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ONCE YOU GO BLACK 1: YOU NEVER GO BACK

By Edua Erasmus

Smashwords edition

Copyright 2014 Eduard Joseph Erasmus

Previously published under the pseudonym “John Fazem”


Front cover design by Edua Erasmus


Where to find the author online:

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This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are

not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. Any resemblance to any person or

persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



All Rights Reserved

The right of Eduard Erasmus to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him under the South African Copyright Act of 1978 (as amended).



Thank you for downloading this free eBook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, distributed for commercial and non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own free copy at Smashwords where they can also discover other works by this author.



WARNING:

This book contains sexually graphic scenes between men and explicit language. Some readers may find this offensive. This eBook is intended for adults only. All character portrayed in this work of fiction are 18 years or older and shouldn’t be viewed otherwise.



1

I hate being the new guy as the new guy always gets picked on; it happened to me in school and it happened to me when I started working at Belco Incorporated as an IT specialist. It took me a while to make a name for myself, but in no time at all people stopped referring to me as the new guy.

So you can imagine my frustration being the new guy yet again. I thought I put that all behind me, and yet here I am; the new guy again – the new guy on block C. I heard someone yell ‘close 402’and as the iron gate shut in my face the cold reality struck me in my face that the life I once knew was gone.

So this is my new home? Cell 402 of the Blue River Correctional Facility – it was small and not really quaint. It was barely liveable and I had to share it with a cellmate… a black cellmate – not that it really mattered. I’m one of those guys who always say “I’m not racist… some of my best friends are friends with black people.”

He lay on the lower bunk with his head resting on his hands; wearing a state issued white sleeveless vest and orange jumpsuit pants. Our eyes met for a brief second as he scrutinized me without a word and I felt a peculiar attraction towards him; there was just something about him I couldn’t quite put my finger on just yet. I felt his eyes still scrutinizing me and it made me a bit uncomfortable, so I turned away and fixed my sights on the sink/toilet combo… What an odd contraption. Did I really want to take a shit where I brush my teeth? Who was the idiot who designed this? Was it a form of torture?

“What’s your name?” My cellmate asked with a sultry, deep voice.

“Sorry?”

I turned around as he sat upright on the lower bunk; his handsome, rugged face came into the light I could see a tattoo on his left arm. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward; looking like a bit of a street thug, and yet something in his demeanour suggested that he wasn’t.

“What’s your name?” He asked again.

“Barry.” I said uncertain.

He thought for a moment and then stood up. He was nearly twice my size and pure brute and muscle that stretched his vest so tight it appeared that it had trouble containing all his muscles. I was a bit on the slender side and he could easily snap me in half if he wanted to. I needed someone of his size to protect me while I was serving my time. It would make my stay that much easier.

He stared down at me and the left corner of his mouth curled up into a smile.

“You can’t go around with a pussy name like that.” He said amused, “You’ll get shanked within the first week. You need a new name; a strong prison name.”

“I do?” I asked confused, “A prison name?”

“I think we should call you Bruce.”

“Bruce?” I asked sceptically.

“Yeah. Like Willis. He’s a badass. You need a name that makes you sound like a badass motherfucker in here.”

“Look at me.” I said unconvinced, “I hardly look like a bad ass. I look like a twig.”

He covered his mouth with his fist in true gangster style as he laughed – looking quite handsome I might add.

“That don’t matter.” He said, “If you got a bad-ass name all you need is a rumour that you are bad-ass and people will believe your reputation.”

I thought about it for a moment and realized he had a point. Bruce was a solid and manly name and it sounded much better than Barry. I hated my name. I once saw this movie called Sunshine Barry and the disco worms – it was about a bunch of earthworms that formed a 70s disco band. I had the same name as a singing worm… it couldn’t drive fear into the hearts of my enemies.

My cellmate held out his hand and said, “Wesley.”

I stared down at his hand and then shook it. He had a firm handshake. His palm was rough, but not too rough. It was clear that he was a working man before he became incarcerated.

“Nice to meet you, Wesley.” I said, “I’m Bruce.”

Wesley chuckled and then let go of my hand.

“That’s better.” He said and sat down on the lower bunk.

He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest; analysing me once more. I just wished I knew what he was thinking. He didn’t come across as the kind of man who would kill me in my sleep – or at least I hoped he wouldn’t. I stood there awkwardly for a moment as my attractive cellmate stared at me and I then put my state issued blanket down on the top bunk. It was only then that I realised how noisy the cellblock was. Everyone was locked up in their separate cells, but they all had conversations with cellmates across the hall from them. This would take some getting used to.

“What are you in for?” Wesley asked.

I’m not sure whether you’re supposed to discuss your crimes with your cellmate. What if you did something he despises and he kills you in your sleep? I had to sound as badass as I possibly could – I mean, I didn’t know jack-squat about him. I couldn’t trust him just because he had a pretty face and some muscles.

“Murder.” I said nonchalantly.

Wesley nodded as if he expected me to say that and chuckled, “Of course you are.”

The tone of his voice said that he didn’t believe me. Did I not look like the kind of man who would kill someone? Did he really judge a book by its cover? Some of the best books had shit covers and once that had intriguing covers were boring as hell. I learned a long time ago not to judge a book by its cover – doing that cost me two years in a broken relationship.

“You don’t believe me?” I asked.

He sat upright again and said, “I believe you little man.”

There was a moment of silence before he continued, “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Everyone on cellblock C is guilty of murder. Look around you; you might see some infamous faces from the news.”

