Part 1

That fucking freak. Yeah, yeah - I know I agreed not to get upset about Hando's others. Why should I? Well - I DIDN'T until that dumbfuck showed his ass like he did when he heard about Bou. Hell, I love Bou - I wouldn't refuse Hando a trip - an emergency or not - to go see her. When have I ever made a big deal over his trips anyway. Why all the hysterics then - we were ALL upset about the news. I swear, I hate him. I hope he doesn't come back. Fuck him.

I got the page from Terry the same time that Hando did. I knew he would be on edge and would probably need a ride to the airport. I hurried down the street, expecting him be in a state of disorder. There I was, thinking I could be his fucking mother, and help him get packed and ready. How was I supposed to know he had already evolved into the Tattooed Demon from Mars?

Before I could knock on the front door, (yes, knock. Any other time, I woulda walked right in. I was hopin' to dodge the bullets - ha.) Hando slung the door open and startled the hell out of me. I never got a word in edgewise. He was talking - yelling really - so fast, I couldn't understand the Strine. I did manage to get the:  "You don't fucking understand us, so stay out of it!" and the: "Why the fuck are you still here? Are you deaf? Get the fuck out - now!" Most of that flew over my head. Didn't think that would get my blood up, did you? No.

Not until he flung me into the wall in the hallway, staring at me with pure hate in his eyes. He mumbled something about this being my fault - had he stayed with her...

Pushing buttons. It's what Hando does best. In the past few months, we had managed to disconnect most of the triggers and find common ground. This, however, is the one that will remain forever.

It's my fault, I admit. I let the bastards get me down. I left the Game for awhile. I thought he would understand. I thought he would give me this...just a little time. I was grateful to Bou for looking after him. How was I supposed to know what would happen? What was I thinking? Sending someone like Hando to her?

I can't compete with her! I didn't know that I needed to! Hindsight is always perfect, eh? I'm no warrior. I'm a stupid fucking redneck from Mississippi, living in Arkansas. The fact that I'm with this loser proves how stupid I am.

Where did it all start, anyway? My first brother was John Biebe. He was my first crush. It was the hair and the way his ass looks in jeans. Good ol' JB. Don't let his sweet smile and fur hat fool you. He is one of the most complex brothers you'll ever meet. He has a past that you'd never believe. He is a lucky man to still be breathing after what he has been through.

Next was Cort. I was still the timid little bird. A terrible rain storm ruined the weekend I had planned for us. A minor accident and a pulled shoulder muscle gave him all the excuse he needed to show me the Cowboy Way. I think Cort was really tickled at how scared I was of him.

Another tryst with John led to a dance with the nanobyte devil. It wasn't SID's evil that attracted me - although I'm sure that is what people think. Curiosity almost killed this kitty. Mesmerized by his programming - I just had to taste the blue ooze.

There was one that I had been admiring from afar. You know him. He's the asshole that turned my life upside down. Made me into a blithering idiot. Couldn't leave it alone, could I? Had to see what it was all about. Didn't heed the warnings.

Terry was kind enough to pick up the pieces after that. Looking back, I wonder why Terry ever agreed to visit me. I'll never know why - but I'll be forever grateful to him for helping me off my ass. I lament that his card is so full now that I may be a granny before I ever see him again - other than in a professional manner.

Colin - never underestimate a man who has the balls to wear his sideburns that way. Loves anything fast, I learned. We raced the Mustang around the back roads awhile. He abruptly stopped, dragged me out of the car, and had me right there on the hood. Purrrrr.

Max. J Oooooooh yeah. The General likes a little kink. He's the only one I've ever used hot candle wax with. That man is an enigma, he is! The second visit I had with him involved and entire weekend of Tantra. If you have never experienced 72 hours of pleasure...non-stop, gently building and building...neither trying to out-do the other, neither trying to please themselves - just touch and silence...you gotta try it! Unfortunately, I don't think it would have worked for us had Maximus not scarfed a potion of some sort from his time. He wouldn't tell me what it was, and he would not leave any with me. Bastard brought it the last time...but somehow we ended up role playing. My beloved Tantra session must wait.

One single thing remains. Hando. Always there. There are things I know about him. I envy SID. His memory can be erased. Mine - is destined to torture me until the end. This is my one chance to dredge my thoughts and place them into written word. Perhaps expelling them will help me deal...

Part 2 

Hando... Strange name, huh? It's a nickname. Andrew Dinsmor is his birth name. The name by which he is known now was given to him when he joined his street family.

He decided to use the name Hando Martin when he realized he had a need for certain things in this world - like a legal driver's license...a house...things of that sort. He told me once that being in this world was like a rebirth. A chance to start over, to make different choices. I asked if he'd ever consider having his tattoos removed. To my surprise, he said yes. He would like nothing more than to walk down the street, hand in hand with me - and not have people stare in disgust. He wouldn't do it, though. They are reminders of the life he once lived. Each mark tells a story. People like you and I have family photo albums to peruse at our leisure. He has the ink.

Hando has never met his parents. He's been told conflicting stories over the years, by those who claimed to know his mother and father. I think he has chosen to keep parts of the tales that appeal to him: His father's name was Martin von Wimund, a German entrepreneur who traveled the world, in search of an adventure. Martin met Christina Dinsmor, a bar maid at a tavern on the outskirts of town. She was a red-haired fire cracker, saving up her tips for a ticket to America to pursue a career in theatre. She'd seen blokes like Martin come and go - promising the moon, delivering nothing. He was a handsome 6' 8" fellow, with dark brooding eyes and a devastating smile. She wasn't about to fall for his lies.

