DOING HARD TIME
Author's Note: I originally published this story on the Just Us Boys forum for Gay Stories. Here I present an edited version, with some changes, mainly correcting grammar but occasionally modifying minor plot details so that in ties in better with the overall story. I hope you enjoy this story and you can send your feedback to me at the above email address.
The story has more than one narrator, and each individual's narrative begins with the precursor "From the Narrative of ". The prison setting, which features prominently in the first part of the story, is entirely fictional. As such, the procedures and circumstances in the penitentiary are not intended to be representative of actual prison conditions. Likewise all the characters are fictional and any resemblance to real persons, alive or deceased, is purely coincidental. The usual disclaimers and copyright laws apply.
~ Chapter 1 ~
From the Narrative of Harrison Alistair Ridgeway IV:
There was a time when I'd thought I would never see the inside of a prison. That was then. Now the stark, unforgiving walls of Wickham Maximum Security Penitentiary that surrounded me destroyed any illusions I might have harboured. And in a few moments, with the admission procedures completed, I would become an inmate of the Californian prisons system - designated a number and stripped of my freedom.
But that wasn't the only thing I would be divested of, as it would turn out over the course of the next few months. But I'm getting ahead of myself. What did the only son of a wealthy and influential politician like Alistair Ridgeway do to end up in a maximum-security prison? I was a victim of circumstance, paying the price for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a miscarriage of justice that had landed me here. At least that was what I kept telling myself, but my certainty was wearing thin. Below it all there was a nagging doubt - and something a lot worse.
However I was not allowed to ponder it further for the time being. The sound of my name being called snapped me out of my reverie. A prison guard was signaling me to follow him and my natural obedience kicked in. He led me into the centre of a chilly, white-tiled room, where there was a metal table and, on it, a plastic receptacle.
It was all very overwhelming. The fact that my mother's hysterical cries when I'd been sentenced were replaying themselves in my ears did not help. But there was no respite.
"Strip."
I stared at the guard who'd pronounced the order. It was not as if I hadn't anticipated this, but somehow I thought I'd have some measure of privacy when I disrobed. I certainly hadn't expected to have to do it with a balding, middle-aged guard in attendance. He leered unpleasantly at me as I hesitated.
"Don't I get some privacy?" I asked him tentatively as he continued to stare at me.
His reply was a smirk. "No. All your clothes go into that basket, and your personal belongings into that sealable plastic bag."
There was no other way about it. Reluctantly, I loosened my tie and took off my jacket. And then, with increasing discomfort, I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off. The guard's gaze on me - or rather my body - made me swallow nervously. Don't get me wrong; I may not have muscle definition but I was what I considered pretty fit. I'd had no qualms shedding my clothes in front of my ex-girlfriend. But it was a completely different matter when it was other guys eyeing me. It brought back a rush of memories I would rather forget. Blocking the guard's stare from my mind, I dropped my trousers and stood there, shivering in my boxers. I took my time folding my clothes with careful precision as I tried to delay for as long as possible the inevitable.
The guard lost his patience. "We don't have all day!" he snapped. "Get those boxers off and hop into the shower."
It occurred to me that pissing off the guard on my very first day of incarceration wasn't a very good idea. I decided to get it over with as quickly as possible. Turning away from him, I pulled down my underwear. The guard probably had the full view of my ass, but there was little I could do about that. Holding my hands protectively over my crotch, I walked hurriedly to the shower. I caught a glimpse of the guard's face - the leer had returned. Needless to say, I couldn't have a very thorough shower with him watching. I was careful to keep my back to him at all times. When I finally looked back, I saw that the guard had disappeared, along with my things, presumably to store them away. I took the opportunity to turn around and wash my back, hurriedly returning to my initial position when I saw him coming back in.
"Okay, shower's over. Dry yourself with that towel and get over here," he commanded. Turning the shower off, I dried myself the best that I could without exposing myself to him before walking back to the table. I noticed prison-issue clothing now laid out on it. I reached one hand towards them, keeping the other firmly over my genitals.
"Hold on there, sonny. You're not putting those on until you've been examined." I looked at him blankly. "To see if you've got contraband anywhere on your person," he explained, which was when I realized what he was talking about.
