Prison thoughts...........part two.

Today's post is going to be about one of the physical "dark" experiences I encountered in prison. My last post made it sound as if there were no problems with my incarceration. It seemed as if I was trivializing the impact it had on my life. This experience and situation is just one of many lessons and degrees of pain I felt.

It is very hard to even talk about it, let alone, put it, as they say "pen to paper". I was specifically asked about this "situation" this weekend. It opened up wounds I thought that were healed. It caused me to evaluate my own good fortune. It caused me to be even more thankful, if that is possible, to have the life I have now.

Forgive my bluntness.

Forgive my anger.

Forgive my frustration.

Forgive the man who did this to me.....................................................................................

It was November 22, 2007. The day after Thanksgiving.

An emotional time in prison. Arguments over phones. Tempers short wired because of the holiday. Everyone's guard up. Everyone's cell their solitude. There was not much "socializing" because of the holiday. Everyone in their "manbox". Everyone in their own cell.

My own cell was especially busy. I was a tutor at the school. I am and was very proud of the boys and men I helped accomplish their goal of getting their GED. (Another posting) My cellie and I got along great. He was very supportive of my goals in assisting with the education of these fellow convicts. He was a great listener. He was very reassurring with my doubts upon release. A great source of strength. A sense of stability in a storm of prison. He was what we called an "old-head". He had been in prison for 16 years. He had seen it all. He had my back. We understood each others moods. We knew when to talk to each other. When to avoid each other. We fell into a routine of life. Monday, laundry day. Tuesday, cleaning day, etc. Everything in prison is a routine. From the cell checks every 2 hours to the mandatory standing count at 6:00 am. This man taught me how to "jail". We became close as friends. Spent at least 12 hours a day locked down together in this cell, and respected each others boundaries.

I met this man when I was traveling through the system of prisons to get to my final "home" at Moberly. I will not lie. He was an intelligent, strong, forceful BLACK man. I only highlight the black part to point out another strength he made me realize I had within myself. In prison, it is still very old school with the racial divides.

1. Black men cell with black men.

2. White men cell with white men.

3. Hispanic men cell with hispanic men.

4. Gay men cell with their lovers or their pimp.

I broke two of the main rules in prison.

I celled with a black man. I was a gay man WHO WAS NOT his lover or his moneymaker. This caused many looks. This situation put me on a hot seat with both the inmates and the guards. As a gay man, I was constantly watched. The guards didn't believe at first that I was sincere with my motives in helping these men get their education. The other inmates were trying to find out if I was running a hustle. It was constantly a struggle to get any time alone. Another rule in prison is a cell is a man's home. If the door is shut, don't bother or knock. If the door is open, feel free to knock and ask to come in. This is very important to remember!!! A cell is a man's home.

On the evening of November 22 things were tense in my cell. I had been wondering why the guards had been circling our cell excessively. In prison, when guards sense trouble, they are there. I cannot complain, nor will I complain about some of the guards. For the most part, they are there for a paycheck but occasionally you actually meet one of them cares. NOT OFTEN-THOUGH!

The guard on duty that night was one of the trusted guards. He had gotten word through the grapevine that tonight, Nov. 22, was going to be the night of my official takeover.

Prior to this happening, I had experienced glances, looks, a few comments about my big black daddy. The jokes about "coal hauling". A coal hauler is a white guy who sleeps with black men. The jokes about getting "home" before he got mad. I let the men think what they wanted. I, along with my cellie knew different. I was not, would not, and could not allow myself to be anyone's property. What I didn't know is that my cellie was talking about this when he was "kicking it" with his homies. Inside my cell, great guy to my face. Outside the cell, with his homies, a completely different man. He had been putting it out among the general population that we were an "item" and that I was his "baby". A baby, in prison, is a man who is protected, serviced and works for his "daddy". And when I say work, it is exactly that.......sexual acts for money.

I found this out from one of my students at school. A black boy, age 22, had told me he was worried about me and he thought I should be concerned. My cellie had told his "homies" in detail what he planned to do to get me to be his "coal hauling bitch". To this day, chills run up my spine at the thought of those words coming out of a 22 year olds mouth to a 40 year old man. I told him not to worry. I would take care of it.