Those words send a chill down my spine. I was incarcerated with a killer. My new home was a cellblock filled with killers. I slowly walked over to the cell door and stared out at the rest of murderers I now shared my life with. What the hell did I do? Was this really who I was? Was this how the world saw me – a cold-blooded killer?

Shit…

2

Okay, to be honest; I never really murdered anyone. I just want to set the record straight before we go any further – it was culpable homicide. I don’t like talking about it, because I never meant for any of it to happen. I was charged with culpable homicide and murder, and due to a legal technicality and an impressive case laid before the court by the state I was convicted of murder instead. When the sentence was handed down I could feel my entire world falling apart – everything I ever worked towards was taken away in an instant; all because of one mistake.

Mistakes were made and lessons were learned and I decided to take my punishment like a man; serve my time without incidents. Ten years might seem like a long time, but at least it wasn’t life imprisonment – which the state wanted. The judge was lenient and took into consideration that I was a first offender and that I didn’t waste the court’s time by dragging out the procedures.

Ten years… fuck. I’ll be like forty when I get out. Perhaps if I’m lucky I’ll get early parole or something. I figured if I did five years I could be eligible for parole – which wouldn’t be half bad. I’ll add a few lines to my face, but that was expected.

Here I was in the prime of my life and had the world at my feet. I just turned thirty and had my whole life ahead of me and then everything came to a sudden halt. Funny how things work out sometimes. Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.

I’ll simply have to adapt to prison life. It might just be a little bit easier said than done. These men were hardened criminals. But, just like everything else in life things seem impossible at first. I once read a study that said learning to ride a bike is the hardest thing in the world and if you could master that, you could accomplish anything you put your mind to. I just had to stay positive and maybe I’d make it out of here alive one day

One of my biggest fears going into this whole prison life thing was the communal shower. It was just one big room which had showerheads against every wall; something I definitely wasn’t prepared for. Yes, I knew it would be a communal shower, but I at least expected cubicles or little walls or something… nothing. It was completely open.

So I went to the shower room when it was shower time and everyone could tell I was the new guy; it was written all over my face – also, I was the only one wearing clothes. The other inmates walked around with their dicks swaying while I hugged my towel like a child hugging a teddy.

Some of the guys glanced at me in passing as they entered the shower area, but the rest weren’t really interested in making eye contact with the new guy. I stood next to the doorway and clutched onto my state issued towel; watching in horror as a hairy fat guy walked past me with a towel around his waist, jerked it off as he walked and hung it on a hook before entering the shower area.

I stood motionlessly for a moment and watched all these men standing with their dicks swinging in the water as if it was a normal thing to do. Perhaps to them it was, but it was all new to me. I got a strange warm and nauseating feeling in my chest. I couldn’t go through with it. I wasn’t ready for a room filled with murderers to see me naked… that, and the fact that some of the naked men kind of turned me on. Did I mention that I happened to be gay? Being a gay man I have hormones which are ignited by male nudity, but not the ugly fat guys. There were some handsome guys in the shower and some of the handsome guys had nice dicks. When I say nice, I mean dicks without foreskin. I myself was skinless down there and found it a turn-on if a guy was cut.

I could feel myself getting a hard-on that was pressing up against my pants so I covered it with the towel. I’ll simply have to learn to control my urges and in the meantime I’d wash back in the cell using the sink/toilet combo.

I turned to leave and as I did I bumped into Wesley. He was just wearing his towel around his waist and my oh my… he had a killer body. He had abs and a six-pack to make anyone lust after him. I’ve never really seen the appeal about black men, but damn… I couldn’t stop my eyes from traveling down those deep V-lines leading down to the towel that hid all kinds of mysteries.

“Aren’t you gonna shower?”

“I don’t think so.” I said shyly; prying my eyes away from Wesley’s groin.

I eventually shoved past him and left the shower room, but stopped once I was in the hallway, turned around and glanced at Wesley as he walked towards the shower area. He removed his towel and hung it on a hook. Fuck it… he had a very nice and firm ass. His dark skin glistened underneath the shower as he wet his hair. He slowly turned around and I could see his dick come into view and though it was far away I could see it was an impressive size and seemingly cut. I could feel my hard dick press up against my pants again and I knew it was time to make a quick exit.

3

I stood in front of the toilet/sink combo in our cell and stared into the mirror. I wouldn’t exactly call it a mirror; it was made from some kind of reflective metal - probably because metal can’t shatter and be used as a weapon. Call it a futile exercise in redundancy, but a metal mirror seemed pointless as I’ve heard prisoners can make a weapon out of a toothbrush.

I looked so different in my state issued uniform that consisted of a white t-shirt and the orange jumpsuit pants. The pants were baggy and looked horrible on my skinny ass. Who knew I’d miss slim-legged clothes this much? Slim-legged pants were a skinny guy’s best friend. They made you look more proportional and gave you a bit of an ass while the orange jumpsuit pants did nothing for my non-existent ass.

I heard something behind me and turned around to see Wesley enter the cell wearing only the towel wrapped around his waist. I nervously tried to look away as he dropped the towel and got dressed. Man, oh man, this was uncomfortable. For some reason I found him alluring.

“Why didn’t you take a shower?”

“I wasn’t feeling well.” I lied.

