Hazardous Waste Ch 04

All characters are adults.

Reminder: Noire isn't uplift that improves your mind and makes you a better person. Noire is life without its lipstick and perfume. So if you're a delicate snowflake you may want to brew some tea and go read some poems.

*****

The bad, the worse, and the ugly

Sitting on a sofa across the room from me I saw a good looking older woman who looked to be around forty.

"You ain't Red," she said. "I'm waiting for Red."

"He ain't coming," I replied.

"Are you the one he fought tonight?"

"Uh huh."

"I guess you won."

"Red fell down before I did."

"I'm Red's wife."

"Looks like you're in the wrong place for a visit with Red."

"I'm first prize. The winner gets a woman to spend the night with, and Red always wants me."

I let it go without a response, figuring she'd do whatever she wanted to do, fuck what I thought. She'd put out and make the best of it if fucking me was in her best interest.

I saw a bottle sitting on the kitchen counter.

She saw me eyeballing it. "The whisky's your's, too. You unhappy with me?"

"Red came close. No one asked me for my druthers if I won but I got no problem with you or the whisky."

"My name is Sandy. Oh! And they left some clothes for you, I put them in the bedroom. Who are you?"

"Marlin Kane."

"Killer Kane?"

"Some call me that. Any more prizes I oughta know about? "

"I'm s'posed to fry you up a steak. How you want it?"

"Rare."

"Pink?"

"Bloody."

I went to the bedroom and pulled my trunks off. They were cheap swimming trunks. I pulled my jock off. I went in the bathroom. The trailer was old and the shower was small and crude, but the water was hot. There was a thick towel for me atop the toilet lid.

Back in the kitchen Sandy had the table set and it blew my mind to see real knives and forks. She had on a man's denim shirt that covered her ass, barely. She was tall and plump. Her head was covered by a pile of curly brown hair, the curls looked natural. She had sloe eyes and a petite turned-up nose with very faint down on her upper lip. Her mouth was wide, generous, with rose-tinted lips and a sudden smile showing even white teeth.

I sat at the small table between the kitchen and the living room. Sandy sat across from me as I started on the steak.

"How is it?" She asked.

"Half as big as it needs to be,"I replied. It was a pound of New York Strip. She got it close to how I like steak cooked but it wasn't enough.

"You don't talk much," she said.

"I just spent the evening getting my ass kicked out through my nose, and I'm tired."

She shut up except to ask if she could have some of the whisky.

"Help yourself," I replied.

After eating I went in the bedroom and lay on the bed. Sandy fucked around in the front long enough and I fell asleep.

Later I awoke in the dark, and felt a hot and sweaty body pressed against me. I sleep naked. A hand gripped and squeezed my cock. Alcohol breath filled my nose and made me cough as the hot body got on top of me. I felt a hand guiding my cock between spread legs before it became surrounded by moist heat. I was half-asleep but realized that the body was female and that my cock was now ensconced deep into a very wet pussy.

Then wet, slobbery kisses covered my neck and face as the wet pussy flowed around my cock, contracting then loosening. Firm, tits pressed against my chest and I felt the hardness of the nipples. My assailant uttered drunken words about going without for a long time. She sat up and my cock eased in deeper inside the damp warmth of her gash.

I rested my head on the pillow and I let her fuck me with her wet sex moving up and down, massaging my cock in the best way. My hips helped her as she moved up and down, with her tits swinging to and fro above my chest.

I groped her dangling tits and pinched her nipples as she fucked me. At the same time her pussy squeezed my cock like it had fingers. I wanted to cum but not too soon. Her sex held my cock like a vice and my loins were suddenly showered by warm, sticky liquid as she climaxed.

I thought she might fall off the bed. She gripped me so hard I was unable to pull out of her. Then, like a balloon deflating, her body went all limp and she collapsed on top of me. She didn't move and I realized that she was out for the count when she began gently snoring. My cock was still wedged inside her and I let her have my load.

She was drunk as a lord as I turned us around so she lay on her back with me on top with my cock still firmly sheathed inside her gooey sex. Her eyes were closed and she breathed gently through her open mouth. She snored and reeked of whisky. But I wanted more of her.

I began to fuck her. Each thrust made her tits loll from side to side. She showed no signs of waking up so I fucked harder, thrusting as deep as possible. I didn't last long. My cock swelled and I shot a wad of luv deep into her. She was a great piece of ass. I fell asleep.

