KNEEBACKS!!!

     KNEEBACKS!!!

Sixteen adolescent kneebacks face skyward as a teacher looks on!

     They're the one part of a man's (and boy's) legs that really attract the attention of another male who hungers to look at them with the anticipation of putting his tongue to them. Since I've come to Los Angeles, and eventually to Malibu, I've met over ten thousand men and boys who tell me that I've got delicious-looking kneebacks...and half of them ask me if I would lay face down so they can lick them. Since I love showing off my legs (especially my kneebacks), what else could I do but give them what they want. I've been wearing shorts and showing off my meats since I was fourteen and permitting men and boys, friends and strangers, to bite my thighs and calves and lick my kneebacks. When I was attending the University of Central Florida in Orlando, I even allowed my kneebacks to be cummed if I was the reason my soccer team lost an important game. I would lay face down on a bench while every other player on my team exposed their penises and ejaculated their cum onto my handsome kneebacks. What bliss it was to feel that smooth white cream wet and dry upon my kneebacks!

     Since I came to Los Angeles twenty-three years ago, I've shown my kneebacks eight thousand times, got three-quarters that amount of compliments on what beautiful kneebacks I have, had over five thousand requests from men and boys who wished to lick my kneebacks (and bite my thighs and calves in the process)...and the one weird request to permit a teenager to set my meats on fire and eat them while I am still alive!

     I have collected some pictures of other actors and models with beautiful kneebacks and put them together with tales of fancy. Let me tell you their stories:

SASHA KASDAN

Don't my kneebacks look tempting?

     Where is the best place to begin when I'm talking about kneebacks? Why, the best place to start is with my own! After all, I've been showing them off since I was living with the two elderly people I hated the most when I was a kid...my maternal grandparents.

     When I was six, my mother and I were forced to move in with her parents in New York City because my mother was being hounded by a woman from the Department of Childrens's Affairs, threatening to take me away and placing me under foster care. My grandfather, who hated my father, searched through my clothes and burned my trousers, athletic socks and sneakers and forced me to wear shorts, saying that a boy wearing shorts would learn better and show more respect for his elders. When school started, I went to class attired in a long-sleeved shirt, black dress shorts, black dress knee socks and black dress shoes...even in below zero temperatures. When I came home, I was forced to do my homework on my stomach on the carpet. And heaven help me if that old bastard didn't look down and see my kneebacks!

     And being in school was even worse! There was one boy who hated me and constantly got me into trouble. So much so that when the teacher turned at the slightest interruption, it was me she caught in the act and not the other boy. The teacher told me to stand in the corner for one hour while the lesson continued. The other boy noticed that I was looking at the class. Gleefully, he told the teacher that I was not adhering to the rules of punishment. The teacher looked at me and twirled her finger, motioning me to turn and face the corner...thereby exposing my kneebacks to the class. I complied, crying while I did so. After school, the teacher had me stay behind while she composed a note to my grandfather, telling me to bring the note back the next day...with my grandfather's signature upon it!!!

     When I was twelve, my father, finding out all about me, won total custody of me in court in absentia. When I finally moved to Florida, I discovered that I could wear shorts and show off my kneebacks once again without impropriety. I had made a lot of friends in Florida. When my father purchased a movie prop...a hanging harness used in 1982 in a movie called "Eddie Macon's Run"...I decided to use it without my father's permission. I went into the garage...attired in a brown short-sleeved shirt, denim mid-thigh cutoff shorts, white athletic knee socks and sneakers...put the harness on under my shirt, put the noose about my neck and eased myself off a stool into a hanging position with my feet two feet off the cement floor. But, I did not pay very close attention to how my father used it on me when he first got the harness. The noose started tightening about my neck and, within minutes, my arms fell to my sides and I blacked out. Fortunately, my father came home and found me near death. With the help of some of my friends, he cut me down and resuscitated me. I learned my lesson after that...never to use my father's things without prior permission.

