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You've only been here a few weeks, just long enough to figure out a few of the basics relative to self-preservation. Your cell, which even now doesn't actually feel as though it's your cell, is the very last one on the edge of "No Man's Land" in the middle of the tier, "the tracks," as They call it, located just before the section of black cells begins. You've been hearing rumors about being grabbed by the Black Inmates, but you feel that you're in less danger as long as you're still assigned to a white cell. You've decided that the best time to take your showers is in the middle of the morning, just after the second count while it's still quiet until just before lunch, and while most of the other Inmates are in the yard for rec time. When you go into the showers with just the clothes you have on, and your towel and soap, there are a few white guys in there. There seems to be some unwritten rule that blacks and whites and various racial and ethnic groups self-segregate at different times of the day in a shower filled with various shades and hues of pigmentation, leaving the common denominator of lots and lots of dark skin. The visual contrast of a single white guy like you against the backdrop of all that dark skin, all alone, and especially without tattoos or piercings, looks incongruously sweet and tempting, and extremely out of place, unwittingly inviting rape in being caught alone like this. No racial integration here, and none of that bullshit ?politically correct? nonsense about racial harmony. They?re not interested in the LA riots slogan in ?just getting along.? Booty bandits and black predators are only interested in ripping off a piece of white faux pussy in here wherever and whenever They can get it. Anyway, you don?t feel quite as vulnerable in the showers with even a few other inmates as you would be if you were alone. And, as you?re shaving, and brushing your teeth, a few more anonymous white guys are still randomly floating in and out, too, probably for the very same reasons as you, as similar to you, they?re also kind of slight of build, smaller than average, and wouldn?t weigh very much against Anyone in a fight, or least of all, in a takedown. But, Everyone Else has already been here longer than you, so what do you know about it anyway, a non- streetwise, educated, pampered and rather soft looking, effeminate type? Everything still seems normal to you, because you?re reasoning to yourself that you?re not quite the clueless bimbo like some of the others you?ve already heard about. If you were, then They would have All jumped you on your first day. You?re now walking past the sparkling clean urinals and neat looking privacy stalls, complete with porcelain commodes and actual toilet seats (federal facility). The only thing that you fail to notice after gingerly, almost timidly, stepping into the showers, is that a quick glance indicates that, as usual, there aren?t any blacks in here and there are only just a couple of white guys finishing up. But, after a few minutes pass, and by the time you start shampooing your hair everyone else has left and you?re the only one still showering as you hurry it up and quickly finish rinsing. After your rinse, and as you?re stepping out of the showers, the first thing you notice is that it?s eerily quiet, and there isn?t another soul in here with you, no one else around anywhere, either black or white. All you can hear is the seemingly distant sound of droplets of water dripping from a leaky showerhead, bouncing off the tile wills and echoing in your ears in this cavernous, eerie type of reverberation chamber. Your acute hearing, another sign of fear, also picks up the secondary sound of tiny droplets of water splashing onto the tile floor around your bare feet as you listen, intently, for sounds of anything at all that might be untoward. Like the sonar of a bat, humans can also detect, though not as well, the unmeasurable, subtle differences in air density and circulation, the slightly dampened sounds of voices and other ambient noises when other people are occupying their immediate surroundings and space, even in adjacent rooms. Just as with the loss of any one of the senses, hearing, touch, sight, smell, etc., with the presence of fear, the missing sense is either replaced with the others, or all of the remaining senses are heightened and enhanced on an unquantifiable Richter scale. Taste, that familiar and rather infrequent, initial metallic taste from fear, immediately, the saliva in your mouth inexplicably becoming sticky, and just before the dry cottonmouth replaces it, when all of the saliva in your mouth is gone where the only thing left is that rather obvious clicking sound in your throat that won?t go away, with the palate of your tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth every time you swallow. That strange, sandpapery, croaking sound when you try and speak, a classic sign of nervousness while being interrogated, or while testifying on the witness stand, answering an unwanted question, avoiding telling the truth, which is why police ?in-terry-gators? always condescendingly, and solicitously offer their suspects a glass of water, a coke, or even a piece of chewing gum, not out of any polite courtesy, or consideration for your thirst, but simply check to see if you already have a dry mouth, to see how soon you?re going to pick up the glass, and how frequently you take sips, or several swallows of water, just to moisten your tongue and dampen the inside of your mouth to remedy the problem. Sometimes, they won?t even offer anything to drink, just to see how quickly you?ll actually ask for something to drink anyway, ostensibly to quench a thirst ? even before the questions begin. All it really takes is a slightly heightened sense of fear to cause a dry mouth since eighty percent of the populating is already chronically dehydrated (which is why the first thing the ambulance crew does when arriving on a medical emergency scene is stick an IV tube into your arm ? because it?s already benignly assumed that whatever medical problem is present, dehydration either contributes to, or exacerbates the problem anyway). And, regardless of your lack of awareness of the ambient temperature just before you stepped under the spray, you now sense a sudden chill in the air, barely half a degree perhaps, but still noticeably, yet slightly colder than just the normal chill of water droplets sliding down your skin after stepping out of the shower. The almost parchment thin and less fleshy portions of your epidermis that are already drying are tingling, that prickly sensation, with the surrounding skin suddenly sprouting goosebumps, the fine hairs rising from their follicles like antennae in search of predator, or prey. After all, the reason why every human even has body hair is a throwback to the caveman era when a man was vulnerable and most defenseless while taking a piss, since a predator could walk up on him in such an unguarded moment and take him out. Thus, the prickly hairs and goosebumps would arise, so to speak, as a barely adequate and razor thin early warning of approaching and imminent danger, even indicating from which side the danger was coming dependent on which side of the body the hairs arose more quickly. Most men, even today, experience this throwback sensation while taking a modern day piss, even while alone, in unknown environments, but most especially, in places of incarceration. Your sense of smell almost blends with the taste in your mouth where you don?t exactly know where the metallic taste and smell either begins or ends in your nostrils. You can detect the almost overbearing smell of disinfectant, the fainter smells of the slivers and remnants of various kinds of soap bars still trapped in the shower drains, Irish Spring, Dial, Ivory, Dove, Lux, and LifeBuoy. Body lotions, Nivea and LubriDerm. Body powder, Johnsons, and Gold Bond. Shampoos, Suave, and Dove. All of these clean