Chapter 8
In the reformatory, as it is often referred to as well as rehabilitation center and detention home, the inmates have three possibilities where sex is concerned: homo, auto or nil.
For me it is not too frustrating, because I know I will be out in a few months, but for the poor broads who are up for along stretch, it is hell. The ones who choose to abstain from sex altogether are usually ones who have undergone some kind of mystical or religious metamorphosis. They kneel in their cells for hours on end and pray themselves to spiritual climaxes. I often hear them at night wailing away at God, calling on him to cleanse their wretched souls and to give them the strength to bear the weight of the world. I find it rather curious that none of them, in the time I have resided in this institution, have gained any strength at all. They are all just as wretched as when I first got to know them. They are still crying at night and moaning during the day. I have far less respect for this group of inmates than I have for the masturbators and the Lesbians.
Where religion is concerned, I believe that we have to approach God as students, not as despicable slaves. I believe that God spits on people who grovel at his feet and complain about his world. Besides, anyone who refuses to use his sex organs is saying, in effect, that he is not pleased with the way God made him and no matter how much he prays, he cannot expect to get God's ear.
The Lesbians constitute the largest sexual group in the prison. Every second inmate is partly or totally Lesbian. In fact, with the exception of the religious fanatics, I think all of us have at one time or another had a Lesbian affair in here. Some of the non-Lesbians have done it once or twice merely out of curiosity. Some, like me, have been forced into it.
Naturally, when I first came I was approached by every butch in the place. They love young girls, especially ones as good-looking as I am. Most of the prisoners are tough and ugly and they've been banged and buggered in every way imaginable, so when I arrived there was an unhealthy and rather frightening competition among the butches to see who would get me as a steady girl friend. Of course, they didn't bother to ask me whether or not I was interested.
I have only had one serious Lesbian encounter since I came in and I don't think I'll have another. I'll tell you about that later.
The third group, the second largest, is made up of the masturbators. This is the group to which I belong and I think it is the most imaginative of the three.
We have many ways of giving ourselves climaxes and every girl has her favorite. Let me tell you about some of them now.
In prison, you select a friend quickly, without bothering about social niceties. I was only in two days and already I had a very close friend and confidante in Bobby Windfred, the girl I told you about earlier. Bobby had a macabre sense of humor that I dug very much. Prison had turned her bitter, but in a funny way.
On the second day of my visit here, as Bobby used to call it, we were weaving baskets in the recreation period. The recreation period is a bloody joke. You do what you are told to do and usually the discipline is more rigid than any other time. The guards stand around making sure the girls are enjoying themselves the way they are ordered to enjoy themselves. If they find one who is not, that is, if they find one who is goofing off, they have an assortment of disciplinary measures that they love to employ. Like pinching your nipples until they turn purple or punching you in the cunt. They do this all the time and often for no reason. They will grab a girl's nipple and squeeze, and while they are doing it they say, "This is for nothing! Can you imagine what we would do if you ever stepped out of line?"
In the first week I had that done to me four times and I can tell you it hurts like hell. It's a wonder I don't have breast cancer by now.
Anyway, when the guards are in a good mood, which is seldom, they allow the girls to talk during the recreation period. But you can only talk to the girl next to you. That's why Bobby and I always tried to sit together.
I was telling her one day about the plaster casting we used to do and she thought it was about the most imaginative thing she had ever heard of. She said it gave her a tickle in her cunt just to think about it. Then she told me about her most prized possession, the only thing she had managed to smuggle into the prison with her-a dildo. I found out later that there are many dildos in the prison and the guards don't bother to take them away from the girls unless they have a bone to pick with someone in particular.
During the recreation period, we are allowed to go to the shithouse once each and two people can go at the same time because there are two toilets in the John.
One day, about halfway through the period, Bobby and I excused ourselves and with the dildo stuck in her underpants we skipped to the can. It was my second week there and I was just getting used to the place. When you're in prison, you go through stages of highs and lows. The first few days are extremely low, then after about a week you start to get used to the idea of being locked away. If you're doing a fairly long stint, so I'm told, every anniversary is tough to go through, unless you're in for a very long stretch. Then only the first few and the last few anniversaries are difficult.