I caught a glimpse of him pulling his pants up from the corner of my eye; the elastic band of the pants pushed up his dick and balls and then he put away his junk. My breathing got shallow and my mouth went dry as I licked my lips and wiped some nervous sweat from my forehead while he put on his vest.

“Well, I won’t have you stinking up the cell.” Wesley said.

I turned to him and my heart slowed down a bit upon seeing him dressed again. He had no visible inhibitions – not that I’d expect a fine specimen like that to be shy about his body, but if I were to survive in this cell, he couldn’t get undressed in front of me like that. My hormones simply won’t handle it for much longer.

“You’ll have to take a shower sooner or later.”

“It’s just an adjustment, you know?” I said reserved.

He stepped past me towards the lower bunk and the freshly showered smell lingered as he sat down on the bed. I tried to compose myself and steadied my nervously shaking hand. There was just something about him I couldn’t put my finger on; I couldn’t quite grasp why I was attracted to him. I’ll admit he was an attractive black man and though I’ve never crossed the racial divider, I found myself considering it - making my feelings towards him feel intriguing, rousing and unfamiliar.

“I can remember my first day here.” He said, “I was scared as shit, but you can’t let them see you scared. If you have body issues you have to get over them.”

Body issues? On the inside I was chuckling at his remark, but wished it was indeed my problem. I’m in a prison surrounded by convicted killers. How in the hell will I survive a shower with them if I got a boner? Shit… I wish the judge took that into consideration as mitigating circumstances during sentencing.

I just nodded as I stepped closer to the bunk beds and studied the top bunk that stood just beneath my chin. How in the hell did they expect me to get up there without a ladder or rope or an elevator? I scrutinized the top bunk for a moment; trying to figure out the best way to get up there. I could perhaps push my way up as if getting out of a pool, but I lacked the upper body strength to do that. I could perhaps try and step on the base of the lower bunk? I hesitated and did the latter, but I still couldn’t really get up there. How embarrassing.

“Lemme help you.” Wesley said.

“No, I’m—”

Before I could finish the sentence Wesley got up and hooked his one arm in between my legs to lift me up. The sudden invasion of privacy as his forearm pressed up against my balls startled me and I nearly lost my balance. He let go of me and I stumbled back; holding his hands up in the air as if surrendering as I smiled nervously at him.

“What if I took the top bunk?” He asked.

I tried to calm myself and I was pretty sure he could hear my heart beat furiously in my chest. I just cleared the image of his naked body from my mind and then he had to touch my balls.

“I prefer top anyway.” He said.

Oh, the irony… I nodded and tried not to laugh at his ironic statement as we switched bunk beds. He climbed onto the top bunk with ease and then I lay down on the lower bunk. So what now? Do we just hang around in this small cell for the rest of our days? Okay, it wasn’t all that bad getting stuck in a small room with a handsome man.

“So, where are you from?” I heard him ask from the top bunk.

“Chrismar Valley.”

“Chrismar Valley?” He sounded impressed, “I know where that is. It’s a nice neighbourhood.”

“Yeah… It is. So where are you from?”

“Cell Block C.” He said amused.

I silently chuckled and then said, “I meant, before you went to prison.”

“You mean, like where did I stay?”

“Yeah.” I said with a smile, though he couldn’t see my face.

“With my mom. In Northwood.”

“How old are you, by the way?”

“Twenty seven.”

“I just turned thirty a couple of months ago.”

There was a moment of silence and then he said, “Bet you had a decent job to be living in Chrismar Valley?”

“I did, actually. IT.”

“IT?” He asked impressed, “Wish I had the brains to have studied after school. I used to be a casual labourer at a building site, but then I got a job behind a cash register.”

“Oh.” I said sympathetic, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Work is work. You take what you can get on the outside. What did a white boy from Chrismar Valley do exactly to end up in here?”

The question hit me like a brick wall. I knew he’d ask it eventually, but I didn’t expect him to ask it so soon. I wasn’t ready to talk about what I did. It all still felt like a bad dream I could wake up from any moment if I just concentrated real hard.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay. Fair enough. What would you like to talk about? All we have in here is time.”

“Okay,” I said and thought of a viable question, “What kind of music do you like.”

He burst out laughing and said, “Shit, are we on a first date or something? Ask questions with meaning, son.”

I thought for a moment, but couldn’t really think of anything else I could ask him. I didn’t know how to keep a conversation going with a complete stranger. I could ask him who he murdered, but wasn’t sure I really wanted to know that just yet.

“Rap.” He said; breaking the silence.

“What?”

“I like rap music.”

“Okay, like that Enema guy?”

He laughed and said, “Eminem? Yeah, like him. His music is good. You’re funny, you know that? Much better than my previous cellmate. He hardly spoke three words to me – I guess he was scared or shy or something. But you and I, we’re gonna get along just fine.”

4

Dinner was served at 5:30… I don’t think I’ve ever had dinner that early. In fact, I don’t even think my grandmother’s old age home served dinner that early. It was just another adjustment I had to get used to. I’ll have to eat my fill and try to make it to the next morning. I doubt they’d be serving Big Mac’s for dinner.

The cafeteria was enormous. Each cell block had its own cafeteria – something to do with not letting inmates from different cellblocks interacting. The cafeteria was almost just as noisy as the cell block as men ate their dinner. I tried not to stare at the angry faces as I passed them on my way to the counter. Geez… some of these men were pretty scary looking. There were a few handsome men here and there – none as handsome as Wesley, but the scary ones outnumbered them.

