Author’s note: This is a fictional story set mainly in Kentucky as well as other places in the United States. Any names of people or places not already known to be real, are purely fictional and any similarity to the ones mentioned and actual names of people and places, is purely coincidental. Also, all sexual situations depicted or mentioned in this story occur between two or more LEGALLY consenting adults, 18 years of age or older.
Hard Time:
David and Goliath.
Everyone has that one “doofus moment” when they do something so incredibly and insanely “stoooo-pid,” that people ask “What the hell were you thinking?” Mine came when I gave up a promising college and football career as a starting linebacker and running back to knock over a “7-11,” and as a result, drew just over 25 years hard time in state prison.
Growing up, I had a fairly normal childhood and teen years in most ways except for one, I came from a large family, and I don’t mean in numbers, I mean in body size, mainly height and stature. In short, by the time I had reached my full adult height at age 17, I was freakishly massive.
I was not fat or excessively obese, but instead I was very muscular, built like an NFL football linebacker and I stood right at seven-and-a half-feet tall and weighed over 300 pounds(326 to be exact.) Just picture a seven-and-a-half foot tall Andre the Giant and you would have a good picture of what I looked like. If you are unfamiliar with who he is, do a Google search.
Other than that, I came from a “normal” family in rural Kentucky, in the country just outside of a small city of about 30,000 people. My dad was 6’8′ and weighed 265 pounds with a muscular build, brownish blonde hair, hazel eyes and was a successful well known and well respected District Attorney who had just been elected as Circuit Court Judge. He was well in-staunched in local small town politics, and won every election he was in. Those who knew him best, called him “Big Mac,” since his last name was Mac Elroy.
Mom was very tall also. She was 6’6,” 170 pounds, very pretty, and very well built (38DD-28-37). She had thick, full, chestnut brown hair, and rare crystal ice blue eyes that could peer deep into your soul and hold it hostage, long well toned dancer’s legs, and was athletic and a well respected pharmacist who owned her own pharmacy.
My little sister Stella, who was just over 2 years younger than me(27 months to be exact), took after mom. She grew up to be slightly taller than mom (6’9″ tall at her full adult height) and measured exactly like mom(38DD-28-37) and weighed 190 pounds. Stella was a knockout and had the same dark shoulder length chestnut brown hair and enchanting crystal ice blue eyes, the athletic build and well-toned dancer’s legs, along with pouty lips and an air about her that was enticing and could ensnare any man and she often did.
As for me, I got dad’s brownish blonde hair and hazel eyes. I also inherited his body size, in that he was muscular and not very fat. I just turned out incredibly large and tall. People thought it was weird and odd, but I didn’t mind. It served me well in school in that no one dared try to bully me, because they were too afraid of me and what I might could do to them. Also, unbeknownst to me at the time, it would come to serve me well in prison.
My nickname in high school was “Goliath.” I really enjoyed and relished the irony of that name, especially since my birth name was David. Stella had reached her full adult height and weight at age 17 and her nickname was Amazon, which she proudly wore, but NO ONE dared call her that to her face.
Before we reached our full heights, we were only slightly taller than average at least until middle school when we hit our growth spurts. When I entered 8th grade at 13, I had had my first spurt and went from 5’9″ 185 pounds to 6’8″ 245 pounds. I had my second spurt the summer between my junior and senior years of high school and I grew to my present height of 7’6″ 326 pounds.
Stella was about the same but she matured earlier. When she was 12, she went from 5’6″ 115 pounds to 6 feet 150 pounds. Her second growth spurt hit when she was 17 and she grew to her height of 6’9″ and 190 pounds.
Even though lots of people thought we were “freakishly huge,” they still wanted us to be in their clubs and play on their teams. I played football in high school and that is where I received my nickname “Goliath” because I was unstoppable both as a linebacker and running back. The school liked it so well, that they put it on the back of my number 23(Miami Hurricane’s colored) football jersey my senior year.
