By Shket36

With English-language editing by Joshua Ryan

Convict “Sanin”:

They took me back to the cell.  “To the wall”, “go”, “hands”, “to the original” – commands that I already carried out automatically.  I thought about my meeting with Nikolai.  I’d really missed someone who knew me, who knew my true interests…  And it seemed to me that Nikolai was proud of me, of how I clearly carried out all the commands of the officers…

So the time passed in thought until the evening inspection. As usual, at the command “on duty,” I stood at attention and made a report.  Then they took me out of the room, put me in position with my head bent against the wall, and examined me and my cell with special care.  But this would not be a normal inspection.  One of the officers who searched the cell shouted that he had found a “cache”!

I was shocked: “How? Where? It can’t be so!”  The senior officer immediately commanded: “Convicted Sanin. In your report you said that you do not have any prohibited items. We found a cache in your place containing a cutting object. This is a serious violation. Your reward is detention in a punishment cell for 30 days. Take him away.”

It was useless to deny or to explain anything. They put a blindfold over my eyes, grabbed my hands, lifting them up even more, so that my shoulder joints were wrenched, and took me somewhere in the prison—to my punishment cell.  A punishment cell is one of the harshest types of punishment.  I was terrified of this experience, and I wanted it.

As soon as we arrived, the command came “to the wall, keep your hands up.”  Then they opened the metal door, took off my blindfold, led me into the cell, and slammed the door after me. I expected that after the door was closed, the window in the door would open and my handcuffs would be removed, but this did not happen. I found myself in a dimly lit room, with a chair, a metal toilet with a sink attached, and a transformable folding bed.  Made of steel, this bed was fastened to the wall and lowered at night; in the morning it was raised and locked by a correctional officer, to deny the prisoner the ability to recline on it.  The cell itself resembled a storage room: the width was about 1.5-2 meters, the length was a little more than 2; there was a small window under the ceiling.  My penis was standing like a stake in my pants. I really liked this place.

Finally a loudspeaker shouted “all clear,” the window in the door opened, and I received the “return to home” command.  I approached the window, with my back to the door.  Then the door opened and two guards entered and took my handcuffs off.  I raised my arms, bent at the elbows, turning the back sides in the direction of the window. The officer unlocked the bed, which had been folded against the wall, and moved it to a horizontal position.  The guards left the cell; the lock closed. I lay down on the bed and fell asleep contentedly.

In the morning the command “rise,” then “to the starting point.” I jumped up as if scalded, walked up to the outer wall, and stood facing it, arms bent at the elbows, hands turned to the back. About ten minutes after the command “on duty,” I quickly completed the report, as was my habit. After that, having returned me to the “home” position, the officers entered the cell and closed the bed against the wall, securing it with a padlock. I was reminded that lying down during the day is prohibited. Sitting is permitted only upon the command “take a sitting position.”

The euphoria from my imprisonment passed quickly. It was very difficult: a whole month of idleness.  You can sit only on command, lie down only while sleeping. By the end of the day my legs were literally falling off. Day after day, week after week…every day was the same. In order not to lose count, I began to scratch lines on the wall: 10…20…29, but after 30 days the long-awaited release from the punishment cell did not happen. I was transferred back to my home cell after about 50 days.

But now, I discovered, I did not have to serve my sentence alone.  There was another prisoner in the cell. The name on his badge read “Stephen Richards, born 1965.”  Stefan was about my height, about 180 cm, with a thin build. It was difficult to understand whether he was gray-haired or not… he was, like me, completely bald. The term of imprisonment was the same – “life imprisonment.”

 

Prisoner “Stephen Richards”:

I dreamed of being in a Russian prison: its regime, its restraints, its uniforms, its degradations …  I liked prisons, and I’d learned some Russian in college, so I could read great authors in the original, and gradually I started learning about Russian prisons.  I was intrigued; I wanted to know more, but information wasn’t easy to find.  Not like American prisons–I did know a lot about them.  I had become a professional writer, and many of my stories — the ones I wrote under names not my own–were about prisons, and the men who are secretly excited by them.  But I was even more excited when a man from Russia contacted me.