Luckily Wesley said he’d accompany me to dinner – almost felt like a date. It was reassuring to know I had a muscular man walking next to me through hell. The chances of someone messing with me were slim with him alongside me and I wished he could be at my side forever. Perhaps that’s what I had to do – I had to become his prison bitch. I’ve read somewhere if you became someone’s wife in prison they’d protect you.

We got to the counter and the inmates behind the counter handed us each a tray of food. It wasn’t five star restaurant quality, but at least it seemed edible. Each tray had a piece of corned meat (not really a big fan, but when in Rome…), some vegetables and a whole lot of rice that reminded me of contestants on the Survivor reality show.

I glanced down at the food and then smiled at the guy behind the counter, though he didn’t smile back. He had the most mundane expression on his face and almost seemed dead on the inside – probably was.

“Thank you.”

He simply stared at me and then said, “Next.”

I turned around just as a mixed-race guy bumped into me; knocking my food tray right out of my hands and then had an attitude about it as if I insulted his mama or something.

“Look the fuck where you’re going!” He yelled.

What the fuck do I do now? He’s the one that bumped into me, but I wasn’t about to tell him that and start a fight I’d clearly lose. From the corner of my eye I could see a guard standing at the ready should things go sour and it wasn’t really inspiring confidence in the correctional service as I could bleed out before he ever reached me.

“I got rice all over my shirt.”

“I’m sorry.” I blabbered nervously, “I didn’t see you.”

“Like fuck you didn’t. You fucking blind or just a racist?”

What? How the hell am I a racist now? It seemed redundant to try and explain to him what the meaning of the word ‘racist’ was as it would probably just enrage him even further. I should probably also not refer to him as mixed race. Let’s call him Andy for the sake of telling the story. He sounds less threatening if he’s called Andy.

Andy looked me up and down as if he was expecting an apology for something which clearly was his fault. When I didn’t oblige he got infuriated and I swear if this was the Latino ‘hood, he’d try and cap my ass with a sideways gun.

“Did you swallow your tongue?”

“Is there a problem?” I heard Wesley say behind me.

With those words Andy’s expression of rage vanished and he seemed more like a scared little kitten bewildered by a thunderstorm as he slowly backed down.

“No problem.” Andy said sincerely, “We were just talking. Do you know him?”

“He’s my cellmate.” Wesley said, sounding all dominant.

“I don’t want any trouble.”

Andy turned to one of the guys behind him, took his tray of food and told the poor guy to fuck off. Andy then turned to us and smiled nervously as he handed me the tray of food.

“No harm done.” Andy said nervously.

I was a bit confused as to what had happened, but didn’t say anything. I just watched as Andy backed up and walked away with his tail between his legs. I turned to Wesley and I’ve never been so happy to see anyone. He had my back. I had a friend in prison… I had a badass friend who was also a feast for the eyes. How lucky can a gay guy get in prison?

“Thank you.” I said softly.

He winked at me and said, “Come on.”

We walked to an empty table at the far side of the cafeteria and sat down. Wesley started eating in silence as if nothing happened. It might have been nothing to him, but it sure was something to me. I’ve never been in a fight about food with someone (I’ve been in a food fight, but that’s different). I stared at him in admiration as he ate his vegetables; he was my hero.

“Eat up.” He said without looking up.

I kept staring at him and then he glanced up at me as if hinting that I should cut it out. Awkward… I picked up my spork and started eating. I recently learned that the half spoon, half fork plastic cutlery is called a spork. They clearly didn’t trust us with normal cutlery – not that I could blame the prison. Can you just imagine all of these enraged crazies running around with real, sharp cutlery? It would be a bloodbath.

I think he felt my eyes upon him because he stopped eating and looked up at me.

“Just don’t make a big deal out of it.” He said and continued eating.

How could I not make a big deal out of it? Things like that don’t really happen anymore. In modern society we’ve become more wary and much easier ignore someone in distress. It’s much safer to steer clear of danger than getting yourself involved in altercations that might cost you your life.

“You stood up for me.” I said amazed, “People in the real world don’t do that.”

“The real world?”

“I mean the outside world. Thank you again.”

He stuffed a sporkful of rice into his mouth and nodded; his demeanour staying all calm, cool and composed. There was clearly more to this book than the cover led on. Not only as he a tall drink of water, but he was a thick novel of mystery waiting to be unravelled.

“Don’t mention it man.” He said.

I smiled at his modesty and dug into the vegetables. They were bland and lacked any significant taste, but I was too hungry to care. It would be a while before I had another tasty burger. I’d simply have to forget McDonald’s ever existed just like every other luxury in my old life.

“You’ll get used to it.” He said and looked up.

“What?”

“The food. It tastes like shit, but you’ll get used to it.”

I don’t know if I wanted to get used to the bland food and then he smiled; making me forget about the bland taste. I stared into his eyes for a moment and when he glanced down at his tray of food, I noticed that we were the only ones seated at that particular table. People seemed to steer clear from him. It was puzzling, and yet intriguing… and it made me find him even sexier.

5

If you thought dinner was early, lights-out was at eight. I was just as surprised. After dinner we all returned to our cells for the remainder of the evening. The gates locked at seven and the lights went off at eight. How did these men survive on such a gruelling routine? As I gathered we were only allowed one hour of yard time every second day. I’m not sure if I could survive on the lack of vitamin E. I loved sunlight and fresh air, which is surprising for an IT specialist who spent most of his days indoors in front of a computer.

I lay on my bed and rested my head in my hands; Wesley lay quietly on the top bunk. Though every other guy in the cell block was talking to his cellmate or neighbour, my cellmate was quiet. I loved peace and quiet, and though I couldn’t really enjoy the quiet of our cell in the commotion of the adjacent cells, I longed to talk to Wesley about something – anything for that matter. So far we’ve had two great conversations and I felt comfortable around him; more comfortable than I ever felt amongst my friends or with ex-boyfriends.

“You’re quiet.” I said.

“I’m just tired. It was a long and boring day.”

I begged to differ. It was quite an exciting day for me, coming to prison and all. My life took a turn for the worst and yet somehow I was excited about what the future held in store for me. It was most probably as a result of being locked up with a handsome gentleman gangster. If I had to be locked up with anybody else, chances are that I might’ve been raped, murdered or committed suicide by now.

“So, how long are you in for?” I asked.

“Fifteen years.”

That was long. Here I was complaining about ten years and he was calm about spending fifteen years of his life in prison.

“Wow.” I said shocked.

It still hadn’t really sunk in that I’m in prison. I mean, I knew I was and I could see I was, but the reality of what my life would be from now on hasn’t really sunk in. When he said fifteen years, I guess a bit of the reality hit me; I’m not going anywhere. Perhaps if he opened up about his past I might feel less ashamed of what I did. It would be a morbid conversation, but I felt like I was ready for it.

“What did you do?”

“I shot someone.” He said calmly.

“Oh…”

I’m not sure why it shocked me. He told me earlier that the entire cell block C housed only killers, so obviously he killed someone. There was a long moment of silence. I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue with the conversation. Did I really want to know who he killed?

“I shot my stepfather.” he finally said.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood upright. I was sharing a cell with a man who killed his kin. Why would he shoot his family? Why the hell did I have to share a cell with someone who killed his family? He didn’t seem like the cold-blooded killer type. There had to be more to the story, right?

“I was working at the Five-and-Dine. Those people treated me like shit and the pay was shittier. I hated it there, but I had to think of my mother. She was sick. She had cancer. The Five-and-Dine had good health benefits. My dad left when I was young and my mother married this sonofabitch who never appreciated her. Ever since I could remember he beat her. He even beat her when she was sick. He broke one of her front teeth. So one night I went out, got a gun and shot him.”

The silence that befell the cell after he finished telling his story was a heavy silence. I felt like could barely breathe. If it were me I would have done the same thing. I was right about him; there was much more to him than meets the eye. He seemed like a good man who made the wrong decision – a decision that landed him in prison. He wasn’t very different from me. Perhaps I could tell him my story. It would be the first time I talked about it – other than at my trial.

“I had just turned thirty a couple of months back.” I said, “We were out drinking – my friends and I. We went to this local bar. We always went there, but that night… A group of guys hung out at a corner booth and one of them made a rude comment about one of my friends. He called my friend a faggot and that just set him off. They started fighting and before I knew it the bouncer dragged me outside along with them. The fight escalated and I just stood there watching. I didn’t know what to do. This guy was bigger than my friend and he kept beating him. The bouncer would pull the guy away and then he’d just start beating my friend again. I don’t know what got into me, but I just snapped. I hit the guy over the head with my beer bottle and pulled him off my friend. I threw him aside and he fell into the road… I remember a truck honking and then tyres screeching.”

I stopped to take a breath. It rattled me to relive that night. It gave me nightmares for weeks and still does every other night. Seeing someone die in such a gruesome manner is not something you’d easily forget.

“It was a mistake.” I said with my voice cracking a little, “It was a mistake…”

I killed that man. I didn’t have to toss him into the road. I could have just tossed him onto the sidewalk next to my friend – that’s what the state said and perhaps they were right. Maybe I deserved to be in prison? I was no different from anyone in here. I took a life.

As if my first night in prison wasn’t hard enough, I had to open a can of worms I thought I was ready for, but clearly wasn’t. Images of that night flashed into my head again as I turned onto my side and stared at the empty concrete wall across from the bunk beds and imagined I was watching TV.

“We all made mistakes.” Wesley finally said, “It’s not how many times life gets you down. It’s how many times you get up that matters. You’ll get through this. This is only momentary. Prison will pass and one day it’ll be in your past.”

Those words were soothing and there probably was some truth to them. I just had to stop being a pussy and man up. I wiped a rogue tear from my cheek and smiled. I was really glad I was in a cell with Wesley. He was a decent man and I started liking him more and more each time we had one of these talks. I think I might be falling for him…

The top bunk shifted and then Wesley’s feet dangled down the side. He jumped off the top bunk and removed his vest, folded it up neatly and placed it down on the ground next to the toilet/sink combo.

“Just don’t piss on it.” He said.

“What are you doing?”

“I sleep in the nude. We only get issued two uniforms and the other one is at the laundry room. I don’t want this one to crease while I sleep. I hope you don’t mind?”

“No.” I said hesitantly.

Why would I mind? It were these little things he did that made prison a little more bearable for me and if he felt comfortable putting his body on display I wasn’t about to stop him.

