By Robmacz

Six weeks later Tom was sitting on his bunk in the cell he shared with a guy name Mitch. He was waiting to be called to the visitors’ room to meet with Chris. Mitch had already been called down there to meet his wife and boy, on whom he doted. Tom had been incarcerated for only a tiny fraction of the time he had to serve, but he had already gone through a long series of emotions. He arrived at the prison having been chained up for several hours in a plane and then in a van.

As the van pulled up outside the intake area of the prison Thompson leapt out and shook hands with one of the guards. He signed some paperwork and the guard opened the door and ordered Tom out. Thompson and Peel had delivered their package and only followed Tom and the guard inside in order to retrieve the chains that Tom was wearing. As they took them off Tom was ordered to put his hands on his head. Peel and Thompson left immediately, without a word to Tom.  They had spent the last six hours with him, but he was a package, not a person.

Tom, having arrived on his own, was processed on his own. He had to strip off and put his clothes in a plastic box that was put in front of him. He was now getting used to this humiliation, but as his dick leapt to attention as he pulled his boxers down he hoped he would be able to control himself and not shoot a load as he had done at the role play jail. For here he knew he would be getting a cavity search.

The cavity search followed the usual inspection of the mouth, arms, feet etc. Tom tried to focus his attention on anything else once he was ordered to bend over and spread his cheeks. He managed to conjure up an image of a horribly ugly looking woman that he had worked with once years before. Hers was the image he would fill his head with when he wanted to soften his wood. Fortunately, it worked, though if the proceedings had gone on for much longer it might have been a different story.

Tom was put through the remainder of the intake process. His head was shaved, his thick dark brown hair falling to the ground as another prisoner took just over a minute to buzz it all off. Then came a shower, which he needed, as even he could tell he was not smelling his best right now. But the shower was cool and the soap inadequate. He had barely time to lather himself before he had to rinse himself off.

After drying himself on a small hand towel. Tom was taken to get a uniform. White underclothes, khaki scrubs, and a pair of heavy work boots. He also was issued with two spare sets of scrubs, a heavy prison coat (also khaki), a brown prison cap (like a baseball cap, but this was for prison), “toiletries,” and a plastic mattress that he had to carry to his cell.

He had arrived late in the day and the Corrections Officers were anxious to get off their shift. So it wasn’t long before Tom found himself in a cell with the door slamming behind him. The cell had solid walls and the bed was a concrete shelf. The door was solid metal with a slot where the guards could look at him and another on the ground where food would be passed through. Tom sat on his bed, still in a daze, wondering what had happened to him. He knew it was all some big mistake, but so far no one was interested in hearing that.

Tom spent five days in the holding cell, during which time he was taken out to have a medical exam or a psychiatric assessment and various other assessments. The medical staff were largely going through the motions and none were interested in his protestations of mistaken identity. They had heard similar stories before and Tom’s were not remotely believable this time.

On the sixth day Tom was transferred from the holding cell to his new permanent home, a slightly larger cell, though still smaller than Tom’s bathroom back home. This cell was not a solid box; it was a cage with bars on the front. Inside it were a double bunk, a toilet and wash basin combo and a small steel shelf. That was it. What filled the cage was his new cell mate, Mitch, who told him to stow his stuff under the bottom bunk and put his mattress on the top bunk.  Mitch was a big guy, about 35, with a thick New York accent, and he was serving time for fraud. He was half way through a ten-year sentence but was hopeful about getting a year or so off for early release a year.  He told Tom in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want any trouble that would ruin his early release prospects.

By his second week inside Tom had become used to the routine. The count, the trips to the mess hall to get his chow, doing his labour detail in the laundry, slopping wet uniforms from the tubs to the dryers, the final check of prisoners at night, and his nightly wank once he knew Mitch had fallen asleep. Despite all he had been though over the previous few weeks Tom still found it incredibly horny to be locked in prison with hundreds of other convicts all wearing the same prison uniform and to be considered so dangerous that he had to be locked in a cage.

Tom had initially thought he would try and call a friend back in the UK to get him to raise the alarm, but he soon realised that the phones available to prisoners were difficult to get to and would not call internationally. He thought of writing, but it occurred to him that he would be better off trying to contact Chris. At least that way there would be less embarrassment about explaining what had happened. He had no idea of Chris’s address or telephone number, but he knew that he was a regular at the Ocean Hotel. So he wrote to him in care of that address and hoped he would get a response.

The duty manager at the Ocean Hotel who received the mail was quite alarmed to see a letter addressed to one of their best clients from an inmate number at a federal penitentiary. He called Mr Nash to see whether he wanted it forwarded on. Mr Nash himself sounded quite astonished that someone should write to him from prison, but asked the manager to put it in the post to him as soon as possible.

Chris was actually surprised that Tom had managed to get hold of him so quickly, but he wasn’t going to bring forward his plans. He had determined that he would wait to visit Tom until at least six weeks after he entered prison. He wanted him to get a good experience of the place, see how he was holding up, see what it had done to him. He therefore waited a couple of weeks before replying. A brief note to say that he had received Tom’s letter and would come to visit him as soon as he could, which would be on 30 August.

So it was that Tom was sitting in his cell waiting for one of the guards to come and collect him to be taken down to meet his visitor. It had been a long six weeks since he had last seen Chris, six weeks in which Tom’s life had been thrown upside down and then settled into a routine so easily that it startled him. Tom couldn’t wait to see him again and not just because he needed his help to get his life back. Eventually a guard came for Tom. The door to his cell was unlocked and he was escorted down to the visitors’ room.