     When I had turned fourteen, my father enrolled me in the prestigious American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York City. On-campus, I learned acting, singing and dancing. Off-campus, I excelled in sports such as tennis, baseball and, especially, soccer...which became my lifelong passion, as I follow Manchester United, Emirates and all other teams and watch them on television when traveling to the games became an impossibility. I also started my modeling career in earnest, receiving a call one day to report to my handling agency within an hour. I was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and knee-length shorts. Not liking what I saw in the mirror, I rolled the sleeves up to just below my elbows and the legs of the shorts up several inches until I did like what I saw in the mirror. The photographer, however, did not like what he saw and told me to lower the sleeves and legs to where they belonged. The way he ordered me around was rewarded by a slap across the head by the designer, who told me to put the sleeves and legs back to the way I had them before he placed me in front of a young woman in an advanced state of pregnancy. The designer turned out to be Gianni Versace and the young woman was none other than Vicki Hogan, who would later become immortalized as Anna Nicole Smith. I continued print modeling while I finished at the Academy. When I graduated with honors in 1989 and varisty letters (for soccer, tennis, baseball, diving and gymnastics) and gold and silver medals (for gymnastics), I returned to South Florida and readied myself for the next four years of my education...at the University of Central Florida in Orlando.

The seal of the school where I was to earn Associate and Bachelor degrees!

     My four years at the University of Central Florida was just as fruitful as was my time at the Academy of Dramatic Arts, both academically as well as physically. My girlfriend, Jen (who I would later marry in 1999), accompanied me to Central Florida. She took several physical education classes at the University because of her martial artist rank of fourth-degree black belt. While I took classes in advanced dramatics, I also engaged in sports. Because of my self-love of my legs, the sports which I joined in were any that permitted me to wear shorts, such as tennis, gymnastics, lacrosse, basketball, volleyball and soccer...my favorite. I told the coach about the kind of punishment I received while at the Academy if we lost a game due to an error which I made. Although the coach did not like the idea, my teammates thought differently. So, whenever my team lost the game, into the locker room and face down at attention upon the bench I went, out came the penises and the cum from within the scrotums of each teammate that drenched my kneebacks and ran down the sides onto the bench, ultimately wetting the fronts of my knees. Out from my mouth came the long sigh of satisfaction upon feeling their smooth white cream as it coated my kneebacks. Thus was how it went between the years of 1989 to my graduation in 1993. I received not only an Associates degree in Drama in 1991and a Bachelors degree in both Drama and Journalism in 1993, I was voted most athletic, most handsome young man on campus, most perfect body and most handsome artist's nude model all during my four years in college as well as collegiate letters (for soccer, tennis, baseball, diving and gymnastics), gold and silver medals (for gymnastics and 10-meter platform diving) and gold and bronze medals (for 3-meter springboard diving). A year prior to graduation, my athletic ability earned me a place on both the Olympic gymnastic and diving teams...but I chose education over Olympian notoriety. After all, a career in sports would only last as long as my body did not break. An acting career, however, can last me until the day I die.

     Between the date of my graduation until April of 1995, I remained in Southern Osceola County in Central Florida, first working at Universal Studios Orlando and then, because of an incident with a leaking battery pack, a position as travel journalist-photographer with the Orlando Sentinel. Then, a fateful day while visiting my former haunt at the Studios brought me together with television producer Aaron Spelling (thanks to his daughter Tori). He gave me his card and told me to see him in Los Angeles about a job on a series called Models, Inc. However, upon my arrival in Los Angeles on April 15, 1995, I was informed that the series was cancelled earlier that day. So, there I way...no job, a place to stay at the local YMCA and only $100 in my pocket. Then, another fateful day occurred. While eating a lunch on the steps of a church on the famous Sunset Boulevard, I was spotted by the actor Brian Patrick Clark, who gave me his modeling agent's card after signing his name on the back. I returned to my room at the YMCA, showered and dressed in my suit (with a red and blue striped swimsuit underneath) and made my way to the office of Nina Blanchard. Upon meeting with me, Ms.Blanchard had the photographer take me down to the studio, where he took four or five rolls of pictures of me dressed in my suit and then in my swimsuit.