I watched as he removed his jumpsuit pants; he wasn’t wearing underwear. I tried to be discreet as I spied on him getting undressed. He had a lot of tattoos; one on each arm, one on his shoulder blade and one just below his navel. I couldn’t really make out what they were of in the dark, but I loved a man with tattoos. He folded up the pants and walked back over to the bed. My heart started racing as he reached up to the top bunk with his dick dangled a foot away from my face and on closer inspection I could see that he definitely was cut. He still smelled fresh from the shower earlier. I loved the smell of a clean dick. Every part of me wanted to reach out and grab his dick. I wanted to suck it real bad – suck it completely dry of cum, but had to constrain myself as he lifted himself onto the top bunk… and then his dick was out of sight.

I wanted him so bad and found it hard to think of anything except that gorgeous, 6 inch black dick that was just out of reach a few seconds earlier. My first night in prison was not only going to be difficult, it was going to be hard… very hard.

6

I woke up the next morning with some morning wood (as expected) and it took me a moment to realize that I was no longer in my own bed back home. The cellblock was quiet and I wondered what time it was. Without a watch I would quickly lose all sense of time in prison. I’ve read that hours can bleed into days and days can bleed into weeks without differentiation – especially if you couldn’t see the sun.

I had to pee so I slowly sat upright on the edge of the bed. The concrete floor of the cell was icy cold, so I hurried over to the toilet/sink combo and took a piss. The toilet flushed reasonably quiet and when I glanced over at the top bunk I saw Wesley was still asleep on his back. I hurried back to my bed, but paused before getting in and found myself staring at Wesley as he lay sleeping. Fuck, he was a gorgeous man. The blanket flowed across his groin area and covered only his legs. I stared at his muscular body in awe and found my eyes drifting down to V-line in his pelvic area. What I’d give to see his dick again. I desperately wanted to lift the blanket and take a peek at it once more, but didn’t know if it was worth the risk.

Fuck it… I bit down on my lower lip and slowly lifted the blanket. His flaccid dick rested on his right thigh with its head pointing at me and his balls hung down in between his legs. God, I wanted to touch him so badly and felt my dick get hard again and press up against my pants. If I couldn’t have him, I’d settle for the next best thing. While I stared at that gorgeous, dark dick of his, I slowly slithered my hand into my pants and wrapped my fingers around my hard dick. I started caressing myself and played with the head of my cock; imagining it was his dick.

I imagined his hard dick in my mouth while I jerked myself off – wondering what his dick would taste like. I wanted to taste his cum spurt inside my mouth. I could feel the head of my dick getting wet as I played with it and imagined that my pre-cum was the saliva from his succulent lips.

Wesley turned onto his side which startled me and I stumbled back; quickly jerking my hand out of my pants and then I found myself staring at his gorgeous face. He seemed asleep. God, that was close. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to perv on him. I quietly crawled back into my bed and though I was startled good, the hard-on I had was still there. Someone once said, never let a boner go to waste, so I didn’t waste a single moment of it… I just hope the moans were in my head.

I think I was fifteen or sixteen the last time I shot cum in my hand. That early morning jerk in the prison cell brought back faded memories of jerking off secretly to gay porn in my room and I must admit that the thrill of knowing that Wesley could wake up and catch me at any moment was exhilarating. Most guys say that once they cum they feel more relaxed – more at ease. With me it was completely the opposite. It gave me energy – a zest for life.

Loud sirens echoed through cellblock C and then one by one the inmates woke up as the lights came on. I lay dead quiet in my bunk and stared up at the top bunk. A moment passed and then the top bunk shifted. My heart skipped a beat knowing that he was awake and I felt like a school boy with a crush on someone. It was a peculiar feeling; probably because he wasn’t the least bit interested in me.

Wesley’s legs dangled down the side of the bed and then he jumped off the top bunk. I lay on my side and pretended to be asleep, but I glanced at his firm ass with one eye open. He picked up his folded clothes and got dressed; seemingly not caring much about underwear, but then again if you had a dick like his you’d want it to hang freely – let it breathe.

I loved freeballing guys – no underwear to constrain a dick and jumpsuit pants were perfect at imprinting the contours of a dick.

The siren wailed for another few seconds and then it stopped. I pretended to wake up and stretched my arms while faking a yawn.

“Morning.” I greeted.

“Hey. Did you sleep well?”

“Sorry?”

“How was your first night in prison?” He asked as he put on his vest.

“It was alright I guess. It wasn’t half as bad as I thought it would be. What time do you think it is?”

“Just after six.” Wesley said and brushed his teeth.

“On a Saturday?” I asked confused.

“Uh-huh.”

“I haven’t been up this early on a Saturday in like forever.”

I rubbed the back of my neck – the base was tense. I wasn’t used to sleeping on a paper-thin mattress and puffy pillow; something else I had to get used to.

“So does anything special happen on a Saturday?” I asked, “Anything that sets it apart from any other day?”

Wesley rinsed out his mouth and turned to me as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then smiled at me. I swear if I wasn’t already falling for him those pearly white teeth would have made me fall head over heels in love with him.

“Visitation… and cellblock C gets an hour in the yard.”

“Visitation?” I asked intrigued.

“My mom’s coming. Do you have anyone that’s coming to see you?”

I wish I could say yes, “Nope. I doubt it.”

My friends distanced themselves from me during the trial. They didn’t like the media frenzy surrounding the gay-bashing-gone-wrong incident as most of them were still closeted. My parents sort of disowned me a few years back when I came out. I remember seeing my dad at the trial once, but he never stuck around to talk to me or give me any kind of moral support that I so desperately needed as my entire life fell apart.

I guess him being distant my entire life made me the independent person I am today and I had my father’s cold heart to thank for it.

“That’s too bad.” Wesley said.

