Chapter 8
So I ended up in prison. Yes, prison. You would think that the daughter of a bank president would be forgiven for her transgressions, especially after that bank president had already lost one daughter in a hail of bullets.
And, after all, I did not really rob the bank. You must remember that Linda and Nina and I broke into that bank in order to make love with a fine sense of symbolism. That was all that we did in there.
But we were not supposed to be in the bank, my father said.
And my parents were so upset about what had happened in that bank that they did not want to see me again. So they took me and put me in prison so that they would not be reminded of the tragedy that had struck their lives. I know for a fact that, after I was sentenced to five years in prison by a judge who was a friend of my father's, my parents began to live as though they did not have a child at all, as if their daughters-either of them-had never existed.
And I guess that that was really the one way that they could deal with what had happened. And I did not really mind. You see, by then I knew that I was a revolutionary, a true-blue, lesbian revolutionary. And revolutionaries always have to serve their time in prison. Lenin was in prison. Gandhi was in prison. Martin Luther King was in jail. It takes time in prison to prove that you are really dedicated to your cause.
So I went behind the bars of the great stone prison for women in Missouri with a certain amount of grace and fortitude in my system. It was the only way that I could go to prison. You see, I knew that the prison life was the only life for me. And I knew that prison would do me good in a special sort of way.
I had only been behind bars for two days before I discovered just how much good prison could do for a rich bitch like myself. Two days after I entered the place where they kept women who could not be ruled by society, they matched me up with my cell-mate. She was a young girl named Brandy, and she was a revolutionary with her own style. She was also a lesbian, and I knew that Brandy would be able to teach me a lot.
Brandy was a light-colored, Negro girl. She said that her father had been a white pimp and her mother had been a black whore. She was the product of one drug-crazed weekend of sex that the two had shared, and she had been raised on the streets in Kansas City. She knew what she needed to know in order to get along with the people who lived on the streets of the city.
And it was not long before she began to teach me those things that I needed to know in my revolutionary future. Brandy and I began to come up with plans for when I got out of prison. She said that, with my beauty and my style, I could support myself as a topless dancer in one of the nightclubs in Kansas City and that way I would be able to spend my days productively, plotting the overthrow of the government of the United States.
That was exactly the way that I wanted to spend my days, I told Brandy. I felt that I had to spend my days like that in order to carry on the tradition that my sister had left for me and do the things that her brutal killing had left undone in my family.
I also knew that I would never see my mother and my father again. Even if they would have taken me back after prison, I did not intend to go back to them at all. I wanted nothing more than the change to work for the overthrow of the government in anyway that I could, and I knew that my mother and my father would never be able to understand my radicalism, which was even more radical than my sister's had been. Why was I more radical than Linda? You might ask that question.
The fact is this: My sister never saw her sister and her working-class lover gunned down by the police. That event in my life turned me into a real and worthwhile radical, and it made me plot things that my sister only thought about plotting. It made me realize that we had to burn the country down and start all over again and put our faith in the working-class people, people like Nina, girls who had a fire in their system and girls who knew how to control the rich bitches who invaded their beds.
Nina and Linda had both changed me with their lives-and, ultimately, with their deaths. They both deserved part of the credit for my new and vital radicalism.
They deserved the credit for all the changes in me, and Brandy, in our cell, late at night, made those changes real and taught me even more about lesbian love.
It all started the first night in our cell. Brandy and I had talked a little bit about our pasts, but we had not mentioned our sexual preferences. I did not know if a girl from the streets of the big city like Brandy was like a working-class girl from the small town, like Nina. I suspected that she was, but I did not want to take a chance on hurting her feelings or repelling her with the idea that I was some kind of pervert.
But I did find her very attractive from the very first moment that I saw her.
She was a tall, gray-skinned girl with flashing, large, black eyes and the kind of grin that made everything seem bright and sexy, even there in that prison.
When I saw that grin for the first time, I wished that I could find out right away if Brandy was a fun-loving girl. I wished that I could find out and touch her immediately. But I knew that I had to bide my time and I wondered just long it was going to be before I knew for sure about Brandy's sexual adventures and mis-adventures, about her sexual yearnings and needs, I went to bed that night in the dark, sleeping on the bottom bunk as Brandy climbed up to the top in her regulation white panties from the prison. I wished that I would be able to find out very soon about her own feelings toward me.