This was Ms. Blanchard's favorite picture of me in a swimsuit!

     Upon seeing my portfolio, Ms. Blanchard started "selling me to the highest bidders". One of the first who "took the bait" was Donatella Versace, the sister of the designer who officiated over the photography at my first photo shoot when I was attending the Academy. Her brother, which I later discovered, was murdered in cold blood by a maniac named Andrew Cunanan. She told me she wanted to take me to Italy and Greece for a three-month photo shoot. However, I did not wish to leave my girlfriend for so long a time. After all, she had just moved from Florida to join me in Malibu, where we stayed in the mansion which I would ultimately purchase in 1999 from Ms. Blanchard. Ms. Versace allowed me to bring Jen with me on the trip. On a day off in Greece, I traveled to Athens and, upon visiting a jewelry store, purchased an engagement ring. When we went to a spot in southeastern Greece on the Aegean, Ms. Versace had me attired in a Trojan-style toga and asked Jen to put on a dress for some pictures which were going to be in a collection called "Trojan Lovers". Since we were at a place where there was a blood red heart-shaped stone called the "Hellenic Love Stone", upon which any person who proposed would marry within twenty-four months, I got down on my knee, opened the jewel box and asked Jen to marry me. With tears in her eyes, Jen accepted. I stood up and put the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Overcome with emotion, Ms. Versace said that she would make Jen's wedding dress...her gift for the wedding, which took place in South Florida on June 25, 1999.

     In the nearly nineteen years since then...and, ultimately, six children (three of each)...my love for other men and boys delighting in biting my thighs and calves and licking my kneebacks has never waned. I continue to love feeling those teeth biting my meats and tongues licking my kneebacks will never diminish until the day I die and my body is consigned to the crematorium's flames.

AMBROSE OLSEN

He's dead, but his handsome kneebacks still invite admiration!

     On April 22, 2010, I was supposed to meet with fellow model Ambrose Olsen for an early breakfast before going for a photo shoot. When he hadn't shown up by 9 a.m., I went over to his apartment. He once told me where I could find a spare key to his apartment. I opened the door...and was shocked to see him hanging by his neck, dressed only in his black silk underwear and facing away from me. I went to the phone to call the police, who informed me not to touch the body, before returning to the body and placing my finger against the dead kneebacks to check as to whether he was warm or cold. His kneebacks were ice cold...meaning that Ambrose had to have been hanging there for more than a couple of hours. Long before the police and the coroner arrived, a strange temptation came over me. I bent down, stuck out my tongue and licked the cold dead kneebacks. The other pieces of meat, however, I could not bite due to the fact that the coroner would make casts of the bite marks, they would match my teeth...and I would probably be arrested for murdering him. Remembering about my saliva probably remaining on any part of his legs, I got a wet paper towel and wiped Ambrose's kneebacks dry. I took my cell phone, snapped some pictures of Ambrose's legs, kneebacks and face...and walked into the hallway to await the arrival of the police and the coroner. I waited and answered questions while the coroner spent another six hours examining the body as it entered the stage of rigor mortis and awaiting the arrival of the county "meat wagon".

     As soon as the meat wagon arrived, the attendants brought the gurney into the apartment. When the coroner had finished his report (another two hours), the body was released and taken down, placed face down upon the gurney, covered from the waist up and removed from the apartment to be taken to the coroner's lab to be prepared for an autopsy. I approached the coroner.

     "Why do you have to perform an autopsy?" I asked. "It's evident he committed suicide!"

     "Yes...but I have to check the internal organs to determine when he committed suicide, how long he had been hanging before you found him...whether he hanged himself before midnight or after. For the "date of death" box on the death certificate".

