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Monthly Archives: July 2024
My Trip to Paris – Chapter 10
By Joshua Ryan
Chapter 10: So Good for You to See Me
It was an interesting conversation—so interesting that now it was even harder for me to sleep in my bunk at night. A few months before, I would have dismissed his prison shit right away–nothing but weirdness. Now I was confused. Why was he telling me this stuff? Was it to make me love him, or warn me not to? The sight of Paul in his convict suit, indistinguishable from the other cons—that was me, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that what he meant? And if I loved him, that’s how I’d end up? But that’s how I already had ended up! I flipped up my badge and looked at the picture. That gray little blob might as well be “Paul.”
So now I was playing with my badge when I should have been sewing. And at night, it wasn’t enough to jerk—yeah, I was doing that, what do you think?—but I had to dream, too. One dream I remembered: I was outside the Pen—they’d let me out! I was so happy! At last I was free! I walked off down the street, and I looked back at the walls, which I knew, even in the dream, I was mainly just making up in my head, because I’d only seen them once from the outside, and then I was squinting through the bars of a prison bus.
My Trip to Paris – Chapter 09
By Joshua Ryan
Chapter 9: Bunks, Chairs, and Other Furnishings
8363 . . . . the guy in Bunk 14. I found myself maneuvering to get beside him in the shower, just for a few seconds to look at his plump, well muscled ass. I tried to get the seat next to him at chow, just to feel his arm touching my arm through our uniforms. In the factory I spent every extra second I could spare from my needle looking up the line of backs bent over their machines to watch his back moving rhythmically beneath its stripes. At night I lay next to him, feet to head, and thought about what it would be like if I caressed his naked head with my naked toes and he wriggled across the few inches of bunk-frame and climbed in with me. In dreams I told him, “You are about to be fucked! Assume the position!”
Dreams vs. realities . . . . If we were on the Outside, I’d do the usual: take him to Bleue, invite him to my place for drinks, become insistent if he noted that the hour was late . . . . But in prison, I was no better than he was; I couldn’t impress him with my bald head, my convict uniform, or my criminal record. And he evaded all my cues. He saw how hot I was for him, but he treated it as a fact he didn’t need to do anything about–a fact of life, like the walls and bars.