American Gulag

I grew a new body. The effects of constant exercise, PT tests, a near starvation diet and forced marches resulted in a new body - a stronger one indeed, but over 100 pounds lighter. After almost nine weeks of running 5 miles a day, doing calisthenics twice a day, running that PT test twice a week and a 25-mile force full pack march once a week, plus the meager food rationed out to me, my progress was spectacular. I could feel my ribs. I was captivating strutting passed mirrors. I had a new sense of confidence; but that did not endear me to everyone. My progress was so spectacular that I was made platoon leaderP, a position that did not endear Krasnar and others.

One day, we had finished a late evening PT test and returned to the barracks. I was sweaty and gritty. I was in no mood for Krasnar, but he was in my face.

"What was that shit you were chanting when while you ran the mile?" he snapped.

I had taken to chant while I ran. This helped my pace up and improved my stamina.

"None of your business," I said.

"I heard you," he said. "Never give up, the Lord is with me!"

He began to sing-song my chant.

"Yeah, asshole," I said. "My faith gets me through all this. Do you mind?"

"You are the biggest fucking hypocrite in this place. 'Never give up - the Lord is with me.' Hon, you should drop that shit and just sing show tunes like the rest of us. In Judy Garland is our hope."

"Listen, just get away from me."

"Let's not bicker boys," said Chauncier. "We had a nice evening in the park; and I want to sleep without worrying about you two."

"Go carve something will you," snarled Krasnar.

"Krasnar, just go back to you bunk," I commanded.

"O the big ass Platoon leader is giving me an order. O yes you lordship - I'm going now."

Krasnar bowed and scraped to me as he returned to his space.

"Bastard," I mumbled.

"Listen," he said, "you're not so fit now that I couldn't beat your ass to crap."

"Get back here," said Avilia to Krasnar, "before you get yourself into real trouble."

Krasnar backed down. I just wanted to shower. I stripped quickly, my back to the world; and hid myself in a towel. I knew my new sleeker form was attracting attention, especially from Chola. He remembered seeing me in the shower when he first came here, when I had more rolls of fat than his Eskimo mother. Now I looked different to him. I just had little love handles and was hanging a bit like trigger. I went into the latrine, grabbing my ditty bag on the way. I stopped before the mirror. I remember not recognizing myself. My jowls were gone; and my face was quite appealing. I let the towel fall and admired myself full scale. After all, I watched every drop of fat drip away before my eyes on that Gymnasium floor. I had earned the right to preen a little; or even a lot if I choose to do so.

The water was hot and steamy. It revived me. As I lathered up, I sang. I loved the way my voice reverberated there. I remember, I sang "Tit Willow" from from Gilbert & Sullivan's The Mikado:

"On a tree by a river a little tom Tit,

"Sang willow tit, willow, tit willow.

And I said to him dickie bird, why do you sit,

Singing willow, tit willow tit willow."

"The Mikado?" came a voice.

I knew at once that it was Chola. I was startled at first; and very conscious of being naked in front of him.

"Yeah," I said soaping up, "the Mikado. Are you . . . "

"Yes," said Chola, "I love Gilbert & Sullivan. I know the Mikado well."

He began to sing and imitate a Japanese woman.

"Three little maid from school are we,

Pert as a school girl well should be."

I joined in singing and laughing:

"Filled to the brim with girlish glee.

Three little maids from school."

I was embarrassed. It sounded great with the reverberation, but I had never sang the girl’s part in public. I must admit, I had often sang Yum Yum in private. My mother used to yell at me when I sang the girl's part. But it paid off, because, when I started singing in church and in choruses, I was categorized, "a boy soprano," and a damn good one too.

"What's the matter, Gibbs?" said Chola. "Don't be ashamed to sing the girl's part. We're just singing good music. It has no other meaning."

He shucked his towel and turned his shower on. I watched his every move, his every captivating move. As he soaped up, he sang.

"'The sun whose rays are all ablaze, with ever living glory;

Cannot deny his majesty, he means to tell a story.'

Wow, hear the in echo in here. Did you ever notice how butch we sound in the shower?"

"I always sing in the shower," I said.

"You have a good voice," he said. "Did you study?"

"At the Brooklyn Conservatory of Music," I said. "Opera."

My eyes wandered to Chola's crotch. I could not help it. If I ever did that with other men, I risked a beating. But, I knew Chola wanted me to see, so I rested my eyes there as long as I could.

"Well it shows," he said. "Your voice. And you know what else shows."

"Don't go there," I said covering my crotch.

"No, really," said Chola. "You're too self-conscious. You blame yourself needlessly. You've lost so much weight. I know they torture us here, but such an achievement to loose so much weight. You've blossomed in all the right places."

"Did I have a choice?" I said. "But I must admit it's nice to touch my ribs. I didn't even know I had ribs. I've been big since age 13."

"And I see other improvements as well," said Chola, "You know, the smaller you get, the bigger you get."

"Stop," I said. "Just stop that. Take your shower and go."

I turned away, but I could feel his eyes on my ass.

"You know I'm not queer," I said.

He came near me, near my ear. I could feel his breath and his soft skin.

"I know no such thing," he whispered. "I don't believe in categories and labels. We live in the moment; and whatever floats your boat is OK. But looking at the state of things down there, I can only say that you are either aroused by something in this shower; or maybe it's the Gilbert & Sullivan."