I was just getting over my initial depression the day that Bobby and I bounced off to the toilet with her dildo. When she took it out of her undies, I thought she was putting me on. It was about nineteen inches long and bigger around at the thinnest part than my outstretched thumb and forefinger could reach.
"I'm supposed to get that in me?" I asked, sounding much like I had months before when I first saw Danny Bloomfield's erection.
"No, not all of it," Bobby advised. She was very blase. "You just use as much as you can. Do you want me to go first?"
I did. Without wasting any time-we only had five minutes-Bobby took down her pants and sat on the floor, bringing her knees up around her chin. She had a loose, dark brown cunt that looked like it might have given birth at one time or another. Her pubic hair was remarkably thick and bushy, growing well up on her underbelly and down quite a distance on the insides of her thighs. After coating the lips with a generous dose of saliva, Bobby inserted the tip of the dildo into her cunt and jiggled it back and forth. Little by little, the polished wooden shaft disappeared between her legs. I could see that her vagina was lubricating itself, allowing the instrument to move with greater freedom to about five or six inches in. The actual in-and-out motion was no more than an inch. I suppose that's the way the dildo was made so big, so that you didn't need a lot of in and out action in order to get stimulation. Pulling it right out to the tip and ramming it all the way in would probably be too risky.
I heard two or three weeks later that the Lesbians have dildos stashed all over the prison and when they get together for some sex, they stick dildos up their asses, their cunts and God knows where else, with a Lesbian on each one, pumping them in as far as they will go at a frantic pace. One thing is for sure. The Lesbians around here are tough broads. Believe it or not, one of the main causes of death in the prison is internal bleeding. I've only had one brush with them so far and I came through it safely, but I hope like hell I don't get involved with them again. They scare me as much as the guards.
Bobby reached a climax very fast. She let out a little gasp and bit her lower lip for just a few seconds, then her mouth fell open and her body relaxed all over. When she stood up she showed no visible signs of having just masturbated except for some heaving of the breasts.
It was my turn. I took up the same position on the floor, wet the lips of my cunt and brought the tip of the dildo to the opening. It wouldn't go in. I jiggled and pushed and prodded, but it refused to go in more than an inch. My cunt was as dry as sandpaper and no matter how hard I tried to imagine that the hard object I was holding was a man's cock, I couldn't. There was no lubrication.
When it was time to get back to the rec room, I gave up in maddened frustration. It was the first chance I had had to have some kind of sex and I blew it. There would be other chances, but you don't think about that at the time.
Bobby and I scurried to the recreation room and went back to work. The other girls knew what we had been up to and so did the guards, but they didn't seem to mind much, although some of the butches did make snide remarks out of jealousy.
I was more frustrated after my attempt at masturbation than I had been when I started, so I was more than happy when I got another crack at it early the following week. This time, Bobby very thoughtfully brought along some vaseline which she went to a lot of trouble to steal from the prison hospital. She deliberately burnt her finger with a cigarette in order to have an excuse to go. Then, when the nurse wasn't looking, she slipped the jar of vaseline up under her skirt. If you think it's insane to risk getting slapped around by the guards and being denied all privileges just to obtain a lubricant for some girl's cunt so she can masturbate, then you've obviously never been in prison. Because that's the only way to get through a prison term-by setting up little challenges or other forms of excitement to break the boredom. Not only does your concept of time change on the inside, but your whole sense of values too. For Bobby, getting that vaseline was just as important as it would be for somebody on the outside to find a very rare gift for a dear friend. It's things like that that prison relationships are made of.
This time Bobby didn't masturbate. Instead, she dedicated the whole five minutes to me. I sat on the floor, leaning back on my hands with my knees up while she did all the work. First, she spread the cold vaseline on my vagina, then on the dildo.
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be!"
She placed the head of the wooden cock in the center of my cunt and eased it in. I felt it force the lips back and stretch the skin around the clitoris. As it came in further the walls of my cunt opened up and began producing their own juices. My stomach fluttered as the dildo kept coming.