And then I got my wish. I got my wish because Brandy lay on the top bunk and spoke to me softly, asking me questions about my own sex life. When I heard those questions, I knew what she had in mind for us, and I knew that I would tell her the truth for certain.
"Terri," she said, "how do you feel about boys and men and sex and stuff like that?"
"I never had much experience with boys," I told her, truthfully.
"Did you ever fuck one, Terri?" she asked.
"Yeah. I had a fellow back home I fucked regularly but I did not really enjoy it that much with him. He was just sort of a port in the storm, and he kept the people in Victory from thinking that I was weird or something."
"Were you weird or something?" she asked with her melodious voice hushed with expectation. I waited for a few seconds before I answered her.
"I was something," I said, grinning up at the bottom of the bed over me, the one that she was lying on. I knew then that I had her in just the position that I wanted her to be in. I knew then she was going to become my lover, but I wanted her to make the first move.
I would be truthful with her, I decided, but she would make the first move and she would give me what I wanted in a girl because I had been so truthful with her.
Working-class, criminal girls from the big city, I thought, were really no different than working-class girls like Nina from the small towns. I guessed that, in a way, Nina was a criminal girl too. She had died inside a bank, killed by law officers because she had no business being in that bank and because she had tried to attack the enforcers of society's laws.
Nina and Linda had been outlaws and I was an outlaw now.
And I knew that I would learn a lot about being a lesbian outlaw from Brandy, the girl from the streets.
"You were something else?" the half-black girl asked me. "What were you, Terri?"
"Basically, I was a lesbian, Brandy," I said softly.
And then I heard her move. I looked to the side of my bed and saw her long, gray legs dangling on the edge of the bunk above me.
Then she dropped down in her panties and turned and gave me that wonderful, cheerful, sexy grin.
"I am so glad to hear that, Terri," she said. "It will make prison so much better for both of us, you know."
"I know," I said, holding out my arms to her. "It will make everything somuch better for both of us."
I was lying there in my panties too. We could see each other clearly because the light in the hallway outside our cell was always left on, as the radio that blared down that hallway was always left on. Girls in prison just had to get used to light and to blaring noises in the middle of the night. I had already learned to sleep through the noise, but I did not want to sleep that night. I wanted to be with Brandy and love her that night-all night long.
Brandy moved into the bunk next to me and I put my arms around her and we kissed. The aroma of her flesh was sweet and pungent, like some jungle candy or fruit, I thought, like some exotic delicacy that would cost a fortune in a imagine restaurant.
And I was getting Brandy for free here in this prison cell, for free because I had admitted to her that I liked girls in a special way too, just as she did.
We kissed each other passionately and held each other close. She was taller than I was and she was sleek and strong in that bed. Her rounded tits smashed against my own girlish breasts as she kissed me and ran her tongue deep into my mouth and I felt that radicalism in my heart again. I was no longer a rich bitch, I thought. I was a prisoner, just as Brandy was a prisoner.
And I knew that this relationship with Brandy was going to be even better than the one that I had had with Nina, because Brandy and I were meeting as equals in that prison. I had lost all my rich-bitch attitude by then. I was just another prisoner and that equality that Brandy and I shared gave us the kind of feeling that we needed.
My panties began to get wet with pussy juice. Brandy moved her leg over my body and rubbed her panties into mine and I could feel the wetness of her cunt on mine and I felt that we were really and truly lesbian equals then, cunt-wet, girl-thrilled equals. We were going to make a great pair.
And then we moved on the bunk until I was lying on top of her. I kissed her cheerful, beautiful, gray face and I felt her long legs move around my body.
Then Brandy and I started to hump each other. I moved my pantied wetness against her own and I worked on top of her as a male would work on her. I felt her juices match mine and I sighed and kissed her wonderful, strong, sleek neck.
I thought of Brandy as a princess, a princess of the streets. That is what I wanted her to be for me. And she was a princess, a princess with a wet cunt just like my own. That wet cunt was what I really cherished about her.
Then I moved off Brandy and we did the same thing as the same time.
We did it when we looked at each other and read the need in each other's eyes.
