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If there’s one thing you learn in prison it’s the art of disguise…how to make it like you were never there. I slide the letter out from underneath my pillow and begin breathing heavily on the edges where it’s glued down. Seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, but eventually the last of the glue gives and I carefully open the letter, knowing that I’ll need to reseal it after I find out what’s inside.
I roll over onto my stomach, my dick hammering into the thin mattress that hasn’t been replaced in the entirety of my time being locked up. With the precision and sure handedness of a surgeon holding a pair of tweezers, I carefully slide the letter from the envelope and unfold it.
The first thing I notice is the paper it’s written on. It’s not normal paper, but something someone paid extra for. Not only that it doesn’t look like something an adult would pick out. Does CO Jackson have a daughter? I can easily see a young girl picking this out and writing to him, but why would she mail him something here and not just give it to him at home.
Maybe her mother has custody and is trying to limit contact? Or maybe I need to quit making up crazy stories in my head and read the damn thing.
My hands shake as my eyes trace from left to right, reading for the first time in years. Not only am I banned from receiving mail, but I’m one of the few inmates banned from the library and any forms of media other than movies and TV. It’s like I’ve almost forgotten to read until I start following the crayon across the page.
At first, I feel like a sick fuck, until I get to the point that she’s eighteen. And quickly I validate that this was intended for the CO, and not for me. But, she has questions about psychology, including the psychology of the inmates. Well, who can answer that better than me? I’ve been in here as long as anyone, but before I even think of answering her questions, I need to answer one for myself…tomorrow.
I finish the
letter and slide it back into the envelope, licking it again and sealing it.
And then a whole other set of questions begin. Who is this angel who’s writing to a prison for Pete’s sake? She clearly doesn’t know the CO and it’s obvious she’s just doing this to get a bit of information…the kind I can provide her.
But what I can’t understand is how fate brought this letter to me, and how this girl with the perfect penmanship, strange stationary and a way with words has captivated me so damn much.
I try and tell myself it’s just because I haven’t seen a woman in years, let alone interacted with one if you can even call this that.
But it’s something more. She’s…awakened something inside me. Even though I’ve never seen her, never heard the sweet sound of her voice, there’s just something about the way her words jump off the page that tell me she’s looking for something, or maybe even someone. It’s as if she’s looking and doesn’t even know it.
And how do I know this? Because I have to read people in here each and every day just to stay alive? No, although it doesn’t hurt.
It’s because for the first time in my life I feel like I understand myself, which is ironic considering I thought I already knew everything there is to know and here this girl not even old enough to drink a glass of wine, with her questions about psychology, has me questioning everything about me that I thought was fact.
Right now there is only one fact. No way in the world am I sleeping tonight. And tomorrow, for the first time since being locked up, I’m going to have to trade something to the inmate who watches the shower for you when you need five minutes of private time. The one guy who can bribe the guards to turn the other direction when a man needs time alone to handle things in the bathroom.
Because my balls are already drawn up tight and I need a release, my dick demanding it. And tomorrow that’s exactly what’s going to happen after I ‘pay the toll’.
And then I’m going to pay a visit to the person who can help me get to the bottom of this, and by this I mean find out who this girl is. But no matter what I discover I already know the answer, even though it seems absolutely crazy considering my circumstances and where I am at the moment…locked up for life.
But somehow, someway I already know the most important thing there is to know about her…the one thing that I need to make very clear in the very near future.
She’s mine.
Call me crazy. It wouldn’t be the first time. But there’s something she’s going to call me that no one else ever has. She’s going to be screaming it as a matter of fact. One word that ricochets through me, causing a sort of awareness of who I am and a feeling of completion within me, but only when I imagine it coming from her sweet little lips.
Daddy.
3
James
“Only know him by his last name, just like everyone else,” Red says, picking up some gravel from the prison yard and aimlessly tossing it out in front of us as he describes what he knows about CO Jackson James.
Red got his name because he resembles, in all ways, Ellis Boyd ‘Red’ Redding, from The Shawshank Redemption. The man can get you what you want when you want it, and it’s not just limited to information.
“Can you get me a piece of paper and a pencil,” I ask.
“It’s gonna cost you.”
At this point, I don’t even care. I’m still thinking about how I’m going to pay back the bathroom inmate who gave me a full ten minutes alone this morning, allowing me to climax not once, but twice, to the thoughts of Josi.
“I’ve never asked anyone of anything, Red,” I remind him.
“I know, but I also know how to read a man, and it’s clear you’d pay anything for those two things you could get at a school supply store for a nickel.”