Stella was a star power forward on the girl’s high school basketball team and also played on the volleyball team. Stella and I were also proficient academically. I was on the debate team, Science Olympiad, and on the Math Team and a member of the Math Honor’s fraternity Mu Alpha Theta. Stella was on the Science and Math Teams with me as well as a member of the güvenilir bahis Future Business Leaders of America.
We also had our activities outside of school. We were both into boxing and Martial Arts, and very good at it. In Karate, we were both 6th degree black belts by the time I was in college. We competed regularly on the local, state, and regional levels where we won several first place and second place awards.
We also went to the nationals my senior year in high school and I took second place in my category and Stella took fifth overall. In the sparring competitions, we both placed third. In boxing, we won lots of local competitions and if we had been professional, we could have won the Golden Gloves.
After high school, I was given a full football scholarship to the University of Kentucky Wildcats. They too liked the name Goliath, so the University allowed them to put it on the back of my number 69 jersey.
I played for two and a-half seasons until that fateful night that ended my career. While I played, I was the star, and even had pro scouts wanting me to sign right then and there, but I was studying finance, and computers, and even had aspirations of going to law school or the Navy, but then one warm October night, it all ended.
It was a Saturday night and what is known as a bye week in the football schedule, so there was no game that week. I had decided to go to a Frat party that night and had a couple of beers and a few shooters and was a little tipsy, but still in control. I agreed to make a beer run with a couple of frat boys I really didn’t know(HUGE MISTAKE) and instead of paying for the beer, they both decided they were going to rob the place.
I stayed outside in the getaway car and served as lookout while the two guys I was with, went inside. A couple of shots ended up being fired, mainly into the ceiling and wall because the owner spooked one of the guys and he nervously discharged the gun. We ended up getting away, but were caught just over an hour later and arrested at the frat house.
I was sent to jail, and the two frat boys who were with me, tried to say I was the one who knocked over the store fired the shots. Thank God for video tape evidence, because it clearly showed on the camera going out that the two robbers measured less than 6 feet as marked on the side of the door, plus the owner testified that he would have remembered someone as large as me.
However, I still had to face charges for being there, and under some obscure Kentucky law, I was charged with the same crime they were just because I was there. Also, because a weapon was involved and discharged, what might have been a 10-12 year sentence was automatically doubled to 20-25.
To make matters worse, there was a newly elected hot shot, crusader, “Bulldog” DA trying to make a name for himself by being tough on crime and combating “senseless gun violence” as he called it with this case, so he made sure I got the max.
It also didn’t help having “Hang’em high Harry,” as he was known by the locals, as the presiding judge either. He made certain that I was going to get the max, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he remanded me without bail until my trial, while the two other frat boys got out on bail.
Dad and mom came up and tried to get me out. Dad told me “Just say you didn’t do it and we will get you out.” I couldn’t do that, mainly because since I was as child, dad had always pounded into my psyche(brain), “You man-up and own up to what you do.” When I told him that was what I was going to do, we got into a big argument which turned into a huge shouting match. That is when I saw he was only concerned about what this might do to his reputation and just how huge of a hypocrite he really was, and I called him out on it.
“Fine,” he said. “You want to rot in prison, then so be it. I wash my hands of you and this whole sorrid affair,” then he stormed out of the visitation room.
Mom on the other hand was livid at dad and saw him for the hypocrite he was. She called her brother Leon, who at the time, was a well connected and respected business man in Cincinnati Ohio and owned a publishing company.
He pulled some strings, and within a couple of hours, had arranged to get the best lawyer money could buy who ended up being my attorney for the entire time I was in jail and state prison until I was released 25 years later. Mom never had to pay a cent for my attorney. Uncle Leon knew she had enough to worry about and he ensured that the legal fees were paid.
Stella came to see me almost every day, seeing that we had been extremely close our whole life. Stella and I were much closer than normal brothers and sisters, We both had secret crushes on each other which neither of us hid very well, and we were inseparable and preferred spending time with each other, rather than going out on a date with someone else.
Although we were extremely close growing up, WE WERE NEVER LOVERS and WE NEVER HAD SEX. The first time we ever güvenilir bahis siteleri crossed that line was later in life when were were both adults.
