could have known each other on the outside and I’d just witnessed their kink.

“Whatever” I thought, and went back to my cage.

Thinking back to that actually got me a little aroused. I was slowly fingering my cock and wanted some privacy so I put up the sheet. I figured I could jack off before the new cellie hit the floor, or read since they tended to be brought up around 5.

The estimate was wrong. He actually showed up earlier. I found myself drifting in and out of dream images that went through my head. I’d even had a fantasy about fucking the doctor hard and rough, only he started off as a woman named Vanessa, but then her vagina turned into an ass hole that locked my penis in place. The only way I could get free was to come. When she turned around I saw it was Swan, hairy chest like a mangy dog – from dream to a nightmare.

The sound of someone sitting on the other bed is what woke me. The new guy arrived and had already started things off on the wrong foot by ignoring and disrespecting the sheet. “You don’t ignore a man’s sheet” I started saying without looking to see who was there.

“Sorry.” The voice was unexpectedly soft and tiny, the apology was a shock, and the fact that I had an obvious erection somewhat embarrassing. If he was fish he would get used to the sight of hard dicks soon enough was the notion. His best hope was to stay in my place so at least none of them would be coming at him other than Jimmy the Jam, and at that point I would have let him have him for a pack.

“You College, right” he spoke. “I heard about you. Thirty for violent sex assault, and armed robbery.”

“Great” I remember mumbling, thinking the guy sounded like a fag retard. I turned to face him. His soft features came into focus slowly, his dark hair, almond eyes, and golden skin. It dawned on me that the accent was actually Asian and not hair-lip queer.

Over the next few weeks, he wasn’t a nuisance like past cellies. He preferred to read at the same time I did, and even turned me on to a book called “Gods in Alabama” about a White chick dating a Brotha. We talked softly at night, sometimes about cars, women, and even engineering. It had been a while since I’d spoke in future tense which was nice. We laughed, showered, arranged our work schedules to maximize our time and started taking meals together as well. It wasn’t long before the word on the block was that I’d taken a wife.

Chet was smart and clever, and perhaps knew more about me in a short period of time than my own family. But then what did we have but time to share in each other’s story? He didn’t ask if I did it, but what happened. “A bitch hit me and I fucked her” I replied. “It was just that simple.” At that moment I didn’t particularly feel like sitting on some analytical sofa while he drew a connection between sex and violence. I was trying to move beyond the person I had been.

“You still fighting that alley.” Chet murmured. I laughed at that, but heard the sound as though a teleprompter had just displayed queue the track. He let it slide