     "Oh". I checked my watch and looked at the C.S.I. police officer. "Do you need me anymore?"

     "Not at the present moment", he said. "But, give me your name and telephone number so I may reach you if there is any more information I need".

     I gave the officer one of my business cards and left. Luckily, no further information was needed. As for Ambrose's body? After the autopsy, he was dressed in one of his best suits, placed in the finest coffin money could buy, flown back to his hometown of Homer, Alaska and buried.

     In time, only the worms and maggots would get to taste what I could not. But...I still have my pictures of Ambrose Olsen hanging in his underwear to enjoy.

CHRISTOPHER WINSTON

These handsome lovelies belong to a California Baywatch lifeguard!

     I met Chris when I was working on the set of Baywatch in 1995. Since the producers of the show used beach locations, it seemed only reasonable to use many of the Los Angeles County lifeguards as extras. Chris noticed how easily I took to following the same rules as the real lifeguards. When we filmed an episode where I was one of the candidates, Chris was the timekeeper. When I returned to the beach after swimming out to a buoy, Chris showed David Hasselhoff and Alexandra Paul my time, which was forty-five seconds faster than the next fastest swimmer...so naturally, I was one of the five candidates who were chosen. And since I was the fastest, I had my choice of which beach I wanted to remain at. I chose Baywatch...the same post where Chris was stationed. I especially wanted to be posted here because this was the one where Michael Berk, Douglas Schwartz and Gregory J. Bonann chose to film the series with David Hasselhoff from 1989 to 2001.

     I went across the street from where I lived with other young male models and actors at the time...the same mansion where I live today with my wife and kids. I was always on time to report for work. The producers noticed this. They approached me and asked if I had any acting experience.

     Did I have any acting experience??? Why did they think I came out to California in the first place? After all, if it wasn't for Aaron Spelling, I would never have made the move from Orlando. The day I arrived in Los Angeles, his latest television venture, Models, Inc., was cancelled. If it wasn't for the fact that I was a model, Mr. Spelling would not have given me his business card. But, then  again...if it hadn't been for a chance meeting with actor Brian Patrick Clark, I would never have met Nina Blanchard and she would never have given me a portfolio to show the producers of Baywatch. They were all impressed with my pictures and experience, got me a pair of the red Baywatch shorts and put me to work right away.

     After working on the series for almost two years, I attended a beach party. Being a professional photographer, I brought my camera along...taking pictures of Hasselhoff, Alexandra Paul, David Charvet and many other stars of the show. I was especially attracted to Chris, who attended the party dressed in his red Baywatch shorts, Baywatch tee shirt, white athletic socks and sneakers. Being a consummate leg lover, I noticed Chris's well-proportioned kneebacks. I also noticed that his legs had virtually no hair! That meant getting a mouthful of tender, meaty thighs and calves without getting any hair stuck between my teeth. And those kneebacks!!! So tan and firm. Fine, delicious licking material for any male's tongue!

     But, first...I had to get Chris alone...someplace where we wouldn't be in the public eye. I went into the Headquarters building and down to the locker room. After fifteen minutes of not being among the participants at the party, Chris came into the Headquarters looking for me. Calling out my name and getting no reply, Chris came downstairs and entered the locker room. He looked around in the light that was able to enter the darkened room from the hallway. Chris reached for the switch to turn on the light, only to be met with darkness...thanks to my removing the bulb.

     "Sasha, are you in here?" he asked.

     "I'm over here", I replied softly, as though I had fallen and was barely conscious.

     Chris walked deeper into the locker room, distancing himself from the door beyond which was the only light that filtered into the room. The deeper he walked into the room, the darker the room became. His eyes tried in vain to accustom themselves to the darkness. But try as he could, Chris could not see anything in the ethereal darkness.

     Then, suddenly...