The shaft of the instrument was marked off in inches, with tiny notches and it was just as the seven-inch mark disappeared from my view that I asked her to stop. I was still aware that it was not a real male sex organ but, nonetheless, the old familiar feeling was creeping in on me again. That old feeling of being bloated with cock was there again.
Bobby started to move the dildo in and out. I could hear the unique sound that it made as the smooth wood glided along the wet sides of the vaginal barrel. It was exactly the same sound that a cock makes-a real cock, a real, flesh-and-blood, bone-hard cock. My cunt was coming alive again, alive with the friction of a fuck. It became the center of my system as all my organs geared themselves to fulfilling that intoxicating irritation between my legs. It's almost identical to the irritation one feels when one has to piss. But the way to relieve this irritation is not to drain water, but to magnify it until your whole body cracks like a whip under an all-powerful climax.
I could feel it coming. The climax, I mean. It started in my clitoris and spread in waves throughout my cunt, abdomen, stomach, breasts and then my entire body. I jumped and twitched around the dildo as Bobby poked and probed it as far as it would go into my tingling pussy.
When it was over, I was altogether enervated. I was content. That was my first bit of sex in the prison and, although it certainly wasn't my last, I think perhaps it was the most pleasurable, in a way.
I had it several times more with Bobby, but soon after that she was killed by those Lesbians. I wished then, and I still do, there was some way I could avenge my friend, but I know damned well the guards are on their side. They didn't even report it to anyone as far as I know. At least there was never anything said about it and nobody came in from the outside to investigate it. They just dug a hole in the prison graveyard and lowered her down in a cheap wooden box. At the funeral, I couldn't help wondering how many other girls had met with the same fate.
Bobby's death set me way back in my efforts to adjust to prison life. In fact, I guess I was worse after that happened than I was when I first came in. But what bothered me even more than her death was the fact that nobody gave a damn one way or the other. When you're inside you are the only one who cares what happens to you. That's why ex-cons sometimes seem so selfish, because they've learned that in the end, you're all alone in this world. If you don't look after your own skin, you're likely to lose it.
After Bobby's death, I was really alone, so it was up to me to learn all the ins and outs of prison life. Bobby's advice about being tough was more than handy. It helped me get along with the guards without getting my tits tweaked every hour on the hour and, more importantly, it helped me put the Lesbians in their place.
My first lesson in that subject came about two days after Bobby's body was in the ground. The Lesbians, or Lezzies as we call them, moved in on me like vultures on carrion. I had no buddy and therefore I was fair game.
The first one to make a concerted pitch for my hand in friendship was a thirty-five-year-old we called Pillows because of the shape and size of her breasts, which hung down around her navel somewhere. Pillows was one of the toughest broads there. Every new girl who came in without a buddy was considered fair game, but only after Pillows had had a whack at her. She never really bugged them if they had a buddy, although she might make a few passes, but as soon as their buddies left or split off, they were open to every abuse under the sun. I don't know where this strange ethic came from, but all the Lezzies respect it.
Like I said, two days after Bobby's death, old Pillows was on me like a leech. When I told her I was not interested in her or any other Lesbian in the place, she didn't even bat an eye.
"Look, honey," she growled in a harsh voice, "You're too young to know what you're interested in. You let Pillows tell you what you're interested in and what you ain't. I know what life is like in here and I know what life is like out there and I can tell you that there ain't no difference. It's just the same thing seen through different glasses. So you let old Pillows give you a bit of this wood up your pussy before you make judgments."
She pulled her dildo out from under her dress. It was like Bobby's which, incidentally, was mine now that she had gone, only it had the stain of many cunts on it. It was almost black.
"You want to let Pillows lick your furry little pussy with her big wet tongue before you say you ain't interested. You want to suck on these big tits like you used to suck on your mummy. It'll make you sleep better at night."
"I sleep well enough as it is," I answered, trying not to be frightened by her cold, hard voice.