I woke up next morning and the room reeked of sex. I took a quick shower. As the water cascaded down my body my mind went over what happened during the night and I got a hard-on. I stroked it a couple of times but decided to ease off. I got dressed. I was surprised to find Sandy in the kitchen, in her shirt, sitting at the table nursing a cup of black coffee. She looked terrible. She grunted when I bid her good morning. She complained about her hangover. I got myself some coffee and sat down. She looked miserable.

Her sex was exposed; a confection of coral hued lips and a deeper pink sheath. The nub of her clitoris poked out as if curious to know what was going on. She looked like shit and ready for another roll in the hay, too.

"I need a shower," she said.

"Go take one," I replied.

"Then what?" She asked.

"Then whatever," I replied.

"I don't remember anything from last night. I wish there was a bath tub." She wasn't in the shower long. I was on the bed when she came out, drying herself, and sat on the side of the bed. "I wish I had something to drink," she said. The whisky bottle was empty.

We fucked again but I never saw Sandy after the first time. Red never shit about me fucking his old lady, and I didn't bring it up. After Sandy I fucked a small inmate from the Lowell State Prison for Women. Her name was 'Nelle.'

Nelle was maybe my age, five-one or two, a hundred and five pounds with long blonde hair. In for drugs. A hippie chick into boys and girls. She volunteered to be my prize for money or whatever. She hadda girlfriend at Lowell, and maybe the girlfriend volunteered Nelle. She taught school before she got caught selling drugs to a cop. She was waiting in the trailer after the fight.

I showered and went through my routine before I joined her on the bed. We looked at each other and smiled, and I put my hand on her small tits.

I was undressed. She liked what she saw. Large biceps and arms, heavily tattooed and muscled. Strong hands. A solid six pack of abs. Strong leg muscles and thighs. A firm ass. My hairy chest didn't harm my appeal, either.

"No hickeys!" She warned me. "I gotta girlfriend back at Lowell."

So I licked her neck, breathed in her ear, pawed her crotch till she responded with heavy breathing and moisture, and moved her hand to my cock. She knew my cock would relieve the tension in her girl parts, and she jacked me till I was ready to push it inside her. She wanted it inside her first, then she'd suck it and clean me up. I helped her climb atop me, and helped her guide it in. She felt wet and tight as she started fucking me. Her tension melted away.

I wasn't inside Nelle five minutes before she felt her orgasm coming, "Baby I can't wait, I'm gonna cum. I'm sorry!"

When she stopped floating she got off me, kneeled, and told me to dump my load in her mouth. It didn't take long, and cum flowed out her mouth, like warm syrup on hotcakes, over her lips, down her chin, and dripped onto her chest and belly and thighs. She swallowed all she could, cleaned her mouth with her tongue, swallowed a little more, licked her lips, swallowed again, and licked semen off her fingers after she wiped the cum from her belly and tits. Semen was everywhere. She cleaned herself with the bedspread. She thought of how she usta get drenched by super-soaker water pistols when she was a kid.

We got together a few more times before another girl replaced her as a sports prize.

I was king of the hill for a few years until a bigger boy came along and I quit while the quitting was good. They then made me the chief gladiator of Q Wing. I took care of nuts and noobs for the guards. I handled problems no one had the time or appetite to deal with. Like when two queers fought over the same bitch. All the 'whatever' crap. If I kicked ass the guards and wardens shrugged their shoulders and gave the whiner a group hug. But group hugs and shrugged shoulders did shit to stop convict violence.

Here are some of the common problems Q Wing had before I became its enforcer:

Like Jeff. Jeff was an older latrine queen doing eighteen years for two counts of Criminal Negligent Homicide. That's manslaughter. His attiude and social skills ate shit. He'd done ten years and still cussed the guards, refused to shower, and his cell looked like a dump. So they made him the permanent shithouse cleaner.

So one day he's working in the shithouse, scrubbing showers, gets to the third shower, and see's that someone shit diarrhea all over the white tile. The second he see's it, he frowns. He goes to a guard. Most of the guards don't like him. He's rude and disrespectful. He says he's not cleaning it up. The guard let's the shift sergeant know.

The Sergeant says, "Clean it up."

Ten minutes later, Jeff is wiping shit off the shower wall and pissed. No one likes him but we feel his pain.

Later that day he announces, "Whoever sprayed chunky soup from their ass all over the shower wall, is a no good dirty rotten mother fucker! An if I catch who's doing it, I'm gonna smash your face!"

The dayroom went silent. Everyone stared at Jeff. He then walked to his cell. Went in. And slammed the door.

