Day Four: Showers
Slopping out proceeded as usual next morning. My knickers fell down again - there was really no way to prevent this whilst walking - but the joke was wearing stale, there was less laughter, and nobody bothered to lift up my skirt.
Back in the cell I waited anxiously for Dawes. Breakfast came and went, and still she did not appear. The stench of stale piss was so rank I could hardly breathe without putting my hand to my nostrils.
"She's making you sweat," said Rose.
It was late morning when she came barging in with the faithful Clark following.
"Right," she said: "I've no time to waste: get your knickers off and your legs open. Officer Clark, you inspect Mason."
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Clark, who was young enough to be Rose's daughter, prod about disrespectfully at the older woman's private parts. Dawes stared at me grimly.
"Open them properly," she said.
"I opened my legs as wide as I could. Dawes sat on the bed, lowered her head, and began to prod and pull at me. Sometimes she ran her fingertip over my mound, sometimes she stroked me with the back of her finger. I held my breath and prayed that Rose had done a thorough job on me. Dawes continued to poke and squeeze. My legs were getting tired.
"Officer Clark: hold Littlehayes' legs up for me would you."
"Pleasure Officer Dawes," smarmed Clark.
I found my legs being lifted and pulled right back; Dawes began to examine the region around my perineum and anus, pulling and poking most unpleasantly. Her face was inches away from my genitals. I wondered she hadn't brought a magnifying glass. Finally she stuck her finger into my anus, gave a vicious twist, and told Clark to lower me down.
Then she nodded.
"Your cellmate's done a good job on you," she said, with a nod in Rose's direction. "I hope you showed your gratitude."
"Yes Sir," I said.
"Very well: at Showers this afternoon you leave all your clothes outside your cell. When you come back there'll be clean ones waiting. Any questions?"
"No Sir," I said. "Thank you Sir."
Dawes snorted, and Clark, after a backwards sneer, followed her out.
"The bitch stuck her finger up my arse," I said, once I was certain they were well out of earshot.
"One of her quaint little ways," said Rose. "Let it go: at least you passed. A few more hours and we might be able to breathe half-decent air again."
My relief at surviving Dawes' inspection lasted through lunch - a bowl of watery tomato soup - but had begun to give way to nervousness even before Rose said:
"I need to brief you about the showers. I've told you all the women will want a piece of you. Don't get upset and don't struggle too hard, but don't be too forward. Give them some banter, they enjoy that - but make sure you don't insult anybody. Remember they're testing you, trying to find out what you're made of. Show them you've got some spunk - but don't go overboard.
"And remember what I told you about Megan: do whatever she says and do it willingly."
"Who is Megan?" I asked. "What has she done?"
"Murder, extortion, armed robbery, GBH - do you want me to go on?"
"Oh Jesus," I said.
"One other thing," continued Rose: "there'll be a bit of an initiation ceremony. It's not very pleasant but you have to go through with it. I'm not allowed to say any more: just accept it with a good grace - and remember: we've all been through it. And don't expect too much from me: once you're in the showers you're on your own: there's very little I can do to help you."
This did nothing to quell my nerves, and I'd worked myself up into a state of acute anxiety by the time the door clanged open and we were ordered to get ourselves stripped and ready. I took off the damp clothes at last, and following Rose's example dropped them in the corridor outside our cell, along with our used towels. Women were emerging everywhere: there was a palpable buzz in the air, and more Wardens than I had seen together were pacing the corridor.
Rose and I took our places in the line, and began to file forward. We turned a corner, and ahead I could see a pair of doors labelled SHOWERS. Two Wardens opened the doors, and the women at the head of the queue started to file through. As we approached, one of the Wardens - it was Bradley - eyeballed me:
"You'se going right into the lion's den druggie girl," she said: "and you'se gonna be eaten alive."
I nearly turned tail and fled, but the crush of women behind propelled me forward.
I found myself in a large, white-tiled area. Three of the walls were flanked by wooden benches. Along the far wall were about twelve shower-heads - there were no dividing walls, everything was open-plan - and already water was streaming from the nozzles. The air was warm and steamy, and I was surprised to see that the water was hot: as we had only cold water in the cells I had been bracing myself for a cold, uncomfortable shower. Women were still pouring in behind me: then the doors were closed, and Hardiman, who was standing against one of the walls flanked by five or six Wardens, blew a whistle and called out:
"Cells One to Six into the showers. Five minutes."
At this a dozen women made straight for the showers, and stood under the streaming water.
This left what seemed like a moving forest of women. There were tall women and short women, old women and young women, black women, white women and women of indeterminate colours and races. They were laughing and shouting and joshing each other, forming little clusters, putting arms around each other, punching one another playfully, all clearly revelling in their hour of freedom.
And they were all stark naked. I saw tits of all shapes and sizes, bellies large and small, legs and thighs and arms and shoulders, stretch marks and cellulite, bare feet and bare backs and bare shaven fannies. The whole ensemble seemed almost like one organism, a giant amoeba-like mass of heaving female flesh, made even more surreal by the steam, by the sound of the water plunging, which caused the women to raise their voices, and by the tiles, which generated unearthly echoes.
I had never seen so much flesh. Every time I took a step I seemed to come up against another naked woman. I felt suffocated, as though I was going to be devoured by female substance. I shrank from it: it was horrible, unnatural. I liked men: men with their hard bodies, their muscles and hair, their penises: I didn't belong here amongst this seething suffocation of breasts and bellies and thighs.
But there was no way out. And now the women began to take note of me, and surround me. I had my tits felt and my buttocks squeezed: arms were thrown around my shoulders.
"It's the new girl," someone said.
"The one who couldn't wait to drop her knickers," said another, who I now recognised from slopping-out.
"She's got them off now alright," said a third: "come on new girl, let's have a look at you."
They milled round me, peering at me, running their hands over me as though I was a beast at a livestock market. There was nowhere to run, so I steeled myself, and remembering what Rose had said I tried to keep smiling, and summon up some banter.
"Come on girls, control yourselves," I said, twisting away from a groping hand, though the words sounded wrong coming from my lips, and I knew I was no good at this sort of thing.
"Hark at her, playing hard to get," said a girl with her hair cut in a fringe.
"Come on love, don't be shy," said a dark-skinned woman: "we won't eat you."
"I would," said a fat woman with one breast larger than the other.
There was a burst of laughter: to my immense relief it all seemed to be fairly good-humoured. Then a whistle blew, and I heard Hardiman shout over the babble of voices:
