They say you can get used to anything. It's been three months since I was convicted and sent to this hellhole of a prison where every day is a horror show, to which I'll never adjust.
I'm laying on my bunk, holding my ankles by my ears, while Malaika, my cellmate, fists my vagina. She's a lifer bull dyke, and she says she loves my pussy. When my husband offered her $125 per week to wreak his revenge by sexually abusing me, with fisting a thrice weekly feature, she thought she had gone to heaven.
How my husband accomplished this -- through a group of corrupt guards he'd bribed -- told me that I couldn't go to the guards -- they'd turn me over to some sadistic lifers who would enjoy my tongue and body before they cut me up until I was unrecognizable. Or they'd mark me up in ways I'd never recover from. I've seen others in prison, cut up or humiliatingly tattooed on their faces with symbols or words. Besides, the guards don't care what happens to me, as long as the cell block remains peaceful and they receive their cut.
Less than a year ago, before my trial, I was a middle-class wife with a comfortable home and life. I had a handsome husband who had a great paying job and a career that seem to have no limits. I'd married above my class. I knew that; I was never the prettiest girl or the smartest. My family lived in trailers my whole life. When we married, I was embarrassed to see my family next to his. His were so classy while my relatives looked like the Beverly Hillbillies.
On my wedding day, my jealous mother told me that they were a snooty bunch and I would never hold onto him. He'd regret marrying a trailer trash girl. "He'll find some girl he's not ashamed for his friends to talk to." She couldn't stand anyone better than her and hated that I was doing better than her. I knew that, but her words still made me cry and planted the seeds of insecurity that only grew during my marriage.
Some of the insecurity was due to my speech and lack of education. My husband, his family and his friends, always spoke so correctly. I tried hard to drop my trailer park idioms and pronunciations. "Ask for things", I told myself over and over, "Don't axe for them." At first, I thought my husband was trying to help me when he pointed out my syntax or pronunciation errors. Later it occurred to me that he enjoyed picking at me.
Then he gets this gorgeous model of a secretary, Marcie. She speaks so good (damn it, well, she speaks so well) and when we've met at company events she's had conversations with my husband about things that I don't understand. Not just work, but world events and things. I would try to join the conversation but would feel put down when they laughed at my questions. My husband would pat my shoulder and say, "Never mind, honey. It's not important." He made me feel so stupid and Marcie would just smile at me, like I was a retarded child.
When Steve and Gloria came and showed me the picture of my husband John and Marcie fucking and smiling like pigs in shit, my mind exploded. Everything I expected that my mother had foretold, was right there. Fuck them! All I wanted was to get even.
I got out a bottle of scotch, and the three of us sat drinking and bitching, talking about what we should do. What we did was end up in bed together. I let them both fuck me. I'd never been with anyone but John and never with a woman. It wasn't as good as with John, but that was gone forever. That bastard.
It didn't take long for a plan to come together. It didn't occur to me until later that Gloria and Steve had already set everything up. We fucked every day while John was at work and I fended John off every night with promises of new things on our date night. I did things with them I'd never done with John. The strap-on Gloria used was a familiar feeling, but I didn't have to worry about her finishing before I came, unlike with John's real penis. Or Steve's for that matter. While John at least tried to get me off each time, Steve only seemed interested in his own pleasure. It didn't bother me with Gloria there to finish me off, but it did tell me something about Steve.