smells, along with chlorine and SaniFlush, mixed in with the slight undertones of both old and freshly eradiated green mildew, black mold still trapped in the grout between the tiles (hence, the almost obligatory institutional flip flops), undercurrents of both clean and dirty body odors, stale sweat, almost every single typical odor, although not with the usual overpowering stench and smell of a civilian male locker room. Your peripheral vision is also expanded (aside from the usual self- preservation of simply being acutely more aware of your surroundings), ever conscious of Who?s either invading, or about to invade, your personal space, Who?s even causally just loitering somewhat too close to your side, or Someone Else unseen because They?re standing directly behind you, or another Person (either seemingly intentional, or just accidentally) intercepting your line of travel as you move from pace to place, as you consciously try to stay out of Everyone?s way to avoid confrontation, or even conversation or other unintentional, innocent remark from either participant that could be misconstrued and might lead to even conversational confrontation. Your peripheral view is most probably enhanced by the wide-eyed expression that you?re certainly hoping that no one catches, that proverbial ?deer in the headlights? look that allows you to see slightly higher upwards from your face beyond the normal ledge of your eyelids and brow, your side view is actually 110 degrees to either side (rather the than the normal hundred degree field of view that you had before you were incarcerated), and you had thought that only Orientals had such great peripheral vision because of the shape of their eyes as to why they were so proficient in martial arts. Your simplest of observations is also enhance in the stark textural contrasts between the different type surfaces, both smoothly finished and broken floor tiles, chipped sheetrock above the showerheads, the institutional colors, green and white, off white floor tiles to be sometime in the next decade (certainly, long after your release) or never, replaced. Your acute vison, born of underlying fear, and now fueled by immediate fright, permits you to notice and subconsciously register all of these things for later recall in minute detail (hence these stories), and even more things than you would normally (the invention of a nonsensical term, ?visual multi-tasking?). All of your senses, and the lack of usual aural input, is unusual, particularly at this quietest time of day when there?s always still a certain amount of background noise, the ever present white noise in places like this, at least, a few Other far less threatening and intimidating Inmates taking showers, muted, unintelligible conversation, in stark contrast to the usual institutional and raucous jabbering, yelling, shouting, and macho epithets being thrown around, and reverberating off the nonporous surfaces of the walls. You reassure yourself by isolating the fact that except for the uncharacteristic lack of usual noise, nothing else seems to be out of the ordinary that would indicate trouble. So, you start looking for your clothes where you had left them on the waterlogged and soap ringed bench ? and they?re gone. They?re fucking gone, all of them, no pants, no shirt, not a tee shirt, and worse, not even your underwear. Your shaving kit, too, is gone, and even the towel that you had left hanging on the hook above your clothes isn?t there, either. All you have in your possession now is the half used bar of scented soap and a bottle of Prell shampoo. And you?re thinking that the last thing right now that you ever want anyone to see is this vision of you, either casually and nonchalantly strolling along, or in the alternative, fearfully scurrying back to your cell, completely naked, wet, dripping water while leaving a clear and obvious tracking trail and silhouetted outlines of small wet footprints, and carrying nothing in your hands except a tiny sliver of slippery soap and half used bottle of slippery shampoo. All the usual crudity and obligatory macho jokes immediately come to mind with that one, ?Hey, don?t drop dat soap... Got sum lube fo? Mee?... iz dat shampoo yew got in yo? handz, o? yew jest glad tuh see Mee??... So, you tentatively, and too timidly, call out to Anyone who might help you in your predicament, by loaning you a towel (even though you?re not supposed to ever borrow anything from These Bastards , but perhaps something for now, just long enough so that you can make it back to your cell and get dressed (and you?ll discreetly report the theft later, perhaps in aday or two so as not to arouse suspicion in being a snitch). ?Is... Is Anyone there? Can... Can Someone help me??... But No One answers, and you call out a couple more times, your voice sounding strangely high, in a decidedly less masculine timbre, volume and deep resonance than the voice background that usually echoes in here. Still No One answers, so you?re peeking around the corner to see if Anyone might be passing by. But, you see No One. And now you realize that it?s not just the shower that?s silent. The rest of the tier, and the entire tier is strangely quiet, too, which is even more unusual. Something has to be up. So, you?re thinking, not quite yet in panic stage, that if you can just run quickly back down the tier and turn that one corner, then you can conceivably make it back to your cell without being seen. You didn?t see much activity in the cells as you passed them on the way to the shower, and perhaps some of The scattered Inmates that you did see have probably signed out for the library by now anyway. If you?re discreet enough, and nimble enough, then perhaps all Anyone will see is a brief flash of white as you go running by, ridiculously streaking down the tier, an apparition, a ghost. Except that you?ve noticed that Everyone in here seems to have a certain kind of radar that instantly picks up on the color white that displays more than few square inches at one time (which is why Nobody ever completely undresses anyplace else except the showers. They either take off a shirt and put another one back on in its place (before removing Their trousers), or the other way around. The Only Inmates that you ever see completely naked, and displaying no fear while getting dressed or undressed, are Those that run this fucking place, the Ones who wouldn?t dare be fucked with. And, no one would want to be caught looking at Them while They?re getting dressed or undressed anyway because They don?t want to appear to be ?interested.? But, it?s a different story with fresh newbies like you, looking almost like an albino against the clearly dark and dominant backdrop. Everyone in this place, both black and white, is always trying to catch glimpses of any nakedness, or even the slightest exposure of revealing skin that they could get away with anyway. The general and unspoken rule is that almost any nakedness, either carelessly, accidentally, or lewdly intentional, is just an implied or even open advertisement for possible sex with the constantly patrolling and openly marauding, shark like ?booty bandits,? or whoever else might be looking. Show too much of yourself and you can instantly feel Terminator-like laser focused eyes searching out every square inch of nakedly displayed skin that you inadvertently, and accidentally expose, even while hiding behind the upper half of your locker in the cell as you slip on your underwear behind the damp towel still wrapped around your waist so that No One catches a fleeting glimpse of a snow white buttock, or turning your back towards the middle of the cell as you slip on your tee shirt so that No One even catches sight of your nipples, perpetually erect and fear stiffened anyway as you button up a shirt over your tee, instinctively, so that No One sees your nipples poking through the material. Anyway, the distance back to your cell is only slightly more than a hundred feet or so. You?ll just have to pass by six