For weeks, he visited the tavern; his arrival each evening like clockwork. Always ordering the same dish and beverage. When he failed to show up one evening, Christina found herself in a state of frenzy as her work shift drew to a close. Had she lost her meal ticket out of Australia? Why did she have to play this cat and mouse game only to have it backfire?

She exited the rear of the building, sniffling and feeling generally sorry for herself. Christine was startled by the click of a cigarette lighter. The flame illuminated his face in the darkness. So thrilled to be receiving a second chance, she dropped her tear soaked handkerchief, and ran to him. Martin took her into his arms and planted a kiss on her willing lips, rivaling any classic

Hollywood movie. 

Within weeks, she quit her job at the tavern and made plans to travel back to Germany with her lover. Christina knew she would make it to America eventually. A detour to Germany with her mysterious man appealed to her sense of here and now quite nicely.

Packed and ready for adventure, they made their way to the train station one stormy night. Their flight had been delayed because of the inclement weather. More time to canoodle in the waiting area, right?

Martin and Christina never made it to their train. As they walked to the ticket booth, a transient in need of fast cash surprised the couple. He brandished a knife and stabbed Martin and puncturing his lung. He lay in a puddle of water, rain beating down on his face as he choked to death on his own blood. Christina screamed and pummeled the killer with her fists, not realizing exactly what happened. He retaliated with quick shove, and she fell to the brick sidewalk, smacking her head on a concrete divider.

Christina died giving birth to a baby boy 8 months later. 

Hando shared this piece of him with me late one evening over a doobie. As I said before, this is the story he chooses to keep. An hour and a half of bourbon and cokes later, he related the other versions where Christina was a street whore instead of a barmaid. Martin and Christina were accosted after a liaison in an alley. Another story told of Christina the street whore who was raped by an escaped lunatic.

It was the only time I've ever seen Hando vulnerable and scared. A flurry of emotions washed over his street-hardened face. Have any of you noticed the emptiness in his eyes? It's loneliness. It's the vacant part of his soul where the love of a mother and father should be. The years of growing up in a sterile orphanage, devoid of tenderness and understanding. No one wanted to adopt the sickly, scrawny little boy. Just another piece of inventory.

Hando successfully escaped from the orphanage after several suicide attempts when he was 11. He began his juvenile delinquent career by selling drugs for a pusher to make food money. When he didn't make enough money to eat, he sold himself to whoever would pay - mostly old men with a penchant for young boys with pretty mouths.

After sucking off a rough looking, well hung john in a side alley, Hando was invited to the club house to be part of the family. Skinhead family. Jonas was the leader who Hando had pleasured that night. He was made to pleasure Jonas for many nights to come. Hando didn't care. All he knew was that he had a family now. He didn't have to sell drugs. He was in a place where he could belong.

Jonas dubbed him Hando during a night of drinking and debauchery. 

A few years later, Hando's initiation to a full-fledged gang member included a myriad of crimes. Robbery. Battery. Kidnapping. His final test was to abduct and rape a girl. The prospect of this act mortified him because it would reveal his terrible secret. When it came to sheilas, Hando was completely impotent. The years of male on male sexual abuse had ruined him. As many times as he had tried to be with a girl, he could not get his tool to rise. Even thinking of a meaty cock in his mouth or up his bum couldn't pump the much needed pressure into his bits. Once the rest of the family found out about it, he would be ridiculed, beaten, and kicked out. Labeled a poofta.

Two more failed suicide attempts. What could he do now? Too scared to run away, he got himself pissed and took a walk to the train station. Thought it would be a good idea to pass out on the tracks. That'll do the job this time. A few of his brothers intercepted him and led him back to the clubhouse. Said they had a surprise for him. Too drunk to care, Hando went along without a fight.

His heart sank when they led him into the basement, where a scruffy blonde - couldn't have been much more than 16 years of age - was tied up in the corner. The rest of the gang boisterously filed in and surrounded Hando and the girl. Urging him on, they chanted obscenities, mostly about his huge penis and her little cunnie.

His mouth had gone dry and he was sweating - suddenly sober. He knelt down and said a silent prayer. Hando slowly crept up to her, noting the wild terror in her eyes. What was that? What was stirring in his manhood? Could it be...

She screamed. Hando's cock grew hard and thick. A brother moved in to gag her but Hando pushed him away. "No. I want to hear her." An atta-boy cheer emanated from the group. Various men and boys standing in audience, rubbing themselves through their dirty pants, enjoying the live free show.

Empowered by his raging hard-on, he stood up, grabbed the girl by the hair and forced her to kneel in front of him, facing the bulge in his pants. "Take it out and suck it real good. You might live." Not his words - he had heard the others use that before.

More cheering. 

With a unsteady hand, she lowered his zip slowly and was greeted by a fat, hard length of flesh topped with an angry red head. Before she could lower her mouth onto him, he jerked her head back by her hair, forcefully enough to break her neck. "No teeth, or you lose 'em, Got it?" Thrilled that he was cured, he put on quite a show for the brothers, and found himself in high regards after that night.

That was Hando's initiation into the world of sexual relations with a female. He told me that he was prepared to choke her to death to hide his shame, if need be.

This violence needed to spur his arousal with women would last for years, adding to his perceived ferocity, which would eventually make him the leader of the gang.

How do you reach someone like him? How do you talk to a man who endured years of abuse just to have a family to call his own?