"You're ." I gulped. "You're going to examine me?"
He grinned at my obvious distress. "No, Rob here is going to be the one examining you." That was when I realized that there was another guard just outside the doorway. The damned bastard had brought along a friend to witness my humiliation. For the thousandth time I cursed my stupidity which had allowed me to get into this situation.
Rob walked over behind me and told me to bend over. The order itself sounded wrong, but I didn't have much choice about it. I immediately realized I couldn't keep my hands in front of my crotch in that position.
Rob, grinning almost as evilly as his partner, said, "Hands by your side." I cursed both of them, who were probably getting off by having a naked young guy in front of them. His examination wasn't intrusive at first. He ran his gloved hands through my hair, and then used a small flashlight to scrutinize both my ears.
"Okay, now stand straight," was his next command. Seeing me move my hands towards my groin, he quickly added, "With your hands by your side." He struggled to conceal his grin as I obeyed reluctantly. Across the room, the smirk on the other guard's face widened as he finally got to see my manhood. I couldn't linger too long on what I wanted to do to the two guards, because at this point Rob was running his hands over my chest - as if there was anywhere to conceal anything there. His gloved finger stopped at my left nipple.
"Used to be pierced, eh?" he smirked. I'd been persuaded by my ex-girlfriend to get a nipple ring, which I'd personally considered rather gay and a rather strange request coming from her, what with her general dislike of all things gay.
The guard's next remark made me blush. "Not down there though?" he said with a grin, as he moved his scrutiny to the area in question. He lifted my cock in one gloved hand as he inspected my pubic hair.
To my horror, I felt a rush of blood to my groin. What the heck was going on? I was emphatically straight, and this certainly wasn't the most erotic of situations, yet for some reason I was starting to feel the beginnings of a hard-on as Rob cupped my genitals in his hand. I willed my cock to go back to its flaccid state. Luckily, he finished his inspection of it, apparently not noticing any changes. The momentary feeling passed, and I began to wonder if I had just imagined it.
The examination of my legs and feet continued. When he was done, he asked me turn around. The same procedure took place. Then he asked me to bend over again. My face turning red with shame, I realized what he intended to do. Sure enough, he parted my buttcheeks, and started to grope around my crack. His fingers became more intrusive as he stuck one of them into my asshole. I let out an involuntary gasp.
"Relax," he told me. I tried hard to. The sooner this humiliating exam was over, the better. I was prepared as he poked another finger into my hole. Then, alarmingly, I started to have the same feeling again. I was confused and horrified. Was I actually finding this stimulating? There was no way, I told myself. Yet I found my cock growing stiffer by the second, until it was almost semi-erect.
"Okay, we're done here. He's clean," Rob reported to his partner. Turning to me, he said, "You can put those clothes on now." I hurried to do so, clasping the clothes to my groin to hide my semi-erect cock. From the grin on the other guard's face, I guessed he must have seen it. I flushed with shame. The feeling intensified as I realized the clothes I'd been given were a couple of sizes too small. The boxer shorts made no secret of my erection. As I hurried into the pants, I realized that it was tight around the groin area.
"Can I have a larger size?" I asked. "This one's kind of small for me."
The middle-aged guard grinned. "I don't see any problem." His eyes lingered at my crotch. I had the horrible feeling I'd been set up. It was no surprise that when I put on the prison-issue shirt, I found it clung so tightly to my torso that my nipples were visible through the thin, worn material.
"Alright then, prisoner 582036, I'll show you to your new cell." My heart sank as I heard my number being called for the first time. "And your friendly cellmate," added the guard, laughing at his own joke. I, on the other hand, didn't think I could feel any worse.
Leering inmates whistled and catcalled from their cells as I was led down the corridor past them. "Hey who's the new kid?" "Yeah, who's the pretty boy?" "Mitch is going to get the little bitch for sure."
Troubled thoughts ran through my mind. Who was Mitch? And what exactly did they mean he was going to "get me"? Little did I know I would find out before the day came to an end.
To be continued .
Part 2 to follow soon.