cells on your right, all black occupied, turn left at the corner, and then quickly pass three more cells on your right, still all black, and the fourth cell is yours. It should only take an educated and quickly calculated thirty seconds or so. Besides, as quiet as it is, with No One Else on the tier, you?re thinking that you can make it back to your cell before Anyone can even catch a glimpse of what you already know will look like if you don?t make it, a lewdly and completely naked and jiggling, dripping wet, white body in a black neighborhood, no less. You certainly don?t want Anyone to see you like this as you look around the corner again, both directions this time, and you don?t see Anybody. So, you?ve decided that haste and speed wins out over the possible and more likely unpredictable results otherwise ? less exposure in time measurement, but still, and possibly more accidental exposure with clearly furtive and quick movements. Everyone seems to move so incongruously slowly in these places than what one would normally expect, and the only times you ever see quick flashes of movement is when something?s going down. So, with decision finalized, you?re slowly, and almost too tentatively, stepping out of the showers out onto the tier, immediately thinking of how this might appear to the casual Observer, appearing incongruously with a teasing image of possibly looking like a girl with just her alabaster white and slender calf and knee, and one foot exposed, Achilles contracted and toes pointed, prettily, and ballerina-like, and testing the hot steaming water in her bubble bath with her big toe before she fleetingly shows the rest of herself and finally steps into the tub. You immediately and quickly start running to your right down the tier back towards your cell, hugging the wall so as not to inadvertently expose yourself to Any Viewers on the lower tier who might be looking upwards over the railing on the other side. The first thing you notice is the cool kiss of air against your naked, and still dampened skin, and still dripping wet in some places, with water trapped in various creases and crevices on your body, the creases between your thighs and lower belly, the space between your buttocks, the hidden skin just behind your testicles, where the skin touches between the front part of your testicles and just behind the base of your penis, and underneath your arms as you instantly expose all of those secret places to the artificially cooled air with your exaggerated and determined movements as soon as you start running. The air feels cold, and gives you goose bumps, making your nipples stiffen, and then pucker and stand up, embarrassingly pointed and erect. You can also hear the sound of your bare feet, slightly flat-footed, slapping daintily against the concrete floor, and more loudly that you had anticipated, again, drawing unwanted attention even if they can only hear something, but aren?t yet looking in your direction. As an almost subtle undertone just underneath the sound of my feet slapping against the floor, you can even hear the sound of both of your naked upper legs swishing back and forth, the sensitive portions of my inner thighs sliding against each other as you try an run even faster. You can feel your tummy slightly jiggling and you can feel the insides of your silky upper arms, and the sounds they?re making as they slip back and forth against the sides of your thin little ribcage. Clearly, you haven?t thought this through, and you had no idea beforehand of how you must look if anyone sees you. But, what is suddenly most lewd, in your mind, is that you?ve never run naked before, not since you were a kid trying to get out taking a bath. And your genitals, your shriveled penis, and your even more embarrassingly shrunken testicles, are shrinking even more from your own fear, on top of the cold air against your wet nakedness. Your testicles are flopping up and down between your legs, and your penis lifting high in the air to flip up against your lower stomach before flipping back down between your legs again. And with every step, after your testicles swing upward, and slapping up hard and painfully against your lower belly, they swing back down between your legs again to slap against the soft and plump insides of you upper thighs, with the underside of your penis slapping down on top of those, too, and actually separating your testicles. But, it?s too late. You can?t stop now, even though you?re running so hard now that every time your testicles swing down and slap between your legs, you can already feel that familiar and sickening, sweet, exquisite ache in your lower belly. But, you don?t have time to even reach down with a small white hand to try and cover yourself, especially since you?re still carrying your soap and shampoo. You could have left them behind and then come back to get them later, except for right now, you?re desperately trying to get back to your cell. But, you?ve only made it about halfway there, about fifteen steps, and fifty feet or so when you suddenly look up and see a group of around half a dozen indistinguishable darkened shapes and silhouetted forms milling outside one of the cells. You don?t know where They came from, or how They got there because They weren?t there when you peeked out earlier. So, you stop and quickly turn back around, thinking that maybe if they haven?t already seen you, then you can still make it back to the relative safety in the showers again. But, as you?re turning around, your lily heart nearly stops when you look back up and see another group of Inmates already stepping out onto the tier behind me ? blocking your path between you and the showers. They had been silent and you hadn?t seen Them or even heard them when you ran past Their cells. The Bastards must have stepped out behind you as soon as you started running. Your birdlike ribcage is already heaving with exhaustion, now combined with your rising panic, and you can just imagine how you must look to Them All, a totally and completely naked white body, just standing here in fear, without any clothes, and without anything at all except your small slippery crescent of Ivory soap and a clear plastic bottle of viscous shampoo. Other than those two things, all you have left are your fear filled eyes, the utterly hopeless expression on your white face, and the helpless, and involuntary trembling that?s already started, trembling from both the cold, and your own fear and rising panic as you look back and forth between the two groups of silent men in front of you, and behind you ? They?re all black. So, you can do nothing to save yourself, except just stand here, stupidly, not knowing what else to do as one of the Men breaks away from His group of friends and starts walking up to you. You?re literally frozen where you are, the dampness from your shower chilling you to the bone even more, as you hear the last few droplets of water splashing onto the floor between your feet. You can?t even move, until He?s actually standing in front of you, as you cringe, and then try to cower, slightly turning away from Him, even stupidly placing one small and trembling white hand over your privates, trying desperately to, at least, hide your rather small genitals, now shriveled so small that everything almost disappears between your upper thighs. You might as well have a girl?s pussy, you?re so small now, and the very best illustration of what most men jokingly refer to as so-called ?shrinkage.? But, the Man standing right in front of you is reaching down now, right between your legs, and grabbing your comically, ridiculously concealing left hand, and jerking your thin, delicate white wrist, and hand, high and hard up into the air over your head to where you can feel the several pounds of your own light weight leaving your left foot. He?s gripping your wrist and hand so hard that they hurt, that you can actually feel, and hear the small bones literally grinding against each other, the sound that you instinctively