"You won't. Take it from me. I know what life is like in here and I'm tellin' you, you won't sleep for a few weeks, maybe months from now. You'll be cryin' out for Mummy's tit. You'll be dreamin' 'bout Mummy's tit, but it won't come to you. You got to come to old Pillows and get your suckies from her. I'm tellin' you, I know what it's like in here."
That's roughly the same pitch she gave eve; new kid that came in. If it failed, she went into one that was not nearly so motherly.
"Look, baby, we give kids like you a choice. You can make it with the wood or you can make it with the butcher knife, sometime when you least expect it. Got the picture, baby? I think a friend of yours got it that way not too long ago."
"What do you know about Bobby's death?" I demanded sharply.
"Relax, I had nothing to do with her getting slit. If I had done it, it wouldn't have been such a messy job. Look, kid, be my flower and I promise, nobody's going to touch you. But if you refuse, I can tell you there are some pretty tough customers in this hotel and there ain't no tellin' what they might try."
"And you're the toughest of the lot," I sniped. Without warning, she backhanded me across the face and I went to the floor heavily, spraining my wrist. I was scared shitless and losing my cool fast. But then, just in the nick of time, a guard entered the shower room.
"What's going on here?"
"Nothing," Pillows spoke up before I could say a word.
"She hit me."
"Now why would she do that? You must have been doing something to bug her," the heavy-set guard sneered down at me.
"I didn't do anything. She was trying to force me to do her filthy things."
"What filthy things? Speak up!"
"Make love to her!" I spat out confidently, thinking that I had the guard on my side. What a mistake!
"Shut up!" I shut up. "Can you prove anything you've said? 'Cause if you can't, you're going to wish you never opened your mouth."
"How can I prove anything? We were the only ones here. It's just her word against mine, but everybody knows she does this to every girl who comes in here."
The guard stared straight through me. Her face was set like iron. She had lips like a snake and looking into her eyes was like looking into the glassy orbs of a robot.
"Open your legs," she said with no trace of any emotion whatsoever. I was still on the floor holding my face. I started to get up.
"Don't bother to get up. Just open your legs."
I did what I was told.
"Put your hands behind you and lean back." I did so, but reluctantly, because it put me in a very vulnerable position. Then, with a measured stroke, like the professional sadist that she was, she planted the thick black heel of her right shoe square in my cunt.
"That'll give you some idea what we think of cry-babies around here." And she turned on her heels and stomped out.
I was doubled up on the floor trying not to cry from the pain, but tears welled in my eyes against my will. My cunt was bruised right to the bone and the throbbing spread to my stomach and thighs.
"That wasn't very smart of you, was it?" Pillows delighted in my suffering. "Didn't you know she's a Lezzie?"
"It figures," I grunted. The pain was dissipating a little, but I was still worried about the possible damages. "It figures!" I gave up right there trying to sort out the prisoners from the guards. They are all alike. The old broads who have been working around here for a long time have taken on all the same characteristics as the prisoners they are supposed to guard. Besides, any woman who would take a job like this in the first place, especially in a prison system that is as outdated as this one, would have to be a trifle sick. I made up my mind then that I had nothing but enemies in here. Both the other prisoners and the guards were my enemies and I could not trust one any more than the other.
"Yeah, that's old Brenda. She's a butch you don't cross if you value your life. She ain't goin' to give me shit for comin' after you when she does exactly the same thing to every young flower she-can get her old hands on, now is she?"
I was still holding my cunt when Pillows approached me like a predator stalking a wounded animal.
"Let me see the damages. Come on!"
I was too weak to resist. I let her lift my dress and hook her callused fingers into the top of my underwear. A wave of shivers raced up my spine to the back of my neck when she tugged it down over my knees to my ankles.
"Oh, you're going to have a sore little pussy for a few days," she leered, her fingers exploring the puffy flesh. "Yep, that's a nasty bruise you've got there." She ran the back of her nails up and down the lips of my cunt, slipping her pinky into the crack almost bashfully. I have to admit, it was soothing, and even though her motives made me feel sick to my stomach, my swollen cuntlips were beginning to open to her expert touch.
