whatever reason, were not allowed.

I faked Jam with a turn to the right, broke out left and twisted around to drop a 3 pointer. Swoosh. Pading, pading, the ball bounced under the net having caught nothing but air. I got in a few more shots like that despite the distraction of Jams cock constantly riding my ass. Admittedly I had a thing about his cock rubbing against me on the sly, a few times I’d called out because I’d almost gotten hard. He was testing me because I’d let him cross a boundary in the past. Jam was mean and calculating, the kind of men I’d been around for so long at that point a part of me had accepted it as the way men were supposed to be. Jimmy was the total opposite of Author, one was someone a mother could love, the other someone you just fucked, though getting fucked in here, is really not much of an option at all if anyone ever finds out.

Jam played the macho shit pretty hard and got far too aggressive for a yard game with nothing on the table - lucky for me because I was pretty low on smokes and my team lost. After that, some of the players hit the showers and I went back to fall in at my place to make sure the new cellie hadn’t arrived early and decided to go through my shit. Just to be certain, I straightened things up and rolled most of my reads back to my side of the room. I also had a box of snacks, with a couple of emergency smokes, and a small jar of hair oil tucked away at the bottom just in case I was ever included in a lockdown and couldn’t get commissary. That box was worth fighting for.

A convict often carried his life in a cigar box. Pictures, smokes, dope, and hair product which doubled as lube. Mine hadn’t been used except for solo sessions, which I’d had time to enjoy since my last cellie had been transferred to Beaumont. I was happy that he’d left. They always seemed to pair me with obnoxious Bush loving country boys that talked constantly about pussy. The last guy would never shut up about the snatch, the more I tried to block him out, the more he wanted to get in my face about it. He’d even gone so far as to pull out his cock and call me a faggot one night. “You must like dick or something. You gonna be my Black Bitch!”

He spent a few days on the ward after that.

When the guards had asked what happened to him I told them he must have fallen. There was no contradiction to my version of the event, so they took him away laughing knowing full well what had happened. Lucky for me, I was in good with enough of them and could get away with shit. A lot of recruits were students and knew I’d done ‘College’ as they called me. After that incident, part of me wished I’d have just kicked his ass earlier and more often just to get some privacy and to shut him up. He’d put up a little fight, which made my dick hard so I could see there was no way he could be the man of any house. For the most part at least, he never pushed me over the edge again and respected a certain boundary of disrespect. Still, the problem was