A few days later, it happened again. But this time, not quite as much. It was only about a baker's dozen quarter size chunks sprayed in the diameter of one square foot. An easy clean.

But Jeff did not see it that way. He flipped! He marched straight to the Sergeant's office and said, "Listen you fat son of a bitch. I know you're gonna fuck me. So screw you! One of your punks crapped in the shower again."

The Sergeant stands up and presses the "panic button" on his radio. He says, "Well this time I'm not having you threaten the whole dayroom."

Jeff spats, "The rat who told you that is probably the one crapping his pants all over my shower."

Within seconds, five guards respond to the panic button. They cuff Jeff up and drag him to the hole. The reason: Threatening.

Eighteen days later, here comes Jeff. Right back to the same ol bunk.

Fast forward thirteen days. Jeff is sitting in the dayroom playing Pinochle. Someone says, "Look, look, look" as he nods towards Scott.

Scott is speed walking to the bathroom in his shorts. Diarrhea is running down his leg. It's dripping all over the floor. He leaves a trail from his cell to the latrine.

Jeff follows Scott. Scott goes into the toilet stall and latches it shut. He has no idea Jeff is stalking him.

As Scott rinses off using toilet water, Jeff waits. He can hear him splashing around and flushing.

The second Scott un-latches the stall door, Jeff rushes in. Scott is no match for Jeff. Jeff grabs him by the hair with both hands. Scott screams as Jeff pushes Scott's face deep into the toilet bowl.

Scott's arms and legs are flailing all over the place. But to no avail. Jeff has a handle on the situation. Once the bubbles stop, Jeff pulls Scott's head outta the water. He says, "I told you what I'd do if I caught you."

Then he plunged Scotts face back into the toilet water. This time the bubbles were bloody. Jeff broke Scott's nose on the bottom of the toilet bowl.

The second Jeff saw blood, he let go. Then he calmly walked back to the Pinochle table and resumed his game.

Everyone in the dayroom knew something just happened, but they didn't know what. Then Scott walks out of the bathroom. He's soaking wet. He's holding his nose with both hands. He's hunched over. He looks dazed and confused. The front of his white t-shirt is covered with blood. Then all of a sudden, he collapses.

Everyone in the dayroom is trippin! Someone says to Jeff, "What the fuck did you do to him?"

Jeff nonchalantly replies, "I smashed his head in the toilet...just like I said I would."

The guard returns to the pod. He see's Scott on the floor and immediately hits the panic button.

The entire pod is put on lockdown. Medical cones. Off goes Scott on a stretcher. Everyone is looking out their window.

Guards, Sergeant, and counselors are everywhere. They all huddle up for a pow-wow. Then, six of them walk directly to Jeff's cell. They cuff him up and take him to the hole. Reason: Assault.

It was a lot of excitement and trouble for little results. And others hadda clean the toilets and shower while Jeff was in the hole.

Keep your eyes to yourself. Don't stare at female visitors or grab your package when theyre around. If you get caught doing it at someone's visitor, whether it's their mom, sister, grandma, wife, girlfriend, whomever, you could end up looking at some boots upside your face back in the cell block.

Like Bruce. Bruce was a nice young fellow serving 14 years for second degree murder. All through his school years he played sports and had lots of friends.

One night he went to a party with friends. This was a high school party, so everyone there ranged from 15-18 years old. Bruce was 17. The party was going good, everyone was laughing and having fun. Then it happened. Eight football players from the rival high school walked in and crashed the party. They were loud, rude, and disrespectful. When asked to leave, they refused.

Push come to shove and a fight broke out. Most people ran. Within seconds, Bruce and his six buddies were getting man handled by the bullies. Bruce panicked. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. He had no intention of using the knife. He just wanted to break up the brawl and persuade the bullies to leave. It didn't work out. One of the bullies attacked Bruce. Bruce stabbed him. The stab wound was fatal.

Two years into a 14 year sentence, Bruce was enjoying a nice visit from his mom and sister. As the conversation flowed and the mood was light, his sister leaned in close and said, "That creepy guy keeps looking at me."

Bruce turned his head and saw exactly who she was talking about. It was Ray. A convicted sex offender. Bruce turned his chair, then pointed his finger directly at Ray and said, "That guy right there? That's the guy who can't keep his fucking eyes off my sister!" From that point forward, Bruce kept Ray in his sight. The mood shifted. Tension could be felt. Bruce was pissed!

After the visit, Bruce confronted Ray.

"Why were you staring at my sister!" he demanded!