I stared down at my feet. The cold concrete floor was reminiscent of my personal life. I might have had everything going for me career wise, but my personal life was pretty much non-existent on the outside. None of the men in my life stuck around long enough to really get to know me. Going to prison was the single most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. Hell, Wesley’s dick in my face the night before was the closest I got to any action in probably a year if not more. I wasn’t a prude or anything… I simply lived for my job. Looking back, I might have made a few different choices if I knew then what I knew now.

“You’d better take a shower today.”

“What?” I asked and snapped back to reality.

“You smell like sweaty balls. It’s disgusting and you’re stinking up the cell.”

Wesley grabbed his towel and nudged his head at the cell door as I glanced at him from the safety of the uncomfortable lower bunk. I had to face the showers sooner or later.

“Let’s go.” He said adamantly.

7

And so I found myself in the place I dreaded the most about prison life: the communal shower. I stood in the doorway; hesitant to enter until someone shoved me out of the way and I stumbled forward. I regained my footing and stared at the jerk whom shoved me as he took off his towel and hung it on a hook. His tiny penis flopped around as he walked and for some reason reminded me of a toddler splashing around in shallow water.

“Are you coming?” Wesley asked and walked on by.

I stood watching him as he removed his towel and hung it on a hook. He walked to the first available shower in his flip-flops. The state issued each inmate with one pair of flip-flops, two pairs of pants, two shirts or vests (I opted for the shirts), and two pairs of underwear upon arrival. Apparently they had a fully functional laundry room I still needed to locate.

I tugged uneasily at the towel around my waist and stared down at my white flip-flops. The ensemble reminded me of the time I went to a sauna with one of my friends. I didn’t get undressed, because I could feel the eyes of the old men on me. I stared at the men in the communal shower and realised that none of them were staring at me. Of course they wouldn’t. It wasn’t a gay sauna… It was a prison shower.

I took a deep breath and undraped my towel, walked over to the wall and hung it on a hook numbered 23. I guess we had to remember the hook numbers to know which towel belongs to whom. I just had to suck it up and stop being a pussy so I held my head high and walked over to the first available shower with my bar of soap in my hand – all the while thinking to myself, ‘don’t drop the soap… don’t drop the soap… and don’t get a boner’. Luckily there were no attractive men, besides Wesley, to give me a boner and so I simply kept my back to Wesley as I walked. I couldn’t risk seeing him naked and getting aroused in front of all these men.

The water was lukewarm at first, but eventually warmed up and I used the bar of soap not only to wash my body, but to wash my hair as well. It was one of those two-in-one soaps I’ve never even heard of and probably never would’ve if I didn’t go to prison.

For a brief moment I forgot where I was as the warm water reminded me of home. I could completely zone out and forget about the hardened criminals who surrounded me. I could forget about the uncomfortable bed I had to sleep on from now on and just let all my worries disappear down the swirling drain.

I heard someone go ‘psst!’ and opened my eyes with a jolt. An old man in the shower next to me was leaning in towards me and I got a glimpse of his grey pubic hair; a very cringe-worthy sight indeed.

“Can I help you?” I asked him.

“Could I borrow your soap? I forgot mine in my cell. My mind isn’t what it used to be.”

I felt sorry for the old man, but it would be unhygienic to share my soap with a total stranger – I mean, I had to shower with flip-flops. And besides, it’s a bit of an odd thing to ask a complete stranger if you could use their soap.

“Don’t give it to him.” The man to my right said.

I turned to the other guy who washed his armpits as he talked casually as if he previously warned inmates about the hygienic risks of borrowing soap to other showering inmates.

“He’ll give you some kind of disease.” The man said, “You don’t lend people your soap”

I nodded and turned back to the old man. I felt sincerely sorry for him, but I had to think of my own health and safety.

“I’m sorry.” I said.

“It’s just soap.” The old man said.

He tried to grab the soap from me and made me drop it. Motherfucker… I did the one thing everyone jokes about; I dropped the damn soap in a prison shower. The old man stared at me with puppy eyes, shrugged his shoulders and slowly walked away. I could bash his brains in for making me drop my soap.

Should I pick it up or just leave it? I glanced around me – none of the other guys were really interested in my dilemma. The guy to my right chuckled when he saw the sad bar of soap at my feet, turned off his shower and walked away. Fuck. It’s just an urban legend, right? Guys don’t rape other guys in prison if they dropped the soap.

I took a deep breath and crouched down, struggled a bit to get a firm grip on the slippery bar of soap and then I heard a voice behind me which I recognized.

“You’re doing it all wrong.” Andy said.

I looked back over my shoulder and then quickly jumped to my feet; nearly losing my balance and then covered my dick with one hand. Andy and two of his friends stood a few feet away from me.

“No need to be modest. We all let things hang out here.”

He pushed out his crotch to draw my attention to his dick as it freely swayed to the motion of his swinging hips. It was a disgusting and unsettling sight to behold, and yet it was like a car crash; I couldn’t look away.

“You have to open ‘em cheeks when you bend.” Andy said, “So that we may see your tight little man-hole invite us to fuck the shit out of you.”

What the hell am I supposed to respond to that? The man just threatened to rape me and nobody in the immediate vicinity seemed to care that I was about to be gang-raped by these three skinheads. I guess it’s truly every man for himself in prison…

“You’re just begging to get fucked in the ass if you drop the soap.” Andy said.