He had read my stories, and he also liked this theme, the theme of imprisonment.  The only difference was that he was the top who liked breaking in the bottom guys after they realized they were “convicted” and would spend the rest of their lives behind barbed wire. We talked for a long time on the subject of Russian prisons.  I explained how much I liked the uniform of the prisoners, their posture for escort, full search, and so on, everything he told me about their regime.  I confessed that I would love to visit a Russian prison — as a convict!  It would be the best vacation I could imagine.

My interlocutor, his name was Nikolai, thrilled me by saying that he could put me in a Russian prison.  It would take a bit of time to arrange … And I would need to perform a small service in exchange.  I would need to do a little work as a “courier.”  He didn’t give much explanation, except to assure me that I would never be in danger, but I didn’t want any explanations!  I knew I would never get this opportunity again.  I immediately agreed.  The question then was, as he said, “How long do you want to serve?”

“Forever!” I blurted out.  I was more aroused than I’d ever been.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, very coolly and professionally.  It seemed that he had done this before.  “But seriously, how long is feasible for you?”

I started by saying three months, then kept increasing it until it reached one year.

“Fine,” he said.  “Let’s do it.”

And after that, he disappeared … I looked for him online, two times, ten times a day, but he did not appear.

I’d given up hope when, a month later, he suddenly came online again, this time with detailed instructions about my actions. According to the instructions, I needed to come to Lithuania, contact his acquaintance named Valdis there, take an envelope from him, and come to St. Petersburg. I won’t dwell on the details, but I will say that soon I was in Vilnius. Finding Valdis was not difficult. He handed me a small package and I went to the airport, safely passed Lithuanian customs (thank you, Valdis), and boarded the plane.

Upon arrival at Pulkovo Airport (St. Petersburg), I was subjected to a thorough search at customs control. The package contained about a kilogram of hard drugs that are illegal in Russia. I realized that I was in trouble. Then there was a detention, a trial… in the end, given the volume of prohibited substances, I was sentenced to life imprisonment. That’s how I ended up here, where I’ve learned many things about Russian prisons.  I learned how to squat on the pavement until a guard gives me orders to move.  I learned how to travel in a cage on a prison train. I learned how to wear my ugly black prison uniform with the weird gray stripes.  I learned how to eat prison food.  I learned the whole ritual of announcing to the guards who I was and what offense I committed.  I learned to live in a cell.  I hated it and I loved it.  When the door of the prison van was unlocked and I was hauled out onto the pavement and I looked at the place where I’d be living, I thought I was going to faint.  Fortunately, the guards dragged me along in my cuffs, doing my swallow shuffle, and locked me up inside the concrete walls and the razor wire.  I have to confess, however, that during the days of my “education” I was hard all the time.

When I saw Peter, I can’t say that I liked him. Tall, thin, sunken eyes with bruises under them, but nevertheless I nodded to him as a greeting.  After all, I’d be sharing a cell with him, whether I wanted to or not.  And eventually, I thought I could tell him how I got here.

 

Convict Sanin:

Stefan’s story intrigued me.  Isn’t this the same Nikolai who helped me? Of course!  But if so, why did everything need to be done with him so officially? Why couldn’t it be the same as with me? Many questions arose in my head…

Nevertheless, Stefan turned out to be a good cellmate.  It was good to have another convict to talk with, and even to explain how things were done in prison.  At first he seemed afraid of me, and maybe I didn’t look as good as a pampered American who had just arrived.  And maybe he was not trusting people anymore.  But we began to like each other, and to share a bunk.  He had a nice, shy way of making love, and I noticed that he was one of those men who look better in a convict uniform, once they get used to wearing it.  He began to trust me, and to hope that I would never leave him.  But my six months were drawing to a close… Although their end involved Stefan as well as me.