"Pillows' lips are good medicine," she whispered as softly as she could with her gravel voice. "Pillows' tongue will lick it better." She inched her way down to the still throbbing area and pushed my legs open with her powerful, almost manly hands. Then, spreading the lips of my cunt with her fingers, she drew her wet tongue along the length of it, caressing my clitoris and probing my canal as she went. The damaged tissue stung with her saliva. I felt her relax. Her nose rubbed back and forth across the tip of my crack while her tongue, extended to its ultimate length, wriggled like a hot worm inside me. Ready and waiting, to my right, only inches from my hand, was her heavy, well-used dildo.
In a minute, I thought, she'll be banging my bruises with that fucking thing and then will I have the right to deny that I'm a Lesbian? Isn't this how they all start? They give in once and before they know it, they're hooked for life.
The thought of what I was doing was worse than the act itself. I would be out of this dump in a few months, but if I went through with this, God knows what I would walk out as.
Pretending that her lapping hr d gotten to me far more than it had, I arched my body against her face and shifted slightly-not much, but just enough to wrap my hand around the dildo.
It was massive. Any man would be more than proud to wear a cock that big and strong. But right at that moment, it was not a cock or a dildo to mi It was something else entirely.
Clenching my teeth and bringing every muscle and fiber in my body to attention, I took quick aim and with a violent twitch, drove the wooden shaft into her temple. Old Pillows collapsed into my cunt as it closed on her face.
I haven't seen Pillows since then. She was taken away from the prison to a hospital on the outside. I don't know for sure what's become of her, but I've heard via the grapevine that the force of the blow damaged her brain and that she will be an idiot for the rest of her life. If that's true, it doesn't bother me in the slightest. She got what she deserved.
Brenda, the butch guard, and a few others wanted to have me tried in a court of law, but the chief shithead at the prison soon dissuaded them. If it were to go to court, all the crap that goes on in here would be exposed. They certainly couldn't afford that, because half of them would lose their jobs.
Brenda has left the prison, but she has been replaced by another old broad who isn't a Lesbian, but who is just as tough.
But the significant thing about all this is that I have not been bugged by the Lesbians since then. Even though I don't have a buddy, I'm still listed as one of the few untouchables in the joint. I get my share of sex by myself with my trusty dildo, the one I inherited from Bobby, and I don't owe anybody anything. The guards treat me like dirt just like they treat any drop-in, but they have maintained a hands-off policy. I very seldom get my nipples tweaked any more. Thank God for that.
It was my lawyer who convinced me to write this book. He said that it might give some people an idea of what the new world is all about and besides, it might give me some bread to live off when I get out of here. So that's what I'm doing. All my free time goes into two things and two things only-writing this book and masturbating with Peter John, my dildo.
For the first couple of months, I exchanged a lot of letters with Anne, who is now living with her parents in Toronto, but they were always censored to the point where they were almost unreadable.
I did manage to read, however, that my parents' marriage is on the verge of breaking up, and that my father has just suffered a substantial loss of money on the stock market. One of the most exciting bits of news which I was able to decipher around the black blotches left by the censor's pen was that Anne has managed to ball her old English teacher. By that I don't mean that he is old in years, but that he is the one she had in her last year at high school. She didn't give me all the details, but she did say that he gave her a pretty good fuck and afterwards recited Shakespeare instead of having a cigarette. Good old Anne, she's always had a way of doing things well.
She says she's thinking of going to Europe and, of course, wants me to go with her, but I'm torn between that and trying to strike up a good relationship with my lawyer. He's done a lot for me and I wouldn't mind giving him at least a little pussy in return. We'll see about that in a month's time when I get out of this rat hole.
I think I should say here that I don't regret anything I've done. If I were to live the last few months over again, I would live them just about the way I did. I may have gotten myself some pain, but I think it is one hell of a lot better to suffer a little while you're young, than a lot when you're older.
I think I've liberated myself where sex is concerned. I'm a long way from being a perfect human being, but at least I have shed the hang-ups that are threatening to destroy our present society.
Almost every one of the so-called motiveless murders in North America today can be traced back to sexual repression and if that alone isn't a strong argument in favor of free love, I don't know what is. Right now, I'm at the stage where I'm almost preoccupied with sex and so, I think, are most young people today, but that is only because we are fighting against hundreds of years of tyrannical Puritanism. We are going to the other extreme like a starving man who overeats when he is offered a big meal.
But when sex is accepted as a natural form of pleasure, we won't pay much more attention to it than we do to eating or drinking. So, just remember, you people out there, if you think your daughter's a slut, it's you who have made her one. And besides, it's better to be a slut than a dried-up old clit or, to put it another way, a peeping Tom makes better use of his eyes than someone who keeps them shut.
AFTERTHOUGHT The Perfect Fuck I intended to end this novel with what I wrote yesterday, but last night I had a dream, the most beautiful dream of my life and I have to write a few more pages and tell you about it.
Everything in the dream was amazingly realistic except that I could not recognize the man I was with. He was nobody I knew. We were in a large bedroom that was decorated in gold and blue. I was lying on a huge, circular bed and wearing nothing but a pale blue negligee that let my brownish aureoles and nipples show through. There was a dark blue bow in the front, over my cunt.
The man, whoever he was, was doing a strip at the foot of the bed and with every piece of apparel that floated to the floor, more of his perfectly constructed bronze body was revealed to me. When his pants fell, I felt a flutter in my chest and action between my legs. His cock was pure gold in color and it hung down just above his knee. Even flaccid, it was bigger around than my ankle and the gilded foreskin that hugged the meaty head was soft as silk.
The strange man looked at me, then at his phallus and smiled. Picking the organ up in his hands, he guided the foreskin back, causing the head to ease out. The sperm hole in the end was about one inch long.
"My balls hurt," he said quietly. "They have manufactured sperm for your cunt and they ache to get rid of it." He was holding his boulders in his hand and gently rolling them in his fingers. I reached up and wrapped both my hands around his glittering cock and with a reassuring nod of my head, pulled him toward me. He sat cross-legged on the bed and watched as I moved the loose skin up and down the shaft.
It swelled under my touch. It swelled and swelled until the loose skin disappeared altogether and the shaft was five or six inches across and the head bobbed up and down in my face, over two feet from its base in shimmering pubic hair.
Without the slightest fear-that's the way dreams are-I lay back on the big bed and opened my legs. I could feel very distinctly the lips of my cunt opening up like giant doors. The wet, soft, inner lips and clitoris tingled in the fresh, clean air. My cunt was gaping, but still the lips pushed back farther . . . still it opened up more for the great golden cock that swayed in front of me.
"Are you ready?" he asked, lifting his cock up and pointing it in my face.
I said I was. And still I had no fear of the size of it. I somehow knew I could take him, all of him, into my warm body.
He dropped his heavy cock with a thump between my tits, then slowly lugged it down over my stomach and abdomen to the tip of my great crack and inserted the monstrous head into the damp forest. With a tender thrust, he sent it on its way deep into my body, into crevices of my cunt that no man had ever been man enough to explore.
As my body was filling up with his cock, I looked down and saw the large lump it was making in my underbelly as it penetrated farther and farther. When he was all the way in, the hill in my body extended from my cunt right up to my rib cage and as he moved himself back and forth toward ejaculation, I stroked him through my own skin.
Suddenly, there was an explosion that sent me flying across the bed. My whole body filled up with white, foamy sperm. It gushed from my mouth, cunt and ass and flooded the room and still it kept coming.
I was holding the mammoth organ now with both my hands while it shot semen in all directions. Like a cannon, it jumped and recoiled, spewing the white cream into the air until, finally, after what seemed like hours, it went dry and fell limp in my hands.
The two of us reclined together on the bed and licked the sperm from each other's bodies. It tasted like whipped cream. When my body was clean, it was gold all over and it shone in the light that was coming through a large picture window. For a long while, I examined myself in a mirror and when I looked back at the strange man with the wonderful cock, he wasn't there. Only his wonderful cock remained.
There on the bed was two feet of golden erection. I rushed over and took it in my arms, kissing it passionately on every side.
When I awoke, I had my dildo in my hands.