imagine just before bones actually break. He?s gripping you so hard that you?re losing the circulation in both your wrist and hand, apparently not even knowing His own strength. He?s also much, much taller than you are, too. So, you unintentionally drop the sliver of soap and your shampoo bottle onto the floor at His feet and instinctively reach up with your right hand to try and grab hold of His thick black wrist to try and relieve some of the pain before He accidentally breaks your wrist, or crushes your hand. All of this now leaves the two of you, both of you, in a briefly frozen, and contrastingly dirty, unintended pose, a black man, fully clothed, and physically, and wordlessly, dominating a totally naked and white, helpless, submissive victim, standing up on her tiptoes and clutching His hands in some kind of consensual, lewd greeting, or participatory embrace, of sorts. You can?t actually see how any of this looks right now, but you can certainly imagine how a real girl might feel in this kind of situation just before being raped. And, you already know that to Everyone looking on that it looks as though you?re about to perform some sort of lewd and ridiculous, twirling pirouette for your now no longer imaginary, and current dance partner. The black Bastard?s gripping your wrist even harder as you gasp in pain, thinking for sure that you can actually hear even more of the small bones in your wrist creaking and grinding together. ?Why you runnin? so fast? Whatchoo so scared uhhh, white boi? Did sum booty bandits git holda you? Did somebody try tuh do sumthin? to ya in da showers and dat?s why you running, to try and git away?? And you?re trying to shrink away from Him as best you can, as you start doing what all white girls do in such a situation, pleading, stammering, albeit unintentionally sounding even more like a helpless girl, ?Please... please... don?t hurt me... Someone... I mean somebody took all of my clothes... that?s... that?s the only reason why I?m naked like this?... You?re trying desperately to explain to Him as best you can, despite His repulsive, uneducated Nigger talk, and rough, coarse dialect. ?No... no... it wasn?t like that... Someone stole my clothes... even my towel... and... and I was running... to just try to get back to my cell... and... and find my clothes?... ?Whoo yew thank yew iz... dese be da bruthas? showers et dis tom uhh duh mo?nin?... end dis bee Mah muthafuckin? neighbuh-hood... yew bee callin? one uhh duh Bruthas in heah uhh fuckin? thief?... witch won wuz it? Jest say witcha won it wuz... ?n Wee take care of duh sit?ation... but iffen yew bee lyin? ?bout won uhh duh Bruthas bein? uhh thief, den Wee jest bee draggin? yo? nekkid white ass back down tew da showers... ?n rough yew awf in dere jest like you iz... since you awreddy bee nekkid ennyway... mebbee dat bee whut yew looking fo? ennyway... lots uhh white boys trollin? down in dese parts lookin? tuh suck some black Johnsons ennyway... so?s dey kin go back ?n buy dem selves sum Skittles ?n cokes... mebbee dat?s why yew awl nekkid lack dis... jest uh tease duh mos? pussy starved Brutha in tuh bein? gen?rous... ?n gettin? yew sum sweets ?n shit?... ?Ohhh... please... no.... it?s... it?s not like that at all... I... I would never?... as your words die on your lips, and your words start croaking in the back of your dry throat. Besides, you?re already in complete shock, from the cold, His dirty talk, and the lewd hand holding, as another sign of shock, with such ridiculously and disjointed, fragmented, disconnected, and unrelated thoughts floating into your consciousness in the face of this kind of situation. Because while He?s still talking to you, the rest of the Men, from ?Both Sides Now? (as you?re reminded of that Judy Collins song from the seventies), start leisurely walking, slowly, towards this ethereal, yet contrastingly real image of such a strangely incongruent interracial ?couple? standing in the middle of the tier, One black, the Masterful Male, and the other one white, clearly the weakened and vulnerable ?partner? in such an apparent lewd embrace, of sorts. This is clearly enemy territory for you. You?re on the dark side of ?No Man?s Land? as the rest of the Inmates start surrounding the two of you, up close, and extremely personal. You feel even more vulnerable and helpless as you just stand here, completely naked, Their domineering presence washing over you, overbearing, oppressive, making you feel insignificant, your identity disappearing, and Their presence almost becoming a part of you. You can feel Their palpable physical presence blending with yours because the density of the surrounding air is actually changing with the close proximity of their black bodies. You can already feel the warmth and the heat from Their black bodies filtering through Their clothes. Even the sound in the air changes as the usual echo from Everyone?s Voices quickly dissipate, too, the sound waves of everything being absorbed by so many bodies and the clothes They?re wearing. You can actually smell them, too, the odor of both recently showered as well as the unmistakable stench of unwashed bodies from Their communal in the yard that morning, especially the smell from Men of another race. You can detect the scent of their sweat, even the hinted undertones and bouquet of stale piss that always wafts around a place where only Men congregate and hang out, no matter how recently it?s been cleaned of how hygienic it?s supposed to be. You also thinking that you?ve caught a subtle whiff of something else, too, another smell that?s also only present around Men. But, you don?t even want that thought to register enough for me to think about that. So, you?re trying desperately to push all of the olfactory cues out of your mind and concentrate just on the Man standing in front of me and pay extremely close attention to whatever it is that He?s saying to you as you focus on every single word. You?re trying so desperately to talk your way out of your predicament. ?No... please... I... I don?t know Who it was... maybe... maybe it was one of the white guys who took my stuff... I... I didn?t mean to imply... please... I?m not saying that any of You Guys took any of my things... I... I think... no... I... I?m sure of it now... I... I think I saw one of the white guys... I think I saw one of them take my things... it... it wasn?t one of You Guys at all?... and your weak voice trails off into thin air as He grips your wrist even harder, if that?s possible, grinding and crushing the small bones in that sensitive lower part of your hand just above your wrist. ?Wail... yew might? jest bee needin? ?n escort den... ?cawse iffen sum uhh dese udder Booty Bandits see uhh white boy awl alone out heah... ?specially naked lack yew iz, ?n wid no clothes own, den Dey mighten? bee gittin? da wrong idee ?bout yew... Dey mighten? bee thankin? tuh Dem Selves dat yew jest bee lookin? tuh suck sum black dick in heah... o? mebbe mo? den dat?... ?Please... please... just... just let me go... I... I just need to go back to my cell... I... I won?t say anything to Anybody...? ?What?s ya hurry? Whatchoo tawkin? ?bout ennyway... ?bout not sayin? nuthin??.... tuh Who?... yew uhh squealer?... Who yew gonna bee sayin? sumthin? tew ennyway?... Yew bee da one in Ma hood... end now yew bee jest uhh piece uhh white bread... ?n uhh long fuckin? way frum home tew... but... iffen yew wanna go back tuh yo? cell, den let?z go.. ye kin can take Us Awl back tuh yo? cell fo? uhh nice little visit wif? duh Bruthas?... and He?s still holding you hard by the wrist with an iron grip. ?Oh, no, Sir... please... I... I?m not a squealer... I know to keep quiet, and keep quiet about everything in here... I... I won?t say anything, I swear?... ?Let?z Awl go back tuh yo? cell den... ?n Wee?ll he?p yew find yew sum mo? clothes... buhsides... Ahh don?t see no white folks ?round heah to he?p yew out ennyway... yew bee awl ?lone in heah now... ?n own top uhh dat, Ahh ?spect yew gonna be needin? yew