I'd fallen into house around 11 just after a late breakfast and helping out on the ward. My hours on the medical shift had decreased a lot after a situation with the doctor, and the riots due to heightened security. Units 14, 15, and 17 having been segregated, no longer had rec time together so that made for fewer fights. For a while, it seemed like I was doing nothing other than prepping injuries. The time I spent with the prisoners on watch had been cut in half.
Author was prisoner number 145896D. When I started, he'd been on watch for seven months but his condition hadn't changed. Most in the program lasted only eight weeks before it became obvious that the true reason for them being there was to die. Author had been arrested on a string of petty crimes like theft and breaking and entering, but like so many of us without the right attorney, he'd ended up on the farm. He was young, more cute than handsome, and more soft than rugged - a boy like him never had a chance in this place. It wasn't long before the taunts started, his first day in fact. By the third night an older gentleman in his 50's approached him on the yard and told him to transfer into his house. "You just be sweet to me" he'd said "and no one will bother you." Jackson was an old lifer and knew the game. No one would mess with him because of his age and two because he had connections for getting in the best shit from the outside. Fuck with Jackson and he'd fuck with your supply. Through that, he'd established himself as a man.
For whatever reason, Jackson had propositioned Author to crash in his place. There was something that he'd found attractive and wanted to protect. Jackson had never taken a wife so it was something of a surprise that he'd considered it. Maybe like me he'd just started feeling lonely. With the question being out, inmates backed off and Author had gained a false sense of security. I'd seen him before he'd come to the ward but he wasn't someone I'd take a second look at. After a month, when no move was made to settle in with Jackson, Renaldo Padella made a different proposition and Author became a sperm bank for most of the men on unit 17.
It's hard to not feel sorry. The guy came into the system young and played tough, but was too cute for his own good. What he failed to realize was that it didn't matter how tough he was, he needed someone on his side, and guys like him rarely got to choose who'd have their backs. A typical story in this place, so it is of no consequence.
Around 2, some of the brothers from unit 14 braved the cold for rec and took to the courts. Their game of B-ball tended to get pretty intense and I wanted in figuring it was a good way to clear my head. I was being guarded by Jimmy the Jam who had the meanest cock on the block. "Better watch your ass College, I'd hate to make you my bitch!" Jam always liked to get in real close to intimidate other players with what he was packing. That bulge was always a prominent spectacle in our scrub like uniforms, especially since we only wore boxers or nothing at all underneath. Briefs for whatever reason, were not allowed.
I faked Jam with a turn to the right, broke out left and twisted around to drop a 3 pointer. Swoosh. Pading, pading, the ball bounced under the net having caught nothing but air. I got in a few more shots like that despite the distraction of Jams cock constantly riding my ass. Admittedly I had a thing about his cock rubbing against me on the sly, a few times I'd called out because I'd almost gotten hard. He was testing me because I'd let him cross a boundary in the past. Jam was mean and calculating, the kind of men I'd been around for so long at that point a part of me had accepted it as the way men were supposed to be. Jimmy was the total opposite of Author, one was someone a mother could love, the other someone you just fucked, though getting fucked in here, is really not much of an option at all if anyone ever finds out.
Jam played the macho shit pretty hard and got far too aggressive for a yard game with nothing on the table - lucky for me because I was pretty low on smokes and my team lost. After that, some of the players hit the showers and I went back to fall in at my place to make sure the new cellie hadn't arrived early and decided to go through my shit. Just to be certain, I straightened things up and rolled most of my reads back to my side of the room. I also had a box of snacks, with a couple of emergency smokes, and a small jar of hair oil tucked away at the bottom just in case I was ever included in a lockdown and couldn't get commissary. That box was worth fighting for.
A convict often carried his life in a cigar box. Pictures, smokes, dope, and hair product which doubled as lube. Mine hadn't been used except for solo sessions which I'd had time to enjoy since my last cellie had been transferred to Beaumont. I was happy that he'd left. They always seemed to pair me with obnoxious Bush loving country boys that talked constantly about pussy. The last guy would never shut up about the snatch, the more I tried to block him out, the more he wanted to get in my face about it. He'd even gone so far as to pull out his cock and call me a faggot one night. "You must like dick or something. You gonna be my Black Bitch!"
He spent a few days on the ward after that.
When the guards had asked what happened to him I told them he must have fell. There was no contradiction to my version of the event, so they took him away laughing knowing full well what had happened. Lucky for me, I was in good with enough of them and could get away with shit. A lot of recruits were students and knew I'd done 'College' as they called me. After that incident, part of me wished I'd have just kicked his ass earlier and more often just to get some privacy and to shut him up. He'd put up a little fight, which made my dick hard so I could see there was no way he could be the man of any house. For the most part at least, he never pushed me over the edge again and respected a certain boundary of disrespect. Still, the problem was that I despised the prison culture of gender.
It must have been about three months after that I noticed all his talk about pussy had subsided. At first I didn't make anything of it, figuring that he'd either willingly gotten dicked, or was dicking someone. Since he was in my place, I thought none of the brothers would mess with him, even Renaldo Padella as notorious as he was for taking some White ass wasn't going to fuck with someone staying in another man's house. I hadn't considered just how much of a prick Jimmy the Jam was.
I forget exactly when it happened, but I'd came back to find Jam fucking the literal shit out of country boy. He must have been used to the size of Jam's cock by then because he wasn't yelling out, or trying to get away. Just taking it. I was pissed not because Jam was ramming him, but because it was against the code, against the status I'd built, and stunk up the fucking cage. You don't fuck a "Man's" cellie unless he lets you. Like an idiot I gritted my teeth and just stood there while Jam's ebony blade dug into country boy, hitting hard the spots that most men could never reach. Defeated I backed out to let him finish the disrespect he'd passed onto my house, ashamed because I'd thought of fucking country boy myself, afraid that I'd always thought myself straight and didn't buy into that if I'm the man on top shit. I shouldn't have let Jimmy cross that boundary because after that was when he started testing and fucking with me on the courts.
One day I was really tired after having pulled a long shift on the ward – this was sometime later. The doctor let me take a long shower in the guards' locker, the stipulation being that he of course had to watch over me. The trade off was acceptable. I made a show of undressing slowly, stretching, and bending over so that he could get a good look. I'd stand up slowly and then hoped my cock would get slightly erect. It was difficult at first but I got used to it and could think about what put me in the slammer in the first place to get juiced. I hadn't fucked a guy except twice when I was younger, but the longer I remained in prison, the less opposed to the idea I'd become. I thought about Mathew Farinelli under the warmth of the falling water. We'd gotten into an argument about something and he pushed me calling me a pussy. I became furious and knocked him to the ground.
