finished talking and enjoyed the rest of the day at Busch Gardens before having a late dinner and returning to Punta Gorda.
When we returned to our apartment in Orlando, I found a letter waiting for me. I took it outside and read it under the balcony lighting. It was from the parapsychologist who exorcised the spirit that was attacking me in the apartment. It appears there were several others ghostly attacks of young men laying face down and wearing shorts in the apartment over the past thirty years. Each young man complained about a spirit who scratched and bit their legs every time they lay on their stomachs. Each time the spirit was exorcised and each time the spirit returned, renewing its attacks with much more vigor than before. One young student got so frazzled from the attacks that he went to Wekiva National Park and, dressed in a tennis uniform and athletic knee socks, hanged himself from a tall branch of a sturdy oak tree. Nobody knew about him until somebody complained of a stench like rotting meat. Where the smell was the strongest, they looked around and found the bloated, decomposing body hanging fifty feet above the ground. He told me that if this was the same spirit, it might return at an inopportune time...such as when Jen was present. He advised me to search for a new apartment near the university. Jen wondered about the need to search for another apartment. I was afraid to tell her for fear of what she might think...but I told her anyway. She immediately understood and we started searching for a new place near the college. When we found it, we informed the building manager about the haunting. He understood and tore up our contract. I allowed him to keep the deposit to hold him over until he was able to find another tenant...if he was able to. We took our furniture and clothing and moved out of the building and into our new apartment that same day. From that day, we had total bliss without any further attacks upon my legs, which had garnered so much loving attention when I played the sports in which they were displayed...especially soccer, where only my knees were seen.
Whenever we had a soccer game (and we lost because of me), I was ordered by the coach to lay face down on a bench in the locker room and to permit all of my teammates to lick, then cum, my kneebacks. To tell you the truth...I smiled whenever this punishment was inflicted upon me. Maybe it was because of a friend who drooled upon them when I was a kid in upstate New York when we played "Good Guy/Bad Guy". I really enjoyed feeling his tongue and saliva on my pre-pubescent kneebacks.
When Jen and I finally got married on June 25, 1999 I dreamed continually of when I would have a son to teach how to enjoy male kneebacks. Today, I am the lucky father of three sons...all of whom kiss, lick, bite and pin my kneebacks upon request and take pictures of their handiwork on their cell phones, making photographs of them on my printer. I now have ten photo albums of pictures of my kneebacks only...some of them showing my kneebacks being maligned by tongues, teeth, pins and flames (which are my favorite).
Today, I am 46. I will turn 47 on May 8th and will expect my male friends from childhood through college to attend a party where I shall lay face down in mid-thigh shorts and below-the-calf socks, making my thighs, calves and kneebacks available to their discerning palates, tongues and pins, topping the party off with utility lighters which they will skim along my meat.
I was seven when I wore shorts to school for the very first time. I remember looking around and noticed that I was the only boy wearing shorts and knee socks in the entire class. I got into trouble and was sent to stand in the corner. When the teacher noticed that I was looking at the class, she ordered me to turn around and face the corner at attention. I recall the humility I felt...to be standing there, facing the corner with my
kneebacks facing the entire class. I wept silently as I thought about the other boys staring at my naked kneebacks and giggling. When my period of punishment was finished, the teacher had me resume my seat, which I did while some boys who sat closest to me were still giggling and smiling while looking at my knees. At the end of the day, the teacher had me stay behind while she composed a letter of admonishment addressed to my grandfather. All would have been well and I would have hidden the letter or threw it away had the teacher not order that I return the letter to her the next morning...with my grandfather's signature on it!
That clinched it. The minute I brought that letter home and gave it to my grandfather, I would be punished. And if I didn't return it to the teacher with his signature on it, I would also be punished. So I had to make a decision...be punished by my grandfather by his belt against my butt or stand facing the corner for an entire day. I decided that it would be best for me to have my classmates staring at my kneebacks for six hours and being sent to the principal's office afterwards. However, I later found out that the principal called my grandfather and informed him that I had disobeyed the teacher. So the old man ended up lashing my butt with his belt in any case...while I laid face down upon my bed.
I continued to wear shorts and knee socks until my father got custody of me in 1983, when I was twelve years old. Even during the court proceedings, I had to wear shorts and knee socks. Me...a boy nearly thirteen years old, the age when I would be considered to be a man in my religion. My father won the case in absentia and, because he lived in Florida and the case was in New York City, temporary custody was awarded to his father's cousin, who happened to be my attorney. Under his guardianship, I received the first pair of trousers I had worn in six years...and it felt great!
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| Soon, legs would be seen again. |
And I wasn't the only one who loved laying face down while wearing shorts. So did my dad! He loved wearing shorts every day in any kind of weather. Dad used to be a crossing guard and loved working while wearing shorts. He told me about one day where he went to work wearing his uniform shirt, black mid-thigh cargo shorts, white athletic knee socks and sneakers and how so many of the boys he crossed looked at his kneebacks as they walked behind him. He said that even many of the male drivers of the cars that went by also looked at his exposed legs. While I lived with him, he taught me how to better appreciate my legs by laying on his stomach and running his hands along the back of my thighs and calves, finally extending his tongue and licking my kneebacks. Then, I asked him which of my shorts he thought I looked best in...to which he replied my mid-thigh cut-offs with athletic knee socks and below-the-calf socks. And when I asked him which position he thought I would look better in to accentuate my legs, he answered "face down and at attention". I found out later on this was the same exact position he liked to lay down dressed in shorts!
 |
| This was the first time I got Jen's butt, |
When we came down to South Florida to stay with my father during the summer break, Jen got to see my well-built legs for the first time. Not a day went by that I didn't wear either shorts or swimsuits. Jen got a kick out of seeing me wearing mid-thigh shorts and athletic knee socks, laying on my stomach as I watched television or read a book or script. She would sit in a chair overlooking me, looking at my kneebacks and whatever of my thighs she could see. And when I was laying on my stomach either by the pool or at the beach, she relished putting sunscreen on my back and my thighs, calves and kneebacks.
When we started attending college at the University of Central Florida in Orlando, she went to visit her mother and father in Punta Gorda. I stayed behind to work on furnishing our off-campus apartment. I soon realized that the apartment was haunted by a savage spirit that loved the back of my legs, especially scratching, biting and eating them while I was hanged by an invisible rope. I passed out during the experience. When I woke up an hour later, I walked to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and noticed that my legs were in one piece and no sign of a rope could be seen around my neck. Nevertheless, I got on the phone and telephoned a parapsychologist who came over and proceeded to exorcise the spirit. When I told him that the spirit began its attack when I was laying face down upon my bed, he told me to take the same position. No sooner did I do so than the spirit started raking the back of my legs, digging deeper into my kneebacks. I blacked out from the pain. The parapsychologist started his work. When I woke up again, he told me that the spirit had been exorcized and to call him if and when the spirit should retrun. I never told Jen about my unseen attacker or the incidents which occurred in our apartment.
 |
| What I wore when arriving in Punta Gorda. |
After dinner was finished, Jen decided to take a walk with her parents while I stayed behind, looking to see what was playing on cable TV. Then, an urge came over me...an urge to watch TV while laying prone on the carpet with my hands at my sides and my naked thighs and kneebacks facing the ceiling. By the time Jen returned with her parents, the urge had passed. They all found me sitting in the chair, reading the local paper. I stood up and welcomed them upon their return. Her father had quite a few questions he wanted to ask me. Jen and her mother went to make the guest rooms ready for us. When the news finished at 11:30, we turned off all the lights and proceeded to go to our bedrooms while Jen's father turned on the alarm so we would be protected while we slept.
The next day, I dressed myself in a shimmel shirt which bore my well-developed abs, mid-thigh denim shorts, ankle socks and sneakers and went with Jen and her parents to Busch Gardens. When other women, young and old, looked at me, I was greeted with wolf-whistles and occasional pinches on my butt. I didn't mind the attention...but it drove Jen a bit livid. Her father asked me why I even permitted other women to touch me in front of his daughter. When I told him that I was a model as well as an actor, he began to understand. Touchy-feely, as well as wolf-whistling, came with the modeling territory. But, I told him that since I first met Jen when I was 15, no other young women interested me. We finished talking and enjoyed the rest of the day at Busch Gardens before having a late dinner and returning to Punta Gorda.
When we returned to our apartment in Orlando, I found a letter waiting for me. I took it outside and read it under the balcony lighting. It was from the parapsychologist who exorcised the spirit that was attacking me in the apartment. It appears there were several others ghostly attacks of young men laying face down and wearing shorts in the apartment over the past thirty years. Each young man complained about a spirit who scratched and bit their legs every time they lay on their stomachs. Each time the spirit was exorcised and each time the spirit returned, renewing its attacks with much more vigor than before. One young student got so frazzled from the attacks that he went to Wekiva National Park and, dressed in a tennis uniform and athletic knee socks, hanged himself from a tall branch of a sturdy oak tree. Nobody knew about him until somebody complained of a stench like rotting meat. Where the smell was the strongest, they looked around and found the bloated, decomposing body hanging fifty feet above the ground. He told me that if this was the same spirit, it might return at an inopportune time...such as when Jen was present. He advised me to search for a new apartment near the university. Jen wondered about the need to search for another apartment. I was afraid to tell her for fear of what she might think...but I told her anyway. She immediately understood and we started searching for a new place near the college. When we found it, we informed the building manager about the haunting. He understood and tore up our contract. I allowed him to keep the deposit to hold him over until he was able to find another tenant...if he was able to. We took our furniture and clothing and moved out of the building and into our new apartment that same day. From that day, we had total bliss without any further attacks upon my legs, which had garnered so much loving attention when I played the sports in which they were displayed...especially soccer, where only my knees were seen.
 |
| Whenever I played soccer, these lovelies were licked and cummed by my teammates! And, guess what? I loved it...and still do! |
When Jen and I finally got married on June 25, 1999 I dreamed continually of when I would have a son to teach how to enjoy male kneebacks. Today, I am the lucky father of three sons...all of whom kiss, lick, bite and pin my kneebacks upon request and take pictures of their handiwork on their cell phones, making photographs of them on my printer. I now have ten photo albums of pictures of my kneebacks only...some of them showing my kneebacks being maligned by tongues, teeth, pins and flames (which are my favorite).
Today, I am 46. I will turn 47 on May 8th and will expect my male friends from childhood through college to attend a party where I shall lay face down in mid-thigh shorts and below-the-calf socks, making my thighs, calves and kneebacks available to their discerning palates, tongues and pins, topping the party off with utility lighters which they will skim along my meat.
 |
| See you then! |
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