Apart from mom, Uncle Leon, and my attorney, Stella was the only one who stood by me when I pled guilty to the crime. I felt I had to in order to live with myself. Also, I made a public apology on television.
At a news conference, I laid out exactly what happened, that what I did was stupid, and that I took full responsibility for MY actions. I asked for forgiveness, not only from the college and fans, but from my old high school and people in my town who had looked up to me as a role model and idol.
I made no excuses for what I did, and fully owned up to what I had done. The primary reason made the public apology was not to aswage some guilt I may have felt, although that may have been a small part of it; Mostly, it was to try to let those who had believed in me know that I was still the same person I had always been, and because a series of events led on by a chain of stupid choices, my life took a tragic and drastic downfall.
Stella was 18 and I was 20 when I entered my plea of guilty at my hearing on October 23 1991, but I wasn’t sent to prison until November 7 1991. I was released free and clear(no parole) on March 18 2017. In all, I served my full sentence of 25 years plus 4 months and 11 days(4 days shy of my 46th birthday) and Stella was there for me the whole time.
When the senior jail officer was leading me away(a very nice older black lady named Mavis who befriended me my time in jail awaiting my hearing), Stella ran up to me and hugged me. When another court officer tried to pull Stella away from me, Mavis told him it was alright to let Stella say goodbye.
“I will wait for you Dave,” Stella said crying. “I promise I will wait for you and be here when you get out. I love you so much and will always be here for you,” and with that she gave me a long tongue probing kiss full on the lips that lasted a good 30 seconds.
“I love you too sweetheart,” I replied as she broke the kiss. “Don’t fret I will be okay,” and grabbed her hand lovingly and gently caressed it.
“It’s time to go child” Mavis said somberly, and with that, I was led away.
I cried as I left the court room and Mavis did her best to console me because she knew I wasn’t a hardened criminal, but just a young man who had made a foolish mistake.
If Stella could have stayed with me, she would have, but she had to finish her senior year in high school and I encouraged her to stay in school and pursue her dreams and she promised me she would. However, she wrote me everyday. This is when I found out her feelings for me.
Her letters always opened ” My dearest Mio amato” and were singed “Your ever loving faithful Stella” and were written like one would write a lover rather than a brother. I didn’t mind because I had always liked Stella too that way, but assumed it was just a one way street. I was delighted to find out she had the same feelings for me as I did for her and began writing to her like a lover as well. When people asked who was writing to me, I told them she had my best friend growing up and we had become high school sweethearts.
Like I said earlier, my height and size came to serve me well in prison. While I was in jail, no one messed with me because of my size and because it was a small town jail. They all knew who I was and wanted my autograph. Prison, however, is whole new breed of animal and a completely different universe. To quote a line from the Wizard of Oz, “I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.”
Everyone knows that in prison, you are going to have those who try to take advantage of you and who love and prey on “fresh meat” as they call it. There are the gangs that will try to recruit you or extort you, predators, sometimes called “wolves,” that love to make you their prison “bitch,” and other assorted cons who love to take advantage of you for one reason or another.
When I first entered prison, it was almost like that scene in “The Green Mile” when the guards were escorting “John Koffee” from the prison van to his cell and the people were like “where the hell did he come from” and were somewhat leery and in awe of him.
At first, people were very leery of me and left me alone, mainly because they were too scared to mess with me. Unfortunately, however, that initial shock was short lived, and after a couple of weeks, three fools tried to take advantage of me and my cell mate, but quickly found out I wasn’t easy prey that was going down without a fight.
These three had a reputation among the prison for being predatory and people who loved to extort and exploit other inmates, but the ring leader was someone who thought he had nothing to lose in taking me out.
His name was Pascal Rodriquez, but the people on the inside referred to him as Old El Diablo, mainly because he was so mean and evil, he could have put the devil out of business. This guy iddaa siteleri was basically in charge of the prison among the convicts and ran the whole economy on the inside, but the prison authorities could not do anything about it, because none of the inmates would dare speak up against him. They feared El Diablo more than the prison guards, so he essentially got free reign to do as he pleased.