One morning, after a check, the officer commanded “Convicted Sanin and Convicted Richards to attention! To the exit!” We both stood at attention–facing the outside wall, raising our arms up at shoulder level and turning our palms towards the door. After the command “to exit,” we took turns walking backward in a bent position to the door and stuck our hands through, after which each of us was handcuffed.  After that, in the swallow pose, we left the cell and leaned our heads against the wall together. The guards put blindfolds on each person’s eyes. We were escorted into the unknown, but we were still together.

It was impossible to understand where we were going. Stairs up, then straight, then right, then stairs down, and so on.  Finally, the command came to stand against the wall, leaning on your head.  Then Stefan was taken away, and I remained standing against the wall.

It’s hard to say how much time passed. Apparently, about an hour. My hands were shaking, because I constantly had to hold them from behind in a raised position above the body, with the fingers supposed to be spread out, like the wings of a bird.  At last, the guards escorted me into a room. They took off the handcuffs and, without removing the blindfold, laid me on some kind of couch, fixing my arms and legs. After this, the blindfold was removed. I saw Stefan next to me, also fixed in a lying position. And I saw Nikolai.

Nikolai said, with no emotion but only an official tone, that the two of us were being transferred to a new experimental facility for keeping especially dangerous criminals. And before the transfer we need to be prepared:  “The regime of the new institution does not provide for any kind of hazing between convicts, therefore your genitals are subject to isolation.”  I did not understand what this meant, and he did not explain.  Soon after, men in white coats approached the couch and pulled our pants and underwear down to our knees.  They produced instruments and took turns making punctures in the heads of our penises and inserting a small “barbell” in them.  Having completed all the procedures, they injected us with something, after which I fell asleep.

Again, how much time passed, I cannot say. It was as if I were in a coma.  I couldn’t understand what was reality and what was a dream. But in one moment I know that they showed me that my penis was fixed in a metal cage, and the fastening for the cage passed through the head… The men in white coats injected something again and I fell back into sleep.

I woke up in a cell, but not my own. This cell was windowless; its area, about four square meters.  There were two bunks.  I was lying on the bottom bunk.  Stefan was sleeping on the top one. I didn’t understand anything.  Where am I?  What kind of cell is this?  Why did they install a metal cage on me?  My hand reached down and felt the trousers of my prison uniform.  I found the cage … Then I found the cage that was attached to Stefan.

The window in the cell door opened and Nikolai’s face appeared. The command “to the starting point” followed.  Stefan and I both jumped up to the wall opposite the door, with our backs to the door and our palms facing toward it.  Nikolai commanded: “Convicted Sanin is on duty. Submit your report.” “Citizen Chief. Convict Sanin, born in 1984. There are two convicts in the cell. No violations of the regime were recorded. There are no complaints or suggestions.”

Nikolai continued: “Convicts, you are placed in a special regime prison.  You will stay here until the end of your days.  The prison is private but permanent.  I am the representative of authority here.   And you are my convicts.  Happy lockdown life to you.”

Now, as far as the state penitentiary system is concerned, Stefan and I are dead.  Nikolai had used his connections to pull us out, into his own penitentiary.  At his behest, they issued documents that we were dead and no longer exist.  So now we are completely the property of Nikolai, working to build his private prison.  He and the guards he has hired find lots of compulsory labor for us to do, constructing new walls and fences and cages and cell blocks.  We are joined by the new convicts he lures to this place by his promise of a taste of prison life.  You might be surprised by how many there are.  It’s hard to say whether they’re disappointed or not–after the initial shock, of course.  Lots of guys think they would like to spend time in prison, but they don’t get the chance to build the prison they’re going to live in.  Stefan says that when he was a writer instead of a construction grunt, he thought that writers were actually “creators,” but now he knows that they just watch while other prisoners do the building.  Too bad for them, he says.

Stefan and I work hard, fulfilling our labor quotas.  The cages on our dicks remind us constantly of what we are.  They also challenge us and weld us together– wearers of the same uniform and the same cage.  I have long accepted my fate. I found what I was looking for. I think that Stefan has too.

The End

Thanks to the author, Shket36, for this story, and Joshua Ryan, for translating and editing!