sum pr?tection... ?cawse iffen Ahh let yew go now, den yew gonna mos? likely git raped... ?n taken awf bah awl dese Booty Bandits.... So... let?z git goin?, white bread... yew kin hold Mah hand fo? protection... ?til Wee Awl get yew tew yo? cell?... And, this is how the long and lonely, scary procession down the tier and back towards your cell begins, as you look and look out past the sea of black faces, searchingly, yet not seeing a single fucking white face anywhere to help you out. You?re all alone, white, naked, and surrounded by at least a dozen Black Men. To anyone looking on (from a safe and discreet, ?MYOB? distance), you?re barely even visible unless They already know that you?re actually in the center of the group. We all walked agonizingly slowly down the tier, stopping at almost every other cell while even more black men came out to ask what?s going on, ?she... Ahh mean, he got jacked... ?n lawst awl his rags in duh showuh... Wee jest gonna escort him back tuh huh... I mean... his cell ?n he?p him find duh rest uhh his clothes... Ya?ll kin come wif? Us... iffen Yew wanna he?p?... But, you?re screaming inside, silently to yourself, using your fucking ?inside voice,? desperately wanting to scream out, that you don?t need all these helpful Men, or assistance, although it clearly appears as though you do with the fearful look in your eyes, and the way that the black Man?s still holding onto your wrist. You?re whimpering, and mumbling something unintelligible to Him about His hand holding you too tightly in His clenched fist, as He considerately lets go. But, then He?s offering the same overly large, ham-like black hand back to you, and after hesitating for only a second or two, you?re stupidly placing your small white hand right back inside His black one, and what?s even worse than being manhandled like before, you?re actually placing your hand in His, on your own, compliantly, and willingly this time. You can hear several of the Other Inmates surrounding you, quietly snickering at what They?re seeing, but, there?s nothing you can do about it anyway as All of you, a moving gauntlet, a living black throng, a fucking tootsie roll, with a creamy white center in the middle, continue the journey. You don?t even want to look behind you, but every few steps you can feel someone reaching through the crowd and touching you in various places all over your naked body, your jiggling snow white ass cheeks, your upper thighs, a trembling white shoulder, and quite frequently, pinching your fear stiffened, throbbingly erect, and soon to be bitch nipples. They?re All taking turns, reaching out, brutally twisting, and corkscrewing your exposed nipples, making you cry out in surprise and shame as Everyone slowly and inexorably, moves you along. When you finally reach your cell, you?re quickly, and rather impolitely, jerking your hand out of His as you hurry over to your locker, unintentionally bending over and exposing a teasing glimpse of your charms from your rear. And, as you open your locker, you shouldn?t have been surprised. It?s completely empty. All of your clothes are gone, and the rest of your things have disappeared, too. Inmates, especially the newer ones, are always getting jacked in here. The only thing in your locker is a lone, fragile looking dust bunny in the corner, an embarrassing testament to your evidently poor housekeeping skills. You?re now really nakedly exposed, as you slowly turn back to look at the black men completely filling the doorway of your cell. You don?t know how, but you?ve been set up, so easily that you can?t even figure out what the con is, especially when your kind and considerate black Escort suddenly shoves a sheaf of typewritten papers into your trembling hands. You don?t know what these papers are, perhaps some scattered remnants of your belongings that Someone?s discovered in the trash, old commissary order forms (except for the fat that it?s all new age digital kiosk orders through display terminals these days), letters you?ve gotten from your wife. You?re only grateful that, at least, Someone?s making an attempt to return something back to you. You instinctively grasp the papers between my fingers so that you won?t drop them and make Him mad. But, before you can look down and see what they are, He?s already jerking you back out of your cell with an ominous message that you?re wasting precious time and several seconds in trying to register. ?Yew ain?t gonna bee needin? no mo? clothes in heah ennyway... sweetmeat?... He?s already dragging you along the tier, back in the opposite direction that you had come. No handholding this time. He?s jerking you along by your thin and weak, delicate wrist, like that fucking Turkish prison guard in ?Midnight Express,? your fragile white hand sticking up outside His black fist, turning red, and then slightly blue from his painful grip and squeezing pressure around your wrist. You?re sure of it now, that you really can actually hear some of the small bones in my wrist and hand even cracking, and perhaps fracturing this time. Your other hand is still desperately clutching the sheaf of papers, afraid to drop them, and desperately believing that these papers will somehow save you from whatever horror about to befall you. ?Cum own, bitch...? He?s telling you, with no more false and condescending politeness, niceties or transparent social pretenses as He?s easily jerking you along behind Him, with downright rudeness, dragging you by the wrist like a recalcitrant child, your naked white flesh jiggling all over your completely exposed body as you struggle to keep up, all of you making your way in the opposite direction towards the large and cavernous rec room from where I can already hear loud and raucous laughter and lewd jeers. And as soon as you?re dragged through the rec room door, He suddenly lets go of your wrist, and without warning, literally shoves you out into the center of the room where Everyone Else can get a clear look at you, naked, white, all alone, weak and helpless, completely vulnerable and utterly defenseless. And now, He?s finally asking you all about the papers you?re holding in your trembling and shaking hands. But for now, you?re just helplessly standing in the middle of the rec room, surrounded by dozens of black men, completely white and naked, with the first letter, over a dozen pages of unfamiliar typewritten text clutched in your trembling fingers. ?Hey... bitch!... read Us dat gotdam lettuh yew jest got frum yo? wife!?... ?yeah... itz mail cawl now... muthafuckuh?... One of Them yells from the Crowd in front, as you glance down at the papers again, shuffling them apart to try and look again at the unfamiliar words, being so careful, too, not to get them out of order even though they?re parenthetically numbered at the bottom of each page. ?Please... I... I... my Wife... She... She didn?t write this to me... I... I don?t know what it is... it?s... it?s not Hers... I... I swear?... ?Iz dat right... dickmeat? So, She musta made uhh mistake... ?n wrote it tuh some othuh white assed hoe in heah... ?stead uhh yew... ennybody Else in heah dat yew know wif? duh same gotdam name ez yew?... yeah, ?n whut ?bout dat nickname She cawl yew in duh letter?... She bee cawlin? yew ?pussy face??... yew know ennybody Else in heah wif? dat nickname??... And, you?re completely lost, helpless and defenseless, as you just stand here, blinking nervously, and looking out over a sea of anonymous black faces and leering eyes, listening to the lewd comments and cruel insults. Although you recognize some of Their faces, and even remember some of Their names, Their faces might as well be unrecognizable, total strangers, because their countenances are all filled with meanness and contempt now, twisting Their features into masks of cruelty, without any humanness or soul at all (sorry, because after all, They?re ?soul bruthas? anyway). ?Ahh axed yew uhh muthafuckin? question... bitch!?... And you falter in your answer, ?uhhh... no... no Sir.. I... I