     The strike which forced him to fall prone on the floor came from nowhere. The new light which filled the darkened locker room came from a battery-operated overhead lamp. The switch that turned it on was in my hand. I walked over to the opened fuse box and screwed the fuse into the place...the fuse which would brighten the rest of the locker room. I closed the box and turned my attention back to the prone figure of Chris on the locker room floor, his tanned kneebacks facing the ceiling.

     I knelt down beside the unconscious form, my outstretched hands feeling the smooth meat. Then, I stretched myself out prone, my own kneebacks facing the ceiling, stuck out my tongue and, gingerly, licked the thighs, calves and kneebacks of my unconscious friend. Before I rose to my feet, I puckered my lips and kissed the handsome kneebacks.

     I then rose to my feet and left the locker room, turning back to look once more at the prone, unconscious form of Chris Winston. Smiling, I walked out of the Headquarters and returned to the party on the beach, turning to look every once in a while to watch for Chris coming out of the building and returning to the party himself. He saw me standing there, drinking an ice cold bottle of water. He came over to me and asked me where I had been. I told him that I went to the mens room and then returned to the party. Believing me, Chris went back to enjoying the party himself, never realizing that I was the one who knocked him out so that I could partake in licking his delicious thighs, calves and kneebacks.

BOBBY SHERMAN

My cousin told me how he wished he could have partaken in this!

     My cousin in South Florida once told me that he had always admired Bobby Sherman's legs when he had seen pictures of him wearing a swim suit. He said that he searched all over to find one of the then-28-year-old actor and singer laying on his stomach near a pool. He was totally excited when that picture showed the back of his right leg. He then waited for over twenty years until that same picture was published on the internet with the ability to enlarge it as big as he wanted so as to beautifully accentuate handsome kneeback  and delicious-looking meaty thigh and calf.

     He sent this picture to me, knowing full well that I would enjoy looking at this picture of meat, even though it was forty-six years old and in unappetizing black and white...and he was right!

     Today, the owner of the leg in the picture above is a 75-year-old father of two sons and a grandfather of six. He is also a police lieutenant but still finds time to indulge in his original love...singing onstage.

JON HERRMANN

A little thin...but still well-built and delicious-looking!

     This photo of Jon Herrmann's legs appeared as part of a full-body picture on the cover of a L.A. magazine called Male Model Scene in March, 2015. When I saw it, I knew I just had to enlarge it and add it to my online picture collection. I just loved looking at this young piece of meat. But what really attracted me was the handsomeness of what I saw between the shorts and athletic socks.

A pair just waiting to be slurped!

     But, as much as I loved looking at the thighs and calves, what I really loved and enlarged were the beautiful kneebacks. It turned out Jon was the one model who loved showing the back of his legs to the camera.

     

HOW A MAN CAN DIE...TWICE!

I will prove to you how a handsome man dressed in
shorts could die twice!

     Yes, it is true! A handsome man who prays that he would die while wearing shorts and showing off his delicious-looking thighs, calves and kneebacks can indeed die twice. I had seen it happen several times in my forty-seven years...and wish that it would happen to me, especially if I am dressed in the outfit I am wearing in the picture above. My beautifully tanned legmeat would tempt the teeth and tongues of men and boys before, during and after my second death...if and when it should happen. Let me tell you about one occurrence which I had been happily fortunate to witness.

     It was Tuesday, July 4, 2000. The Knee Lovers of America, a special group for men and teenage boys of which I had been a prize member of since 1990, was holding an Independence Day picnic at its private facility at Wekiva Springs State Park in Apopka, Florida. The climax of one of these special picnics was that one special person between the age of 18 to 30 would be chosen in a lottery as a "sacrifice". The day was nice...blue skies with clouds at a minimum and a high temperature of 93 degrees. All the attendees were comfortably attired in athletic tee shirts, short-sleeved tee or schimmel shirts, mid-thigh cargo shorts or cutoff jeans, below-the-calf or anklet socks and sneakers. For hygenic reasons, no one was permitted to wear sandals without socks. So no sandals were worn by any of the attendees. As I looked around me, I was astounded at all the hairless masculine legmeat which was available. All those handsomely muscular arms and modelesque legs with all those visible thighs, calves and kneebacks to tempt the teeth and tongues of the attendees who would be lucky enough not to be chosen for the "sacrifice".

