Chapter 7

1989

Michelle and I continued our weekly visits over the next couple of years. Conjugal visits were limited to once per month, so those times were very treasured. Other visits were spent discussing her classwork or current events. For a young woman, she was incredibly bright. I’m not exactly sure when we fell in love, but it happened over time when she was in college. Occasionally when I was sitting in my cell at night, I would think back to our first “adult” visit.

I got the notification about 12:30, and our visit would start at 1 pm and run until 4 pm. The guard, his name was Mike, told me to get cleaned up and winked. Mike was a decent enough fellow as far as guards went.

I washed up well using soap and my small sink. Then I put on my remaining fresh prison garb and impatiently awaited my escort. Mike showed up at about 12:55, and we walked over to the Family Room. Michelle was sitting there, looking nervous, wearing a more conservative dress than the previous week.

We were given the lecture by one of the guards on the rules, and then we were whisked off to a fairly nondescript cement block room with a medium-sized bed, two chairs, and not much else. There were a couple of condoms on a small table by the bed.

When the door closed, Michelle walked over to the bed slowly and sat down. She looked up at me, disappointment scrawled across her face. This wasn’t going to be good news.

“I’m so sorry ... I got my period.” She was in tears.

The monster, who had smacked a line drive to the deepest part of the park earlier on the walk over and was rounding third when the door closed, tripped and fell, landing five feet short of home plate.

Take the high road.

“It’s okay, Michelle, really,” I started, and as I did, I saw her face transform from one of sadness to one of amusement.

“Kidding!” she exclaimed and flipped up her dress, showing me again that she wasn’t wearing panties.

The monster stood up, dusted himself off, faced the burly catcher who was smiling while holding the ball and standing on home plate, and then punched him square in the face, knocking him the fuck out!

As I smiled and moved toward her, she bounded off the bed with the enthusiasm of youth and launched herself into my arms. Our kissing was hot and frantic, tongues not performing any ballet but more of a manic salsa while our clothes were shed haphazardly.

Then Michelle pulled back a fraction, looked me in the eye, and said with a twinkle in hers, “Look, it has been a while for you. We have a few hours. Let me do something, and then you won’t pop so quickly the second time.” And with that, she descended to her knees as I began my ascension toward heaven.