don?t know Anybody Else in here... with the same name as me... and... and I.. I?ve never heard anyone else called by that that... that nickname?... ?What wuz dat nickname... bitch?... yeah... say it out reel loud... so?s Wee kin Awl heah it?... Someone Else is yelling from the back. ?uhhh... I... I believe it says here, ?puh... puuhhh... pussy face?... you answer back quietly, with a voice soft as to sound downright weak, and feminine. ?Say it louder... yew gotdam slut... so?s Wee can Awl heah yew way in duh back!?... ?Pussy face!?... you?re say it louder. ?Louder!?... and you say it even louder, even these two simple words sounding so strange, foreign, and unfamiliar to you, especially when referring to yourself. ?Louder!?... as you respond back to Their orders, actually yelling out the insult directed back towards yourself, several times as the Inmates laugh derisively at your plight and seeming self-admission, ?pussy face!... pussy face!... pussy face!?... as you yell it out as loud as you can. After wasting precious time, at least a couple of minutes, the man who dragged you here slaps you upside the back of your head. ?Start readin?... boi... loud ?n clear... yew white faced... fear shiverin? bitch!?... And as you look down at the first page, feelings of shock, self-revulsion, sheer embarrassment, and utter shame fill your soul at the words you see swimming all over the page, and floating up to your eyes. And, as you start reading, your voice is faltering, and at first barely audible when you glance down and focus on some of the words. ?Sum-bodee take uhh gotdam belt to dis white bitch... ?n evuh tom she stop readin?, o? slows down, o? gits too quiet whah Wee cain?t hear whut duh fuck she bee sayin?, den lay intuh dat cute jigglin? white ass ?n backs uhh huh laigs ?til she find huh voice again... yeah... yew wuz tawkin? awl loud ?n shit when yew wuz insultin? duh downtrodden eek-uhh- nomic status uv inner city neighborhoods, tawkin? ?bout sum muthafuckin? thesis yew wrote in college... yeah, college bitch... least yew kin do iz read uhh fuckin? lettuh frum yo? ol? lady... start ovuh... so?s Wee kin Awl ketch up?... ?Dear, pussy face,? you begin, only slightly less faltering, clearer, better articulated, and decidedly, embarrassingly and consciously enunciated. ?Dear pussy face. Just wanted to write you a few words to let you know that I was thinking of you. I know how lonely you must be feeling right about now, the contrast between the convicts in that place that you don?t even know, and so much company those last several months before you got sentenced and put away. I was thinking about all of those Men you had so much fun with the night before. So, I thought I would describe and recreate some of those experiences for you that I still remember so vividly. The thoughts should keep you warm and happy, and less homesick at night while you?re still dreaming about doing those kinds of things again after you get out. ?I still remember that last day just before your sentencing in that alleyway outside that rundown trannie bar, ?Foxxes.? You had dressed up just for me, again, just by my asking. I remembered how you looked in that short skirt just before I took you outside behind the bar where All those Men were waiting for you, and how after just a couple of token slaps across your face, just for effect, you immediately started begging to suck all those Men?s cocks. They made you strip for Them first, even the bright red fucking high heels you were wearing. They made you strip everything off except for your panties pooled around your ankles. You were on your knees, naked, with your panties down around your ankles, not another stitch on. You were surrounded by at least a dozen dirty, homeless black men standing in line waiting to get their filthy cocks sucked. And I watched you sucking all those black cocks, and after you finished swallowing all their cum, you crawled up to Each One of Them, placing your hands on Their thighs, still on your knees between their legs, as you looked up at them, intentionally touching the tip of your upturned nose against the underside of the uncircumcised head of Their cocks, sliding your upturned white nose further down, underneath that tube running along the bottom of every one of Their still dripping dicks until your lips reached Their hairy nut sacks. I watched you kiss their black scrotums, running the wet tip of your pointed little tongue, and then the flat of your slobbering tongue all over Their dangling testicles while you blew spit bubbles out of your mouth, literally gargling out your thanks to Each Man for His fucking jack load of cum in your mouth and still swimming around deep inside your belly. I remember how you sounded as you crawled up to Each Man and told Him, ?Thhhhuunnnkk yeeeewww fffooohhhhr thhhhuuuu cuummmm innnnn muuhhhh mooouuufffhhh ? Several of the Bastards simply fucked your mouth again just because of that, looking at you just sitting on your knees like that with your white hands running up and down their thighs and then moving between their legs to clutch at their balls while you tried to keep them all hard, and still interested, just so you could suck them all off one last time anyway. ?You were an unfaithful bitch, a cock sucking, nasty, filthy whore, too, and after all I did for you and being so considerate in giving you what said you wanted that day for your going away present. Fuck you. You liked what They were doing to you so much that I heard you whisper to some of Them just to try and keep Me from overhearing, ?Please... please... when I get out of prison you can come to my house anytime. I?ll leave the front, side, and back doors unlocked all the time so that you can just walk in whenever you feel like it. I?ll... I?ll even leave the windows unlocked if you want to come in that way. And... and I?ll sleep naked, too. I won?t be a problem to you. You can All use me. I?ll jerk you off with both of my lily white hands and then I?ll eat Your cum in front of You while You ? and your Friends ? watch. You, and All Your friends can fuck my mouth. I?ll... I?ll even willingly give up my asshole next time. You... You can fuck it anytime you want. Bring Your friends, too, if you want, or, I?ll meet You wherever you say. I?ll... I?ll even come to your black neighborhood dressed the way You tell me. I?ll... I?ll meet You anywhere You say. You... You can be in charge. I?ll... I?ll let you. You can pick me up in Your car and take me someplace or, have some of Your Friends even pick me up in Their car, and I?ll suck Their dicks in the back seat with my knees on the floorboards until we get to where You want Them to take me... and... and if You like my panties the way I?m wearing them now, down around my ankles, then I?ll even dress up for You like a girl, too, with lots and lots of perfume and makeup. And, please, don?t wash Your penis before you see me next time. Fuck me dirty, and make me sniff and smell and suck on all of Your filthy, sweaty scrotums. I?ll... I?ll clean them with lots of sparkling white gurl spit, and then blow dry them with my mouth after you. Please, fuck me good and proper, and I?ll bathe the rest of your naked body, too, with my tongue and spit. You... You can spend the night with me, too, if You want to. I?ll let You sleep with me all night long and stay the next day, with lots of morning snoozes and daytime naps, and lazy afternoons with Your big black dick buried all the way to the balls up inside my pink and white asshole, or deep in my mouth between my lips. I... I want to take my time with You, and give you the love and attention that you deserve, and nibble on your foreskin and clean underneath the hood of Your uncircumcised dick while I?m sucking and nursing on Your long black cock. You... You can pass me around to all of Your Friends if you want to. And, please... please don?t tell Anybody yet, but if You want to be my Pimp, then I?ll belong to You, and then Whoever gets to fuck me would be entirely up to You. You can put