It was the summer of 1975 and Curtis Holt was not happy to be doing a sixty-day sentence in the county jail for possession of marijuana, although he knew things could be worse. For one thing, he was aware there were plenty of men doing far longer stretches, and they would have gotten extremely horny, which should have greatly interested him. For another, he had gotten a fairly cushy job assignment, considering how short his sentence was.
He was detailed to work in the jail supply, sorting and folding laundry and delivering clean bedding to the dormitory trustees to be dispensed to the other prisoners. It was no fun, but it was better than sweeping streets or cutting weeds or other physically taxing chores that had to be performed in the hot sun, the fate of most short-termers. The first day, which was a Tuesday, that Curtis made his deliveries, he was escorted by Sam Barnes, who had been doing this task but would be getting released in a few days. The new man did not believe he would actually need any instructions, because the job seemed self-explanatory, but there was no reason to complain.
The jail occupied part of a former military base and consisted of the laundry and supply building, the administration office and the dorm area where the prisoners were locked in at night. Sam began at the first group of six buildings, which formed a square around the blacktopped exercise yard. The first trustee to receive a delivery of 24 sets of sheets and pillow cases counted the bundles and grunted his acceptance. There was no friendliness but there was also no hostility exhibited toward the men providing clean linens. The next five stops in that group of barracks and the six across the street were almost duplicates of the first. By that time, Curtis noticed the supply had dwindled considerably and asked about a possible shortage. Sam reassured him there were enough.
"We only bring enough sheets for the barracks that are occupied, 24 sets each. That bunch of buildings over there isn't being used right now and the gate is locked anyhow, so we don't go there." When speaking, he indicated the second square of low, rectangular structures, which was in front of and to the side of the chow hall. "There's only one out of that bunch over there being used and we have enough for that one. By the way, look out for the guy in that place. I hear he's a real asshole bandit."
Figuratively speaking, that made Curtis sit up and take notice because that was a good description of the kind of man he was hoping to find. Up until then, all the men he had seen that morning were either too old or unattractive to arouse any desire in him or had shown no interest in his gay sexual charms. He started to hurry toward the last scheduled stop of the day.
Marshall Gordon, who had been named after Thurgood Marshall, was highly deserving of his reputation. He was actually straight, and preferred sex with women or girls, but when he was not in a position to dally with females, a soft, curvy male ass or wet mouth was a more than adequate replacement. He was expecting Sam Barnes to drop by with clean sheets, but he was not expecting anybody else, especially not a pretty young white dude.
But that was what entered his bailiwick. Curtis was behind Sam when the men passed through the door but he almost immediately made an Appearance. With his hands in his pockets to pull his loose-fitting denim pants tightly over his plump ass cheeks and smiling coyly, he stepped from behind his instructor. For several seconds he stood sideways, showing off his curvaceous profile and making his body as appealing and fuckable as he could. The display was not wasted.
Marshall immediately started lusting for the man who had just come into his domain and wondered if the newcomer was as sexually available as he looked and was acting. "A bitch in heat," was the thought that came to mind. The trustee hoped that would prove to be an accurate description, for the new man appeared to be somebody whose ass he would really love to cram with his cock. Holt, to use the name Sam called him, was short and rather chubby, with an ass that bulged provocatively under his pants, which appeared tighter than most. His hair was light brown, long and combed back and his skin would, on a woman, be described as peaches and cream. In order to be a prisoner there in the adult section of the county jail, he had to be at least 18 years old, but he couldn't have been much older than that.
Curtis was also quite impressed with the other man, whom he would have guessed to be about 30 years old. He appeared athletic, was African-American and quite dark-skinned, with a short beard and bushy mustache. The young man had often heard of the mythical hung black stud and didn't completely believe it but knew, from his own experience, that brown-skinned men and boys did tend to possess bigger cocks than their Caucasian counterparts. Whether or not that was true about Gordon, to use the name Sam had called the man, remained to be seen but the tall man definitely would have something between his legs that Curtis would love to have plowing in and out of his ass.
Both men started thinking about their meeting of the next week when Sam told Gordon the new man would be on his own then. Marshall was elated to hear it, because he could hardly keep from chasing the slutty looking and acting fair-skinned sexual prospect as he sashayed back out the doorway. Curtis was equally glad, because he would not have run from that pursuit.
Thinking about evolved to anxiously awaiting the following Tuesday, which arrived when it usually did. Curtis started as early as he could and hurried through the first ten deliveries in order to give himself as much time as possible at the final one. He didn't know it, but Marshall had been watching through the open doorway until he saw the sexy man approach and sat down at the long folding table which was used for his desk and by other residents when they played chess or dominoes or other games.
"Good morning, Holt," he greeted the man for whom he had the hots.
"Hi, Gordon. Why don't you call me Curt or Curtis? That's my first name."
"Oh, okay. Well, my first name's Marshall."
"Hi, Marshall."
The mutual seduction was off to a good start, which quickly got better. "Ya know, there's five other barracks her, besides this one. Do you want to see one of the others?" This might have seemed like a silly idea, because the places they might visit were identical to the one where they were standing and could not possibly be of any interest, but Marshall had a good reason for making the suggestion.
Curtis had an equally good reason for accepting it. He didn't know of any other decent pace for a tryst, which was why he had been interested in checking out the barracks trustees in the first place. People holding down those jobs would be by themselves all day in buildings with beds available. An unoccupied place would have more privacy yet, because there would be an even smaller chance of another prisoner or a guard walking in on them. Fucking the prisoners who shared his barracks, even if they had any appeal to him, which none of them did, was out of the question, because it would mean putting himself on display to a crowd, some of the disdainful, which he didn't want to do.
"Yeah, Marshall, that sounds interesting. It's always nice to see new places and do new things. Especially with new people."