Each of us put our hands in our panties and lowered those white, identical, prison issued panties down our legs and pushed them to the end of the bunk with our feet. And then Brandy slipped her fingers into my wet, sopping love-hole. When she did that, I moved my own fingers into her wet cunt and I heard her sighs match my own as two of my fingers started to work in her girl-of-the-streets pussy.
My fingers worked with a lively lust in her cunt and her fingers dug deep into my snatch. Brandy had very long fingers, the kind of fingers that were made for moving deeply into a wet, lesbian girl. I envied her her long fingers, but I was glad that she had then and knew how to use them. I was glad that she was using them on me.
As we fingered each other, I spoke to her in gasps of girlish passion.
"Dig into me, Brandy. We are both prisoners. Dig into my cunt and fuck me with those fingers of yours."
And she moaned in an answer to me as we lay there so close together on that bunk.
"Your fingers are good too, Terri. God, that feels good. Move them around in there. Dig into my cunt."
And, together, we dug, like two miners searching for gold.
And Brandy kissed my face and I knew that I had found my gold in her, in her cunt from the streets, her prisoner pussy, that was so much like my own.
Equals, I kept thinking, real and true equals. That was what we were.
We were loving, lesbian equals in our, little prison-cell bunk.
And we both knew that that top bunk would not be used very often. We both knew that we would sleep together, close together on that bottom bunk during the time that we shared each other and this cell in our prison.
Brandy pulled her long fingers out of me when I started to toss there on the bunk bed. I knew that she did not want me to come yet. I knew that that girl from the streets wanted to do something else for me before she would allow me to come.
And I lay back and pulled my fingers from her wet snatch too.
I lifted her fingers to my face and held them there and then I lifted my own fingers up.
I took one of her fingers that had been in my cunt and one of my fingers that had been in her cunt and I and I put those two fingers in my mouth at the same time. The sweetness of lesbian pussy seemed to explode in my head and I could not tell her sweetness from my own. I tasted both of the radical fingers and both of the radical cunts at the same time and I thought of that word again, the word that defined both of us so well.
Equals, I thought. We are equals now. We are so equal that we will make the best lovers possible.
And sucking on her finger and my finger and tasting her cunt juices and my own cunt juices, I thought again of my sister and my working-class lover, of Linda and Nina. I vowed to carry on their fight against the establishment and I knew that Brandy would help me in my fight for certain.
And I thought that, if it took two deaths, two murders at the hands of the law, to bring me to this place with Brandy, this equal and lusting, revolutionary place, then the two deaths were worth it.
And I knew that Nina and Linda would both understand. They had understood before I had ever understood. They had smelled the death in that bank before I had smelled the death.
And then I-took the two fingers from my lips and closed my eyes and sighed as Brandy, the girl from the streets, moved her wide, happy lips to my nipple and sucked that pink, hard thing into her mouth.
I sighed and I jerked on that bunk bed with my new lover.
And I put my hand on her dark, kinky hair, the hair that she kept cut short so that it would not cause her much of a problem in a fight. That was what she had. told me before we had gone to bed that night.
And I loved that hair that was part of Brandy's preparation for battle.
And I loved the lips that were around my pink and ready nipple.
She sucked on my nipple with such ease and such passion.
She gave me a quiet and easy lust in my body, a lust that was both peaceful and exciting, a lust that thrilled me and calmed me at the same time.
It was a revolutionary lust, I thought, the true revolutionary lust of the streets.
As I felt that strange and peaceful lust, rolling through my body like the waves on a sea, I felt Brandy work her way down my flesh, kissing and licking me with quick movements of her tongue, quick and steady and professional movements.
And I knew that this girl had, no doubt, had a lot of experience with other girls.
I lay there and shivered and she licked my navel and caressed it with her red, quick tongue.
And I knew that she was going to go down even further on my body and give me what I really needed to feel good about myself and my own revolutionary lust. She worked her way through my dark pussy-hair and she licked my hair with her tongue and I squirmed under her.
I sighed to her with a voice that was soft with girlish passion.
"Oh, eat out my cunt, Brandy. You are I are equals. Eat out my cunt and then I will eat out yours--. "
And I tossed on the bed and gave in to her with all of my soul as she moved her tongue around the lips of my pussy. She licked those quivering lips and she tasted the wetness that was down there and made my pussy even more wet.