He was so close to me. I felt my skin tingle. I was feeling the passion welling from within; but I did not know what to do. I turned around shaking. We were chest to chest.

"Help me!" I whispered.

Chola gently embraced me, kissing me on the cheek removing my hands from my crotch replacing them with his own hands. Then he took my hand and put it on his crotch. We pressed together.

"What's this I see?" said Krasnar walking in on us.

"Shit," I said to Chola pushing him away. "Get away from me you queer!"

I pushed him hard. He fell hitting his head on the tiles. I grabbed my towel and went back to my bunk. I sat on my footlocker holding my head.

"What's wrong Gibbs?" said Hertbie. "Aren't we gonna go over the General Orders tonight?"

"No. I'm in no mood."

"But the test's tomorrow," he pestered.

"No!" I shouted. "Don't you understand English!"

"OK," said Hertbie.

He sat back on his bunk sniveling.

"Don't be so rough," said Chancier.

I felt bad. I did not mean to take it out on Hertbie.

"Shit. Hertbie, don't cry," I said. "I'm just upset."

Chola returned, holding his head, with Krasnar trying to assist. Avilia and Chauncier nursed Chola's wound. It was a little cut, but it bled a lot. The towel was sopping red.

"I told Chola to be careful of that prick," said Krasnar. "But if I didn't walk in on them just now, Gibbs would have lost his cherry!"

I had it. That remark set me off. I came up behind Krasnar and tackled him to the floor. He turned on me with surprise. I smacked him about the head and gave him a shot in the belly before Avilia and Huey pulled me off him. I looked at them all. The whole Platoon was starring at me with surprise. I pointed to Chola.

"That fucking faggot," I said, "tried to molest me in the shower. Pretty boy is a worthless piece of shit! Now, I'm not putting up with this. You can act up among yourselves all you want, but don't come near me with that shit again."

"I may be a worthless piece a shit," said Chola, "but I'm a wonderful piece of ass - and you'll never know it. And you wanted it. I'm an expert at this and I know."

I went to grab at Chola, but Huey intervened. I went back to my footlocker. The towel had fallen during the fight. I needed to cover up. I was determined not to give these queers any more of a show. Chauncier began his usual crying.

"Jesus, watch over us," he said. "I can never understand why we find a need to dig our own graves, while others are standing watching us do it. Don't you all know how much they love to see us tear each other apart?"

"I'm not one of you," I said. "I want all of you to get in gear and get in bed. Lights out in five minutes."

Krasnar was licking his wounds. He was suddenly acting like Clarence Darrow for the defense. I tried to ignore him.

"You all saw that!" he said. "I should bring him up on charges."

"Cool your jets," said Avilia. "You're just as much at fault as Gibbs. You've been goading him since he got here."

"I really do not need anyone to speak up for me," I said. "Lights out in five minutes."

"Are you all right?" said Huey to Chola.

"I'm fine," he said, the blood already scabbing on his pretty face, "But Gibbs there, is not. And you, fuck-boy, Krasnar, I don't need anyone going bizerko for me. I didn't need for you to come in on us. You knew what was going on, yet you still came in and created this mess. So don't bad mouth Gibbs or any of us again, you bastard!"

"You ungrateful . . . ."

"Ungrateful!" said Chola. "I didn't ask you to come in; and I didn't ask you to provoke him! You're a cold son-of-a-bitch!"

Krasnar got huffy again. It looked like he was going to belt Chola. I was too upset to intervene, but Huey managed that.

"Just go to bed and jerk-off," said Chola with Huey to protect him. "That's all you can muster anyway."

"This is very unsettling," said Avilia.

"Well," said Chola as if I was not even in the room, "in Gibbs there's a warm heart - and it's alive and it's queer, dear."

"But we all know how that works," said Avilia. "We all know the sanctity of the closet."

"Not me," said Chola. "I've never been in the closet. I've been openly beat up, spit on, whipped, cursed, raped and passed about as fuck-fodder since age five. But I'd rather that, than be in the closet. So don't cry for me anyone. I love who I am and need no sympathy."

"I didn't mean . . ." said Avilia.

"I know you didn't, dear. But I tell you, Gibbs over there is percolating. He went into heat over me - so sensual. His eyes hazed over with passion and confusion. I was trying to lift that veil of confusion, when asshole came in and spoiled it. I tell you, I was about to perform a miracle - a fucking miracle. Just call me Mother Mary Diesel - this little flower was about to raise the dead. And he is a wonderful sight to behold. But, I guess, I'll settle for spaced-out Huey here. He may have his head and nose in the snuff, but his dick is worth the risk."

"Damn you, Chola," I said. "You are so full of shit it's coming out your nose. Just stop talking about it and me. I am in the room you know. I am!"

I stood up and felt like running away. What frustration!. I knew how I felt and what I did. I knew Chola knew exactly what he was talking about. But, it could not be this way. Not now; and not with these people. I went to the light switches.

"Lights Out!" I shouted hitting the switches.

Darkness. Except for Hertbie trying to light a little penlight to see the General Orders booklet, there was a sudden and unwelcomed darkness; an uneasy rest for all, especially me. I cried myself to sleep that night resenting the feelings I allowed myself to have and resenting the entire Platoon for not respecting me as their leader. There were no dreams that evening - just stirrings, clutched pillows and the gentle moans of Chola as he entertained Huey through the night.