I was the exception at that special Fourth of July picnic
back in 2000. I wore long sleeves and short shorts!!!

     As every one of us entered the park for the day's event, each car's driver was given the amount of tickets to match the amount of men and boys in the car. Upon each ticket was a consecutive number which would be read after the lunch. As I got out of my car, the dark quality of my tanned legmeat attracted everybody's attention. Little did I realize at the time that, when I turned my back to them, all eyes were riveted upon my kneebacks and the muscular meat above and below. I could only imagine that all the men and boys who I passed on my way to my picnic table must have been licking their lips in anticipation, hoping that I would be the one chosen for the "sacrifice".

     As I was eating my lunch, I was able to feel adoring eyes glancing at my naked thighs and calves. I kept on looking at the number at the top of my ticket. I closed my hazel eyes, secretly praying that the host would not choose my number, thereby saving my legmeat (and kneebacks) from further humiliation.

     After lunch, we all watched as the host of the picnic fashioned a hangman's noose and threw it over a strong branch of the nearest sturdy oak tree. As soon as was had finished, he turned to all of us.

     "And now, my friends...if you would just remove your tickets, fall flat on your stomachs and permit your hams, calves and kneebacks to bake in this beautiful hot sunshine while we pick the...ahem...unfortunate winner of our annual "sacrifice".

     We all removed our tickets from whatever pocket of our shorts in which we placed them, fell flat on our stomachs and exulted in the hot rays tasting my meats. True, since I wore short shorts and a long-sleeved linen shirt, I had the most meat displayed of anybody else in the group. I chanced to glance at my ticket. Was it the winning ticket? Would I be the unfortunate winner of the annual "sacrifice"? And, if so...what form of sacrifice would it be? I gazed at my number...KL7501293468MT.

     "All right, my friends. I have the winning number in my hand. Would the bearer of ticket number KL7501293468MQ please rise and approach me?"

     I released the pent-up breath which was in my lungs as I smiled, still looking at my number. I missed being chosen as the "sacrifice" not by a number but by one letter. As I glanced about me at the other prone and handsome young men about me, I noticed the unfortunate rise to his feet and, with his head down, approach the host.

     "You have my condolences, my friend". The host looked at all of us as we remained prone, the bright sun still beating down on our thighs, calves and kneebacks. "You may now rise and see who fate has chosen this year".

     We rose from our prone positions, the back of our meats stinging slightly from the hot rays of the Florida sun, and looked at the unfortunate one as he was turned to face us.

The unfortunate one chosen for the "sacrifice"!

     The unfortunate one was handsome and young...probably not more than twenty-three, twenty-five at the most...stood at six-foot-two, with dark blond hair and green eyes. He was clean-shaven and had no hair upon his handsome, slightly muscular meats. He was attired in a bright pair of white dress short shorts, white dress below-the-calf socks and white dress shoes. He also wore a white sports jacket, under which was a white silk short-sleeved dress shirt and bow tie. He looked as though he was fashionably ready to be chosen. The host brought forward a pair of handcuffs and a pair of ankle manacles.

     "What is your name, my friend?"

     "Hugo", came the answer.

     "Please put your hands behind your back".

     Doing as he was requested to, Hugo put his hands behind his back, permitting the host to place the handcuffs upon his wrists. Then, positioning the "sacrifice" beneath the awaiting noose, the host then knelt down and placed the manacles upon Hugo's ankles. The host reached up for the noose and lowered it into position about Hugo's neck, placing the knot under the young man's chin. When all was ready, the host had his assistant pull Hugo up off the ground until his feet were between twelve and fifteen inches from ultimate salvation. After Hugo had been hanging five minutes, I noticed that there were no death throes running through his legmeat.