"I wasn't."

"I saw you. Don't fucking lie to me."

"I'm not lying. I wasn't looking at her."

Talk time was over. Bruce kicked Ray in the nuts without warning. Hard! As Ray bent over in pain, Bruce grabbed him by the hair and kneed him in the face 3 times. Ray fell to the floor. Bruce stomped on his face twice, then said, "Don't you ever look at my sister again you piece of shit."

Back in the mid 90's there was this punk running around Q Wing who went by the name 'Lynn'.

Lynn was in a relationship with Cecil. Lynn was white, Cecil was Cuban. For months the two lived together. Until one day administration broke them up.

Lynn got moved to a different cell. His new cellmate was a con named Tommy. Tommy was an old lifer.

It wasn't long before Tommy was butt-fucking Lynn and making him suck his dick. Lynn told Cecil. Cecil was pissed.

Cecil approached Tommy out in the yard and said, "Hey man, Lynn is my bitch. Leave her alone."

Tommy laughed and said, "Her? That punk has a dick bigger than yours."

Cecil wasn't laughing. "Just stay away from her, alright?"

Tommy's face got serious, "That punk is in my cell now. I'll do whatever I want, whenever I want."

Cecil pointed his finger at Tommy's face and said, "If you touch her one more time, we're going to war." Then Cecil walked away.

That night Tommy butt-fucked Lynn for hours. He was extra loud and rough. Cecil heard it all through the open bars. Everyone heard it. Everyone expected war.

The next day everyone was in the yard. The tension was thick. Whites on one side of the yard. Cubans on the other.

Cecil walked to the center of the yard as he called out Tommy's name. Tommy emerged from the white crowd. The second the two got face to face, it was on and fists flew. Cecil landed a solid punch, knocking Tommy to the ground. As Tommy tried to get to his feet, Cecil kicked him in the face knocking him out.

Cecil stomped Tommy's head and neck. All the white boys jumped into the melee. Then the Cubans joined the fun. The whites were out numbered 3 to 1 and a massive brawl ensued.

The guards went crazy up in the gun towers. They shouted "Break it up...get on the ground" through the PA system. It didn't work. They tried tear gas next. Tear gas was everywhere. But the convicts ignored it.

Bullets filled the air and the ground around the brawlers. This caused the convicts to scatter and hunker down till the shit storm ended. It took about five minutes to do the trick.

Tommy got his ass kicked. The Cubans covered Cecil while he stomped Tommy.

Convicts want to control their lives all they can. Back in the old days, everyone sat in the same seat at the chow hall. New guys were constantly getting ran off until they found a seat that could be theirs. This caused so much drama, that prison officials assigned seats and enforced the new rule.

Back in 1992, there was a new guy who went by the nickname, "Cat Piss." Seriously! He introduced himself as "Cat Piss." Why? Because he cooked so much meth, and he used so much meth, that he smelled like cat piss. The shit oozed from his pores and scalp, even months after he got locked up.

His first day at Raiford, Cat Piss sat in the wrong seat. Cat Piss is about 6'4" and 200 lbs.

Matt approached him and said, "This seat is taken. Go ahead and finish your meal, but don't sit here again."

Cat Piss looked at Matt, then continued to eat. Matt dumped his tray and leaves without ever sitting down.

Matt was about 6' and 190 lbs. He was in prison for robbing and stabbing to death a pill dealer. He got sixty years. He was twenty-seven years old.

The next day Matt came to the chow hall and Cat Piss is parked in his seat again. Matt said, "Hey man, I was nice enough to let you finish your meal yesterday. But today, you need to get the fuck outta my seat."

Cat Piss stood up. Matt backed up and re-thought the situation. Then he said, "Look man, just find another seat. I won't tell you again."

Matt dumps his tray and leaves again without eating.

A few hours go by, and its chow time again. And sure enough, Cat Piss sat in Matt's seat. Matt said nothing but walked up behind Cat Piss, and pulled out a razor sharp 3 inch plexiglass shank. Before Cat Piss can react, Matt has stabbed him in the side three times. Then four five six seven...

Matt had Cat Piss on the ground, gripping his hair with his left hand, and stabbing his ass with the shank, in & out of Cat Piss's abdomen. By the time the guards broke it up, Cat Piss had been stabbed over forty times.

Prison has its own language. The word "punk" doesn't seem all that bad. But call someone a "punk" in prison and you could be fighting in the blink of an eye. In prison, a punk is a prison bitch, someone who gets fucked in the ass and sucks dick.