When we had gotten back after a couple of hours of riding I suggested, "How about a nice cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows in it?"

"That would be wonderful," he says.

"Just sit down at the table and I will get it ready for us. Tell me something about your family, I'm curious."

As I am walking around in my thermals making cocoa, he says, "There isn't that much to tell really."

"Come on, there must be something."

"Well, my daddy would work all the time so I would only see him on the weekends. My mama was your basic dutiful housewife."

"I bet she worried a lot about where your father was," I say.

"If she did, she never showed it. Mama would always set a place for him just in case daddy came home. We always had leftovers because she would make enough for five. Oh, did I tell you about my two sisters?"

"No, I don't believe you did," I say as I sit down and hand Ulysses his cocoa. We both take a sip before he goes on.

"When I went off to the Marines, my sister Constance was thirteen, and my sister Beth was five, so I wasn't there for most of their growing up. When I would come home on leave, Beth and I would always do stuff like go to the park or make snow forts in the winter. By that time, Constance was already too much into boys, makeup, and fashion to be bothered with having fun. I guess, in a way I was Beth's adopted daddy.

"I bet it broke her heart when you left for Parris Island or was it San Diego?" I asked.

"Parris Island, but how did you know where the Marine boot camps are?"

"Just because I'm a land-loving civilian doesn't mean I haven't done any research about you leathernecks."

"I don't know if it did. I think she was just as proud as everyone else that I was going into the United States Marine Corps. I had heard that my daddy would brag to everyone he would meet about how his son was a Marine. He doesn't brag anymore," Ulysses says with his eyes downcast.

"And why the hell not?" I asked.

"I already told you. He is ashamed because I am a fag. It nearly broke him when he was at my court-martial. I being discharged for homosexuality. He even testified that the Marine Corps was no place for a filthy Sodomite, and that they should throw me in prison for such a disgrace," and Ulysses starts to cry. I grab onto his hands tightly.

"He sounds like a very cold man," I say.

"I loved him with all my heart and then he betrayed me like that. God tells me to forgive him, but I don't know if I can," he says now looking up into my eyes for some kind of guidance.

"I can't help you with that, it's something you have to come to terms with on your own. I have to forgive my own father for abusing my mother and brother. Sometimes I wonder if he can love at all. I can’t remember ever feeling any love for him. Perhaps I did when I was very young," I say.

"Maybe I was lucky then to have his love for as long did. I just don't know why this matters so much to him even though my daddy is a very religious man."

"Yeah, I know the type. When it comes to other people's behavior they follow the scripture to the letter, but when it comes to their own behavior they ignore it. People always think others should live to standards they set, but they themselves fall desperately short of these same goals. It is a form of hypocrisy I can't stand."

"Maybe you could talk some sense into him? I feel a big hole in my heart without his love," Ulysses requests of me like I'm some kind of savior that can make everything all right.

"I will only do this because you were there for me when I needed you. I can't guarantee results either. Ultimately it's up to your father to make the choice. I may even make the situation worse, if that's possible."

"Can you try?" he asks almost begging.

"I said I will. I think that's enough memories for one night. I have some Tchaikovsky tapes upstairs in my stuff. Let's just sit on the couch and listen to it for awhile. It really relaxes me. Then we can take a shower and get a good nights sleep," I say.

"OK" and Ulysses gets up and heads over to the couch in his white briefs and T-shirt. I dig through my suitcase and find the cassette tape. I walk back downstairs and put the tape into the stereo that is across from the couch. I sit down next to Ulysses and we hold hands through the music.

"That was beautiful, let's listen to the other side to," he says and gets up and turns the tape over. His stereo is pre auto-reverse. It has a couple of cassette slots, a turn table, and two floor speakers. It's sitting on an oak end table. I close my eyes and absorb the second side just as much as the first.

We take a nice hot shower and climb into bed, Ulysses on the right, me on the left. It's a king size mattress, so we both fit on it quite comfortably, but by morning we usually end up getting all entangled in each other's arms and legs.

Our talk tonight brought back many memories that had long since been buried, or so I thought. The most painful memory of my life was not that day in the hospital, but two years later at my court martial. That is when I learned the true meaning of UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice). It really stands for Ubiquitous Code of Military Jurisprudence. In other words, it exists only on paper, and it is totally up to one's commanding officer whether one receives justice or not. If publicity is involved, the Top Brass may well be pulling the court's strings. Many people make the mistake of choosing a military defense lawyer who is usually intimidated by superiors and rightly so. They may find themselves in the defendants position if they are not careful. Even with a civilian lawyer, it is totally up to the Judge Advocate General to decide what evidence or testimony will be used in deliberation of the case. The ‘jury’ can be stacked against the defendant by.the commanding officer or Top Brass too. If they want you to lose, you will lose.

Many people just don't realize how much power they have over your life when you sign on the dotted line. When you join, you are waiving your Constitutional Rights, even in peace time. Civilian courts have been openly and publicly defied by the military machine time and again. Politically, it closely resembles fascism, perhaps that is why it has often supported dictatorships in the past, which tend to be military in nature. To believe that the military was designed to promote peace and democracy, one has to be very gullible indeed.