     The host turned to the rest of us.

     "Everybody to the ball field!" he shouted.

     As everybody else hurried from the sacrificial site, I approached the host with a puzzled look on my face.

     "But he isn't dead!" I told him.

     "Nor will he be for at least four hours, my friend", he replied. "You see, this "sacrifice" is a special case. Hugo was hanged like this because death can not only be attained with the rope against the larynx and epiglottis, cutting off the windpipe and breaking the neck. There are nerves and muscles at the back of the neck which control other nerves and muscles of the face. As the major muscle weakens, the nerve which controls the face are afflicted. When this happens, the eyes open wide and rarely blink. The sardonic muscles are also effected. These muscles controls those which cause us to smile. As the area is further effected, the spinal disc become enflamed and rupture; the fluid leaking from them weaken the spinal bones, which crack and, soon, cut the spinal cord, finally killing the "sacrifice". When we return after five hours of fun, I will place my thumbs against Hugo's kneebacks and feel for a pulse. When I don't find one, we will then examine Hugo's face. His eyes will be glazed but still staring at the sky and there will be an eternal smile upon his face, giving him the appearance that he was happy to be hanged to death at the picnic. His dead body will then be taken down, decapitated, disrobed and butchered for our barbecue dinner".

     "You mean we're going to eat him?"

     "Of course! After all, a dead human body, when thoroughly and properly cooked, would taste just like beef or any other meat which we slaughter for our consumption".

     "Have you ever eaten a dead body before?"

     "Once. When I was fifteen, my neighbor's house burned to the ground in the early morning. The man was a widower and lived in the house with only his nineteen-year-old son. I used to watch his son play basketball with his friends and noticed that he had beautifully muscular legs and licked my lips in wonder".

What the host had seen before the fatal fire!

      "You dreamed about eating him?"

     "Well, you should have seen him when he was alive! He may have been five-foot-ten and about one hundred and ninety pounds...but he was solid and firmly packed. Anyway, the night of the fire, the son...his name was David...had a fight with his father. The man had been drinking heavily and was probably in a drunken stupor and chain smoking when he fell asleep and started the fire. By the time David woke up, the whole house was already a blazing inferno. I was the only one home at the time because my father was on his honeymoon with his recent trophy-wife. I watched as the house burned and heard David screaming for help".

     "Well, surely other people would have called the fire and police departments!"

     The host shook his head.

     "Our houses were the only ones on that block. The nearest neighbor was about three-quarters to a mile away. I had the pleasure of watching that house burn to the ground all to myself. Anyway, when I rummaged through the remains of the house after it had sufficiently cooled, I found the skeletal remains of David's father among the burned frame of his chair. I walked into what used to be David's room and found him laying prone on the floor, burned beyond recognition, with smoke still rising from his once-beautiful body. The smoke reached my nose...and I got the whiff of roasted almonds. I realized that this was what a dead body smelled like after it was totally cooked. I figured...why should I let this beautiful body go to waste now that it was dead? I went back home, got dressed in my tee shirt and shorts, retrieved a blanket, went back to the remains of David's house, rolled his body onto the blanket and pulled it deep into the woods that our street ended in. I knelt down and touched David's thigh, which, to my amazement, broke open under my touch. I reached further in and found that David's body had been cooked all the way to the bones. I ripped away a chunk of David's thigh, put it in my mouth, chewed and swallowed it".

     "How did it taste?"

     "Not bad. It was a bit stringy and tough...but still very chewy and delicious. A lot like roast beef. I liked it so much that I tore the entire leg loose from the hip...which wasn't too hard to do...and ate it down to the bones. Then, I returned to the other leg and did the same. I finished both legs before sunset that day and went home. When I went back into the woods the next morning, the rest of his body was gone. No doubt stolen by wild animals".

