"Help me with my tie, dad. You're tripping. Choking me. I'll never fight you. No matter what you do. That's on my word."

His dad hugged him, giving him the benefit of the doubt. They shook on it.

And a picture in Marcus wallet with Sweet Dee tattooed above his midsection, with small dog paws leading to the top of his pelvic area, changed everything.

Yet none of that mattered when he was ordered to pull the plug years later. He was a teenager at his prom. He transitioned into a man behind bars.

The machines beeping at a low volume, Marcus leaned up to his dad's ear and said, "Hello, dad. This your son Marcus Johnson, and I'm an in the closet ass nigga that you'll never get to know...just like I won't have the chance to get to know the real you. The feminine side that comes out with the freaks at night. Your men call you Ginger when they are deep in you. The fake side of me, pretending to be straight, was unsuspectingly observing the fake side of you.

Those two sparks of light will never meet. Damn shame too, dad. I had to fuck my lawyer to have him represent me when I beat you until you damn near stopped breathing.

You decided to tell everyone in our generation of people and I made one to snub you. I love my reputation more than I ever loved you. Our love was phony. How does one fake nigga love another fake nigga, even if I am his fledgling seed.

Marcus closed his eyes, shaking his head.

Yet I must carry your name. I am your Jr, Senior. I can't believe in prison. I was ordered to end your life and I was torn about having to make that decision against my will, but the Judge wants me to play god, the same way he played when he ordered me to use free will. I could have protested, I could have chosen to tell the judge to kiss my dick, but I chose to fuck him instead. Deep in his pinkish hole surrounded by skin of ivory.

I control my fate. To keep my secret gay life safe, I will happily do these six years, like a real nigga, dad. Or should I say Ginger when you're in a wig and make up.

Self-preservation is rule of thumb. If there's a God, write me a post card when you meet him...if you don't encounter hell along the way.

Marcus cut the machine off, pulled the plug.

And he broke down to his knees, mourning two things.

His father's demise and the chance for Ginger to meet the real him.

Just as things were panning out for the worse, lie forever in prison, his saving grace was a letter from Earl's doctor to the Judge that presided over the case.

Until this day Marcus didn't know how it happened, but all charges against him were dropped, but the Judge ordered him to take anger management classes and gave him five years' probation. He took it. Anything was better than life behind bars...

Now, a few years later, Marcus was back in jail because of a parole violation with pending new charges, facing another trial. For killing Bob Grimes, a man that brutally murdered Jonathan, Harry's husband, with his vehicle in a drunken rage. Marcus was in love with Harry, long before they met...

After all...Marcus met Harry's father, Dime, known as Square.

And they were...quite close...