Upon my return to my cell around 5pm, my cellie and I had words. I told him in NO uncertain terms would I be anything to anyone. I would not service anyone. I would not "haul any coal".

Denial from him. Psychological games. The turning into my own doing and my own downfall. The threat that if I didn't accept him or his "prison love", things would get ugly for me with the general population. I was not worried. I knew I had enough friends. The "Joplin Boys, "South city boys", The "family", and my black friends. I told him it was not going to work. One of us had to move, and I went to put the paperwork in motion for the move. All the while I am doing this, I am being watched by the guards. I am being watched by my cellie's homies. And I am noticing that my white friends are lining up along the rails. Everyone knew what was going on. I, again, was the last to know.

I could not get moved that night. I could "check in". "Check in" is the term used for anyone who runs to the guards for protection. It is mainly used by the dumbfucks who charge up drugs and tattoos and then can't pay. A real wussy way out. I would not "check in". That is what everyone expected a "fag" to do. I had earned my respect in prison, and I would be damned if this black man was going to strip me of it. I stayed in my cell until Monday when it could be changed.

I returned to my cell around 8:30 that night. I went to my bunk. The routine had not been altered. It was as if nothing had happened between us. It was creepy. I shrugged it off, I left well enough alone. I was exhausted. Depressed from the holiday. Depressed because my cellies true colors had begun to show.

When I say true colors, I am speaking of what my friends had said about him all along. "bootie bandit", "cho-mo", "black daddy", "crazy", and on top of all of that he is in prison for double homicide!

I know, you are shaking your heads now saying, "why did he cell with him"? Another rule of prison. You NEVER, I mean NEVER, ask a fellow inmate what they did to come to prison. It is another, of many, unwritten codes one must learn to survive.

Of course, I am petrified and now see my cellie in a different light. He is FUCKING NUTS! Not only has he not disclosed something very beneficial to my survival, but now I understand why the guards and certain other inmates watch him very close. I, honestly, thought they watched hoping to see something they shouldn't. I now realize, everyone-guards and inmates, knew this day was coming...........................

Lights out is at 11:00 pm on the weekends. And that is exactly what it means. No TV, No radio, No lights--You in your bunk. NO deviation. NO change. You just adapt.

The lights go out. Cellie wants to talk. I humor him. I tell him I respected him and he abused that.

He was not happy. I remember walking to the sink to get some water when I was shoved against the brick wall. My initial thought was one of total humor. I remember turning around, and saying "are you serious".

He was.

I was trapped.

I'll never forget the smell of his cigarette breath on my back.

I'll never forget the searing pain of the penetration.

I'll never forget the infuriation in my head.

I'll never forget the degradation of my soul.

I'll never forget the lesson it taught me.

I stumbled out of the cell. Fell to the floor outside the cell in a pool of blood.

I remember the guard asking if I was allright. "Was I allright"? I had just had at least 10 inches of nigger cock shoved in my ass, bleeding from my ass, and tears streaming down my face..........."Was I allright".

I blacked out after that. I know I did not pass out. I walked to medical. Yes, walked. I had my ass repaired. I was given two ibuprofen and then taken to "administrative segregation" for my protection and for an investigation.

Now, remember, my cellie is still in our cell. He has cleaned up, the best he could, in the dark. Tried to clean up. I saw one set of photos of the cell and could never look at them again. My blood was a dark path from the sink to the bay outside the cell.

My cellie is taken to "administrative segregation" for investigation. I later found out that three of my friends cleaned my cell up and packed my things.

My cellie had his custody level raised and was shipped to a different prison.

This experience can not and will not ever happen to me again.

The point in this story is that of survival. I know I will survive. A person has no other choice. The choice I do have is to try and work through this nightmare. The easy thing to do is to remember the bad. It is much harder to be thankful for my life. I could have been seriously hurt or murdered. I have cold chills thinking about it again!

So.......on that note. Let me say to my "gay" friends. When I speak of hot men and boys in prison. Know that none of it is from a sexual standpoint. I could not and did not ever equate prison and sex. It was the furtherest thing from my mind. Remember this story when you make the comments about me "getting it on, having a good time, a grand buffet for me to choose from.........