me out on the streets in just a pair of panties down around my dainty ankles and heels, just like I am now. Or, You can make me wear a dress and stay naked underneath, and force me to work for You, sucking off strangers? dicks, and swallowing their sperm for money. I?ll... I?ll even pay You with all the money I make for You on my knees, sucking dick for You, just for You to be my Pimp Master, my Whore Master. I?ll... I?ll even let you brand and tattoo me as your whore if you want...? ?I listened to you say all of those things, and thought to myself, ?What a fucking sleazy whore you were, and after that whorish little display, you?ll never be able to convince Me, or Anyone Else, that you don?t like what you were doing for All those Men. ?I remember one of the black gangster types asking you to hold onto His baseball cap for Him, too, while He just stood there and fucked your mouth, and you held it so prettily and carefully with both hands, never letting it go, and then handed it back to Him after He shot His fucking load and pulled out of your mouth with His black dick still hanging lewdly in front of your face. After that, you started asking each of Them, and so sweetly, too, if They wore a ball cap, if you could wear it on your head flipped around backwards like a ghetto hood bitch until They were done. ?I watched the way you gagged on their black dicks. You gagged on each cock so sweetly, even when you didn?t need to. You did it on purpose, paying Each Man the supreme compliment as you choked yourself, repeatedly. You only pretended to choke on Their dicks just to increase Their visual pleasure at the sight of a naked white bitch on her knees paying homage to Their genitals, just a naked little bitch on her knees, complimenting Them on Their sheer size and length just by simply gagging with almost every single dick stroke. But, even I could see that all you were really doing was squeezing your spit filled mouth and sweet throat even tighter around Their dicks to make Them cum faster and shoot more Nigger jizz into your mouth. Then after each bellyful of filthy white jizz you?d simply kiss His dick, lick Him clean, smooch your lips up underneath His scrotum, and say, ?ffffhhhhhannnkkk yooouuuhhh miffffterrrr,? and then crawl over to your next non-paying Customer. I watched you lapping at Their balls and holding out your tongue for Their dicks, even smiling up at Them All whenever they told you to ? smiling for your next mouthful of dick. ?I also made goddamn sure that you made good on that promise and a lick that you offered up to that Man in the alley. You didn?t even know His fucking Name. You simply called Him, ?Sir,? or ?Mister Pimp? for days, even after I brought Him back to the house. At least, you knew better that to ask Him, and had the proper respect to know that His Name was none of your fucking business. I looked in on you several times after that day while you were slumbering with Him in your bedroom. I watched the both of you sleeping in the middle of the afternoon, after staying up most of the night being sexually abused and assaulted by Him. I saw you sleeping with Him, with His black dick more than halfway in your mouth, drooling your nasty cock flavored spit everywhere down between His legs, your spit running down over his scrotum and even filling the deep chasm between His naked ass cheeks that He made eventually you lick out from His asshole and from between His naked cheeks. ?Well, that?s enough for now, bitch (that?s what you said always like to be called because it puts you in the proper frame of mind. You said that it makes you weak in the knees and more submissive to black cock. Anyway, after writing just these couple of pages of reminiscence, I?ve got to frig my fucking clit again before I go to sleep. ?I?ll write you another letter tomorrow, and I?ll try to send one in to you every other day (one day for me to write, and one day for you to read). You already know that there?s lots to write about, so many things you did for Me and all those Men. So, it?s going to take Me a really long time to write back to you about all of your cock whoring experiences, at least, probably enough to last you until your release date. Although in thinking about it, the only ?release? I can envision for you is when the last Man releases you from between his legs after swallowing His load. Or, when another Man ?releases? you from the death throes of the brutal choke hold He has around your scrawny little neck. Or, ?releasing? you from the vise gripping headlock He has around your head that threatens to crush your bimbo skull. Yeah, I can just imagine you walking out of that place, even on your day of ?release?, with an ass full of Nigger spooge and a distended bellyful of undigested cum sloshing around in your stomach. Well, bye for now. Look for another letter from me day after tomorrow?... ?Love, Mandy, your caring wife...? And you?re still standing here, realizing that your knees are shaking at the prospect of how this must look to all of Them, and you?re clutching the typewritten pages in your hands, staring down at the last page, and watching in slow motion as a single tear splashes down onto the word, ?Love,? blurring the word into a still legible darkened smudge. ?Please... please... I... I?m begging you, I don?t know where all this came from... It?s certainly not my Wife... She... She would never even think up such dirty, filthy things herself... She... She only writes sweet things... and She... She says She loves me?... as your words trail off into nothing. ?Iz dat rat, bitch?... Soundz tuh Mee lack yew bee playing kinky games on duh outs... ?cept it awl bee gay ?n shit... soundz tuh Mee lack yo? wife git awf own watchin? huh white hubby gittin? turn?t out tuh black dick... Ahh been hearin? awl ?bout hwo dere bee so gotdam minnie cuckolds out dere jest waitin? tuh git turn?t out... o? waitin? for his bitch ass wife tuh do it fo? him?... ?Oh, please... please... it?s not like that at all... I... I never did any of those horrible, disgusting things... She... She would never entertain such depravities, and perverted, demeaning sexual behavior?... ?yew sayin? dat white folks bee too good tuh suck own black dicks??... And you try and ignore that He either inadvertently, or intentionally hasn?t made the obvious distinction between male or female, He just said ?white folks,? not just white women, and again, being rather obtuse in not making it clear to you just what it is that you?re supposed to prove, either proving that She didn?t write this letter, or disproving that ?white folks? are just ?too good to suck black dick.? ?Oh, no Sir... that?s... that not what I meant... I mean... I... I didn?t mean to offend... She... She handwrites all of Her letters... She... she never types anything... and the substance and content of Her letters is so different from this... I... Let me show you... I... I keep all Her letters to me underneath my mattress... I... I can prove it to You... to Your complete satisfaction?... ?Wail, Wee gonna let yew prove it... bitch... e?en iffen yew cain?t ?xplain why yo? Wife bee typin? out huh lettuhs ?stead uhh handwritin? ?em awl... iffen yew reely bee sayin? dat yo? Wife ain?t sent yew dat sexy lettuh dat yew been readin? tuh Awl uhh Us lack uhh good bedtime story, den Wee kin let yew traipse yo? liddle jiggly white ass back tuh yo? cell... ?n look up underneaf? yo? mattress... ?n yew bee sho? dat Wee ain?t gonna bee fondin? enny mo? lettuhs lack dat one, right? ?n iffen yew kin prove it dat way den Wee let yew awf duh hook... Wee chalk it up tuh jest sum Homeboy Nigguh trickery?n Wee leave yew ?lone, fond yew sum mo? clothes ?n purtend dat awl dis wuz jest uhh misun?rstandin? ?n uh big mistake?... ?Yes!... yes, please... but... but I?m not dressed... could... could You please get me something to cover up?... I... I just couldn?t go back like this naked... Everybody will see me?... ?Naw, it don?t werk lack dat... but, bein? how yew awreddy bee so nekkid ?n awl... We?ll jest