El Diablo had been there for over 15 years and was an extremely nasty fellow. He was serving an insanely amount of time for killing a whole slew of people, as well as running guns and drugs. When he was put in prison at age 20, he already had 18 bodies to his name and had drawn a sentence of 50 years to life for each of them, giving him 900 years on those counts alone plus life.
That did not include the twelve people he had freely admitted to killing in prison which drew another life sentence for each, so in his mind, he might as well have been looking at “life plus a billion years,” He knew he was never getting out, so his mindset was that which is fairly common among a lot of felons facing punishment in prison who are looking at never getting out; “What are you going to do, throw me in jail?”
It was rumored that Rodriquez was also facing a large number of Federal charges on the gun and drugs since he had transported them across state lines, but he was in the state prison for three more months until the Feds had enough evidence to make their case and have him transferred to a Federal Supermax.
Physically speaking, if this Rodriquez had been your average white guy, he would have been your stereotypical outlaw biker guy. He stood just over 6 feet tall with huge but not muscular arms, huge hands, and was stocky and fairly strong in his own right. He also had that outlaw biker personality, loud and arrogant.
Anyhow, unknown to me, Rodriquez had studied me and gotten intel about me from the prison intelligence network as it was called. As a result of what he heard, he determined that I was as someone he couldn’t control, so in his twisted mind, I had to be eliminated. He was the alpha dog and there was not room for another.
Diablo knew the prison schedule like the back of his hand and had decided when he thought it was the best time to do it and he, along with his two most trusted soldiers, were going to do the job. Much to their surprise, chagrin, and dismay, I put them down in a hurry by using my martial arts and boxing skills, as well as my sheer size and brute strength.
They tried to attack us near our cell one morning after chow and two of the assailants were sent to the hospital with broken ribs and arms, and as far as Rodriquez, I sent him to the ICU when I turned his shank on him and stabbed him in self defense.
Much to my surprise, that didn’t seem to stop him or even slow him down, and he still came after me. Acting quickly and without giving it much thought, I stomped him in the knee caps, shattering both of them, twisted his arm back in on itself and it produced a deafening crack which everyone heard as it broke in the shoulder and elbow area, then finally, I picked him up and threw him over the railing unto the floor below. Fortunately for him, it was just one floor up and that he didn’t hit his head, but landed on his side, his hips and shoulder area mainly, but he was far from okay. He suffered a broken pelvis and massive internal injuries, but providence had ordained it wasn’t his time to die.
The two who sustained broken ribs and arms, survived and were transferred to another prison and made complete recoveries and became model prisoners after that. Rodriquez, the one I sent to the ICU, was in a coma and on a ventilator machine to help him breath for two months and had to undergo a number of painful orthopedic surgeries to replace his knees, shoulder and hip, repair his pelvis as well as surgeries to repair his organs that had been damaged from being stabbed and the fall.
Between that, and nine months of grueling, extensive and painful rehabilitation just to learn to walk again and perform basic activities for himself, he recovered and was eventually transferred to a Federal Supermax in Kentucky, since the Feds had already made their case and tried him in absentia.
Even so, he never completely healed physically. He was left with a permanent and noticeable, almost paralyzing limp in one leg in which he was forced to use a set of forearm crutches to walk with, and lost the partial use of one arm. He learned his lesson the hard way and turned out to be a model prisoner after that, and as they say in prison,”got religion.”
After that incident, I quickly earned my reputation as Goliath and no one decided to mess with me, seeing there was no one brave enough or foolish enough to consider himself a “David.”
I did have to go before a disciplinary hearing for fighting and causing serious bodily harm to other inmates, but was cleared. The two officers on the scene who witnessed the attack take place, testified that the three men were the aggressors as did my cell-mate and much to my pleasant surprise, several fellow cons, mainly because they didn’t like those guys and wanted to see them gone, as did the rest of the inmates in the facility.