     "Do you ever think about him?"

The rest of his burnt body was never found!

 

 

     "Every time we hold these Knee Lovers picnics". 

 

     The host looked down at my legs.

 

     "I noticed that you looked relieved when the number was chosen. Why?" he asked.

     "Every letter and number were the same...except the last letter. My number ended with a T".

     "Whereas Hugo's ended with a Q. You are lucky, my friend. Otherwise, you would have been hanging while Hugo played with the rest of us".

     "Yeah...and my body would have been barbecued for dinner tonight!"

     The host glanced down at my tanned, well-muscled meat, looking them over and licking his lips.

     "Yeah!" He patted my shoulder and smiled. "Well, let's leave Hugo to hang in peace and contemplate what is going to become of his body...especially his legmeat...and join the others!"

Well, we played sports for the next five hours and returned to find Hugo right
where he was hanging, his glazed blue eyes facing the cloudless blue
sky and an eternal smile on his still-handsome face. Like the boy
the host ate when he was fifteen, Hugo also tasted great. I was
lucky again. I got a whole thigh and a kneeback!
HOW SWEET IT WAS!

     If you should wish to either join or form your own Knee Lovers branch, I can tell you how. Email me at:

sashak1971@aol.com.

     Remember...the main rule is that all members must wear shorts and socks but not block thighs, calves and kneebacks.

MY BOYS' FACE DOWN "MEAL"

Meat displayed not as far up as the boo-tay!

     Tied up face down upon my bed with my hands tied behind my back and my feet tied tightly at my ankles, dressed in mid-thigh cargo shorts and white below-the-calf athletic socks and a coffee table edition book wedged beneath the front of my knees in order to tighten my thighs, calves and  kneebacks...and my wife and daughters out of town for a weekend. This is what my three sons have to look forward to...to set their teeth upon my thighs and calves and their tongues and lips upon my kneebacks.

A DAY IN MY APPOINTMENT BOOK

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.

How I met my "tasters".

     "Good morning, Mr. Tucker", I said. "Welcome to The Tasting Room. I am your host, Sasha Kasdan".

     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".

What Mr. Tucker and his sons would taste.

     Mr. Tucker approached the table upon which my prone body rest, sedated for the morning's enjoyment. He placed his hands upon my thighs and calves, nervously at first, thinking that he would be touching nothing but fake "food". When he felt warm skin under his probing hands, he breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at my smiling hologram.

     "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!"

Mr. Tucker's sons stuck out their tongues upon my handsome kneebacks!

     My hologram vanished into thin air as the boys, Michael and Daniel, beat their father. Their tongues touched my kneebacks from their border against my thighs to the top of my calves. Michael looked up at his father, licking his lips.

     "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.

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!

Who knows? These may be in your mouth someday!

MY HANGING PLEASURE

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.

These kneebacks are the last things the guards see as the ravenous
sharks eat my thighs and pull me underwater and
out of sight!

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!

WHO KILLED THE CAPTAIN OF THE SWIM TEAM?

The team captain died face down in his white shorts...
with an AK-47 rifle's bullet in his back!

     The handsome young captain of the college swim team lay face down dead on the grass of his dormitory, the still-smoking bullet hole in the center of his back and blood underneath his chest soaking the ground. A second bullet hole, this one made from a regular 22 caliber pistol, was at the crown of his head. His pale kneebacks, once fairly tanned, were stretched tight and the front of his knees were off the ground, due to the pressure from the pistol's bullet on his brain.

LEAVE THE STATE DECIDE!

It would be delicious to see this handsome guy executed dressed like this!

     Wednesday, June 10, 2020:

     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!

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".

In Memoriam

MICHAEL DAVID TANNER

(August 5, 1999 - June 21, 2020)

Repentant at the end

Requiescat in Pace