bee givin? yew ?n escort back down duh tier... jest so no booty bandits kin rough yew awf befo? yew kin dem?nstrate yo? inn?cence?... And, you?re so fucking relieved, kind of, even though you have to trick yourself into suspended disbelief. Although you?ll still have to stay naked for this next part, another reverse trip, back to your cell again, at least you?ll have an escort, and protector, not only protected by Him, but actual group protection provided by His homeboys, too. Besides, They?ve All seen you naked already. They?ve been staring at your shivering white nudity for the past half hour or so, from the time they grabbed you outside the showers, walked you back to your cell, then back past the showers to the rec room, the time it?s taken you to read your Wife?s ?love letter? to you, and now this. What difference is a few minutes more going to make anyway? And, in about an hour or two, the rest of the Inmates still out in the yard will be returning back Their cells along with the prison staff to conduct the eleven o?clock count before lunch. Maybe your Cellmates can help you out then, stand up for you, speak on your behalf, and tell These Men that you?re not that way at all, that you like girls, that have a Wife, a sweet Wife who would never write such filth like what you?ve read to Them in this obviously trumped up letter. ?Oh, yes!... thank You!... Please... please, let me show You... I?ll... I?ll prove it to you... there won?t be any letters in my cell that are in any way like this one... You?ll see... Then You?ll believe me, and we?ll All just pretend that this was all just a big mistake... We?ll let bygones be bygones... and... and I won?t say anything about it?... inadvertently repeating yourself again about not being a tattletale and a snitch. ?Let?s go den...? He says as He takes back the letter from your hands, for safekeeping, the lurid letter that you?ve just read aloud to Them All. And now All of you exit the rec room and start making the agonizingly slow procession back down the tier, making your way back to your cell. As before, you?re the only totally and contrastingly naked white meat in an ever growing throng of Black Inmates. Except now, word has already gotten out about another white prospect. Both sides of the tier are lined with black men, past the showers and past over a dozen cells occupied by more black men. Where did They All come from? Most of Them must have been in the library, or down on the main floor playing cards, Tunk, or Spades, and then come up to see all the commotion. You?re completely surrounded by Niggers taking every opportunity to play grab ass with your jiggling white ass cheeks, and pinching your thighs, especially high on the silky, softest parts of the insides of my inner thighs. A few of them with an already disclosed and known penchant for delicate and weak white boi?s don?t avoid your dangling genitals, either, as They reach down and grab those, too, squeezing brutally, trapping your penis and testicles inside a large and coarse, Working Man?s black hand, squeezing and pinching, making you gasp and stumble as you lurched helplessly against The Men all around you, unintentionally grabbing onto Their sinewy and muscular arms, thick hard wrists, and even clutching your Benefactor?s helpfully offered and outstretched Hand (knowing better now than to refuse) just to try and hold yourself up as you place your dainty and softly fragile white hand in His bone crushing ham like fist again. And as all of You make your way down the tier, They keep feeling up your white nakedness, slapping hard and hurtful black hands all over your nakedly exposed and extremely white naked body. Other assisting and helpful hands are jerking you up by the back of your neck, or your hair, or grabbing you by a delicate wrist, or elbow, or an upper arm to keep you from clumsily falling down onto the dirty floor at Their feet, instinctively knowing that that would be a most certainly more exposed and vulnerable position than how you already look now. As You All finally make it back to your cell, your Benefactor lets go of your wrist, telling you in no uncertain terms, ?So, find doze gotdam lettuhs, white bitch... ?n dey bettuh bee whut yew say dey iz... o? Wee Awl gonna fond out rat quick dat yew been lyin? tew duh bruthas... mebbee accusin? one uhh duh Homeboys uhh plantin? awl dis evee-dence own yew?... The Men don?t make it any easier for you, as Nobody?s moving out of the way, and you have to timidly try and squeeze your way past Them as They take even more opportunity to feel you up some more, still sliding Their black hands all over you, lingering this time, like that fucking Journey song, pinching, touching, squeezing, holding you in place for several eternally long seconds, and even slapping your skin, Their hands and fingers touching almost every square inch of your body. ?Please... I... I have to get to my bunk... can You please let me by?... my letters... I... I mean my Wife?s letters... They?re underneath my mattress... I... I can show You... all of You... if You let me?... Only after several more lingering caresses and lewd touching, palming your buttocks, sliding Their dark and rough hands all over your silky shoulders, a dark hand around your throat, tilting your head upwards to make you stare back into Their pitiless faces, a big dirty thumb and four fingers around your lower jaw, and then sliding a thumb over your soft and trembling bottom lip over your lower row of teeth, and pulling downward, forcing your mouth open into a jittering and gaping maw, and staring inside at your tongue moving all around inside a growing pool of still unswallowed saliva as you continue to try and articulate unformed words in such a soft voice and pleading, dick hardening sound, ?pleeeeathhhhh... lllemmmmeeee gooooo.? Only after this unavoidable delay do They finally let you go with a few last and well placed, almost affectionate and gentle slaps across your jiggling booty, along with several more simultaneous tweaks, pinches, and pulling of your now distended, swollen, and perky, achingly erect, fear stiffened nipples. And, as you finally make your way over to your bunk, you don?t know whether to bend over and blatantly expose your upturned white ass to the Men, or turn to the side and demurely crouch down and in doing so, make yourself look even weaker, albeit in a pseudo-feminine sort of way, as though you?re actually on your way in rising to either your current nature (if that fucking letter can be believed anyway), or your subconscious, and soon to be, inevitably true calling. So, you decide to turn to the side and then lean over this way, quickly, to expose yourself only as briefly as you can and to as few pairs of wolfish, predatory eyes as possible, fishing around underneath where your pillow normally rests (also now gone) between the plastic covered foam rubber mattress and the metal frame. Fuck, you?re noticing now that Someone has even taken not only your pillow, but your sheets and blanket, too. They?ve taken everything, the fucking Thieves in this Place. Every time Anyone even senses that a weaker inmate has even slightly drifted into prey status, Everyone starts taking things, and even if it?s later determined that the perceived infraction was actually a mistake, you never get your things back, and you have to start over again re- accumulating and reacquiring necessities and possessions for survival. And, then, the moment of truth, literally, as your fingers close around a sheaf and stack of papers, and you quickly pull them out without registering that there seems to be slightly fewer pages than you remember, and the texture of the paper is noticeably different, too, more crisp, not as soft or worn as you remember, like the difference between ten and twenty pound bond paper. You pull them all out anyway, and quickly stand back up, still turned to the side as you look down at the papers, already knowing before you even read the first randomly selected word from the first page th