His two friends laughed at his stupid joke, but I guess I had it coming by not holding onto my soap. I mean, I let an eighty year old man smack it out of my hands and he had the strength of a new-born.

“Enough, Andy.” I heard Wesley call out from the other side of the shower room.

Wait, his name was really Andy? What a coincidence! Andy turned around and gestured his hand at Wesley.

“We’re just playing with the new guy.” Andy said nervously.

“I said that’s enough.” Wesley insisted.

Wesley turned off his shower and walked over to us with his marvellous dick swinging like a church bell. Thank God I already had my dick covered with one hand as I could feel a semi-boner developing just from seeing him naked again.

Andy leaned in and whispered, “He won’t be here to protect you forever.”

Andy turned around and smiled at Wesley.

“You’d best be going.” Wesley insisted.

Andy and his friends walked over to the towel rack and each took their towels before leaving while Wesley watched them until they disappeared from sight and then he turned to me. He seemed concerned to some extent, which was a nice feeling.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” I said nodding my head.

“Don’t let them get to you.”

I nodded and then he said, “Finish up. Our hour in the yard is after breakfast.”

8

Breakfast was at seven and consisted of scrambled eggs, toast and corned meat (again). It was probably the cheapest meat the prison could provide or something. It didn’t taste bad, but it was just a taste I had to get used to – just like everything else in prison. Wesley and I sat at an empty table and didn’t talk much. We talked about the breakfast and food and that was basically it. I’m just glad he didn’t bring up the shower incident. It was embarrassing and I wanted it to disappear into my past.

After breakfast we had our hour in the yard. The morning air was nice and warm and a faint layer of fog dissipated as the morning progressed. Each cellblock had their hour of yard time at different times of the day. D block followed ours.

The yard was basically a graveyard of hope; it had a few bleachers for inmates who wished to sit and soak up the sun and a couple of outdoor training equipment which, judging from the looks of it, were installed in the 1940s and couldn’t really be endorsed by any health organisation.

Wesley and I walked around the yard; strolling leisurely like a couple on a second date would stroll along a footpath next to a pond or something. He said I should make use of the hour to stretch my legs and get some exercise. He used the training equipment every second yard hour and said since it’s my first yard hour, he’d spend it with me. What a gentleman…

“So, visitation is only on Saturdays?” I asked.

“Yip. Once a week on a Saturday.”

“That sucks. So you only get to see your family once a week?”

“Yip.” Wesley said and kicked a small pebble.

“That would get to me the most.” I said, “Not being able to see my family often.”

“My mother comes every Saturday. Gwen brings her.”

“Who’s Gwen?” I asked.

“My ex-girlfriend.”

Those words sunk any hopes I had for a relationship with him… oh my, did I actually think about having a relationship with him? What was wrong with me? Was I in love with my cellmate? I was living in a fantasy world and my feelings towards him could get very complicated.

“Oh.” I said a bit disappointed.

“Gwen never comes in. She normally waits in the car for my mother.”

“Things didn’t end well, did they?”

I picked a weed flower and played with it as we walked. He stared down at his feet and stuck his hands into his pockets; stretching his already tight jumpsuit pants even tighter over his bulge.

“No, they didn’t.” Wesley said.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“Nah. I ain’t opening up to you.” He chuckled, “You just wanna analyse me like that bald doctor on TV.”

I laughed and asked, “Who? Phil?”

“Yeah. That guy.”

“I’m not judgmental.” I assured him, “Promise.”

Wesley gave a hesitant chuckle and then said, “Alright… I found her in bed with my best friend one night.”

“Shit.” I gasped.

“Yeah. I told her I’d be working late and then the boss let me go home earlier. When I caught them in bed I beat up my best friend… and then in the end she left me for him.”

We walked past the bleachers and I noticed Andy and his friends staring at us from the top of the bleachers, but decided not to pay attention to them. Wesley was opening up to me, which was a good thing. It’s not every day a strong, manly man opens up about his feelings and make himself vulnerable. It was an attractive quality – something I loved about him. He might seem like this bad ass from the ‘hood, but it was all an act. The outside world didn’t get the opportunity to know him like I was getting to know him. He had more layers than an onion and I just loved discovering things about him.

“I loved her so much and then she betrayed me.”

He shook his head and kicked another pebble as we walked. It was clear from his mien that it still caused him a lot of anguish and it took gut for him to open about it when the wounds were still fresh.

“Maybe she needs you to forgive her?” I asked, “She wouldn’t drive your mother all the way up here if she didn’t care about you.”

“I doubt it. The only reason she drives my mother up here is because she’s the mother of my child. She’s just keeping the grandmother happy.”

Another nail in the coffin. He had a child with his ex. Our relationship isn’t off to a rocky start – it’s completely doomed. Why do I do this to myself? I always fall for the ones I couldn’t have. I must have some sort of masochistic tendencies or something.

“You have a child?”

“Yeah.” Wesley said proudly, “Jackson is almost four now.”

“Wow.” I said flabbergasted, “Imagine that.”

“He was named after Michael.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He was my idol. It’s a shame he died.”

“Yeah.” I pretended to care, “That’s what happens when you take too much propofol…”

I wasn’t really much of a Jackson fan. I preferred rock music, but to each one his own, right? We walked in silence for a moment and then we made eye contact when we came round the gym equipment.

“This is nice.” Wesley finally said, “Just talking to someone. People don’t normally talk to me. They’re scared of me.”

“I’ve noticed the way Andy acts around you. Why is that?”


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