This is not to say that fascism does not have its own advantages. When you need to quickly mobilize people and resources it is far superior to a democracy. A democracy is much more cumbersome, as more people are in the decision process, but its advantage is that more socially desirable actions will be taken. There is the old proverb, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. The real question is, can democracy survive without fascism? Can fascism survive without democracy?

These philosophical questions aside, I will get back to the court martial at hand. The prosecution's entire case rested on a single journal, my journal. Of course this was illegally obtained from my civilian residence that was repeatedly ransacked in order to obtain evidence against me. There was no court order, no proper method of submitting evidence, nothing that is the backbone of civilian defense. This was all started based upon suspicion alone. Soon blackmail provided as many witnesses and in whatever quantity or quality they desired. They even obtained a confession from me that any civil court would call coerced if not obtained through the use of torture.

People that manage to slip throw the fingers of the anti-homosexual dragnets rarely fair better. Permanently withholding promotions or writing bad service reports (even if they are an exceptional and decorated officer or enlisted man or woman). Or, they will assign you to janitorial duty even if you had previously been highly decorated. And if someone really doesn't like you, you could end up cleaning a nuclear reactor core without any adequate protection. On the other hand, commanding officers can shield their subordinates from investigations, but this is quite rare.

The situation for women is even more ghastly. A woman either puts out to every man that wants her or be titled a lesbian and quickly discharged. It’s disturbing that some people will go so far as to have sham marriages and relationships as a cover.

These activities are not uniform within the military. The services with higher machismo have much higher civil rights abuses. From least to most: Air Force, Army, Navy, and Marines. I don't know quite where to put the Coast Guard, and yes it's part of the military.

What makes me bitter is that after I had given my heart and soul to them, they turned around and stuck a knife so far in my back, that it will never come out. I really believed in the military way of life. Working sixteen hours a day for meager monetary compensation, risking my very life for them. What more can anyone give that is more cherished than their life? How can anyone consciously abuse such trust (the trust of putting my life in their hands)? How can they sleep at night knowing what they have done to me, and thousands like me every year without rest.

The biggest irony of all is that when it comes time to die for my country they stop their tyranny. I guess democracy prevails only in war, for it is then that I become indispensable. Those queers are good enough to die protecting their countries' interests, but they are not good enough to serve in peacetime. What a bitter irony I must live with to my last days.

"Mick, wake up, were going to be late for service," I say as I shake him awake.

"What? what are you talking about?"

"Were going to be late for church if you don't get your ass out of bed this minute," I say.

"Your joking right? Is this like some kind of bad dream?" as he grumpily gets out of bed and scratches his bear tummy.

"If you live in this household, I expect you to go to church with me," I say.

"I am not going to your church and that is final," Mick says as if this is actually going to happen.

"You'll go, damn it, even if I have to drag you there by the seat of your pants!" I bark at him in a manner that would make any DI (drill instructor) proud.

"Fine, I'll go, but I'll use as much passive resistance as humanly possible. You may well regret your decision," Mick says demonically.

"What the hell is passive resistance?"

"You'll find out," he says.

"And you had better behave or I'll give you a whoopin' right in front of the whole congregation," I say as a hollow threat.

"Yeah, you and what army? My army I suppose. Is this mutiny I hear?"

"I'm going to go make some breakfast. By the time I get back you had better have that fat ass of yours dressed and seated at the table," I say with finality.

Mick gets dressed while sulking the whole time. I have noticed that he has started to wear my skivvies, but I don't feel like discussing it with him now. If he loses some weight, will he start wearing my cloths too? In a way, it's kind of flattering. I'll give him five minutes to get dressed and shaved before I really start barking at him. I walk over to the table and try to enjoy my Sunday paper while I have the crepes frying on the stove.

"At this church of yours, do they have a confessional after the service?" Mick asks.

"Yes, feel the need to get something off your chest?"

"Perfect," he says.

"You know, I checked your record out. Not even a speeding ticket. That makes me suspicious. Nobody is that clean," I say.

"Like I told you, I'm just a perfect angel," he says with a sneer.

"I know your up to something, I just haven't figured it out yet," I say.

"My aren't we suspicious? and I thought I was paranoid."

"Paranoia nothing, I just know human nature," I say.

"Well we had better get going then. Let the games begin," he says in between mouthfuls of crepes.

"I am not even going to ask what that is supposed to mean. All right then, let's go," and we both grab our coats and head out to the truck. Mick gives me the silent treatment all the way into town.

We pull into Saint Dehlilah's Holy Trinity Church's parking lot. That's a mouthful to think let alone say. Mick voluntarily gets out after I open the door for him and we join the crowds of late comers entering the church. It was built in 1893 when they built buildings to last for centuries, not decades. The church had a steeple in front and two large mahogany doors that were now constantly open as people flooded in. Both side walls were lined with stained glass windows with various scenes from the Bible. A single aisle of pews led up to the altar on both sides of the aisle. There was a large vaulted ceiling that was supported outside by flying buttresses. Superior architecture all in all.

Mick wanted to sit right up in front with the nuns, but I insisted we sit in the back where we belonged. I have not told him that my daddy had become the pastor of this church, so I was too ashamed to sit up front.