Tom had no idea what to expect. This would be his first visitor since going to prison. Maybe it would be his last if Chris could get him out quickly. As he walked into the room he saw a line of booths, each with a plastic screen and a telephone. He wasn’t sure what to expect but it wasn’t this. He was led to booth 7 about halfway down the long line and informed that he had 15 minutes. Tom turned to face the glass and see the familiar face of Chris looking at him.

Chris hadn’t known what to expect either, but as Tom came into view he was immediately turned on by the sight of him in his khaki prison uniform and his prison buzz cut. Tom sat down opposite him and picked up his receiver to talk to Chris, but it was Chris who spoke first.

‘Well look at you inmate, it’s good to see you man. You look so hot in that gear.’

‘Thanks, though not what I was expecting.’

‘Yeah, you told me in your letter that you got mistaken for another guy and got yourself locked up.’

‘I really don’t know what happened Chris, they say my finger prints match this guy’s as well. No one will take me seriously!  You got to help me out here, man!’

‘Seems such a shame, you look so hot in that uniform. Are you turned on by being in here?’

‘Well obviously it’s a turn on.  Being locked in a cage every day makes me hard.  On my way up here I was terrified but I was also really turned on by being cuffed and shackled.  I know I can’t fool you – it’s all so amazing.  But like I said . . . ,’

‘Well you certainly looked the part when they escorted you onto that plane.’

‘What do you mean?  You saw me?!’

‘Sure I did.  I was in the departure lounge waiting for you, I was on the plane looking at you as I queued for the toilet, and I saw the Marshals put you in the van at LaGuardia.’

‘You, you’re behind this?!’

Tom was aghast. The look on his face was one of complete incomprehension.

‘Well,’ Chris said, pulling the phone closer to his lips, ‘I have this special friend who works for a federal law enforcement agency. He is in a position to make things happen and he and I have long talked about making something like this happen. I decided that after our week in jail together, you would be the ideal player.’

‘Player? You make this sound like a game!’

‘Well it’s my game.  And my rules. But here’s the thing.  I’ve had my play and now it’s your turn to take control of the board.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Tom, I want you to listen carefully as we don’t have much time left.’

‘I want you to get me out of here.’

‘Well that’s an option, but the only way you do that is to pay attention to what I’m about to say.’

‘Okay, go on.’

‘In a day or two you will receive a letter. It will be simple sheet of paper with four boxes on it, next to the letters A, B, C and D. The only other thing on the paper will be a PO Box address in Washington. Now you need to put a cross in one of those boxes and put it in the post to that address. It must be received by 30 September at the latest so make sure you send it in plenty of time. My friend will visit that post office on 30 September and empty the box and cancel his use of it. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, but what do the letters mean?’

‘I’m coming to that. If you choose A it means you wish to remain here in prison and serve out your sentence. That is also the default option should you not return the form, but it would be nice to have that confirmation. If you select B it means you want to be released as soon as possible. If you select this option you will be released shortly, certainly by the end of October. You will be given a contact to arrange for first class air tickets to any destination in the world.  I have already made financial arrangements for this. I have also transferred $100,000 into your bank account to help with any loss of earnings etc that your period of incarceration has led to.  By the way, you needn’t worry about whether you’ve been missed back home.  I took care to inform your company that you have accepted a job in America.

‘C is essentially the same as A, but with an added extra. You will serve out your sentence, but at the same time I will also be served with a notice to surrender at this prison to serve a sentence of 20 years with you. Option D is the same as B – you want to be released – but again with an added extra.  While you are released I will be served with a notice to surrender for a 20 year sentence.

‘Whichever option you choose, you must not attempt to contact me for a further 6 months. If you choose either option C or D my friend will take up to six months to arrange it. If I have not been given a notice to surrender by 16 April.  I know that you will have chosen either A or B. If I do get the notice to surrender then I obviously know you will have chosen C or D, but I will not know which until I have started my sentence.

‘Now, our time is nearly up, do you understand everything I have said?’

‘Yes’ Tom responded in a state of shock.

‘Now if you chose option A I will return to visit you, if you chose option B, I will Skype call you the first opportunity I get, if you chose option C we will obviously meet here and if you chose option D I very much hope you will come to visit me as soon as you can. Now I think that guard is about to tell you time is up.  I know you’ll remember what the letters mean, because I know how horned up you are. So best of luck and see you in six months time in some form or other.’

And with that Chris hung up the phone, pushed back his chair, and left, giving Tom a smile and a wink as he did so. Tom was left stunned and not knowing what had hit him. The guard had to tell him three times to get up before he was led back to his cell.

The letter arrived three days later. As Chris had said, all it contained was a return address to a PO Box in Washington and a series of four boxes – A, B, C and D. Tom couldn’t quite believe the position he was in. He was still angry with Chris for putting him through all this, but at the same time he now knew that he could be out of here in a matter of a few weeks and life would be back to normal, not to mention his being a lot richer. But did he actually want that?  He was never as horny as he was when he was locked up. That was one thing he had come to realise over the past couple of months, not that he hadn’t really noticed it before. But to serve 20 years, that was a whole different ball game and one he didn’t think he could commit to. And what about Chris? Should Tom punish him by sending him to prison, or would he be tormented enough not knowing what was going to happen for six months? The answer was obvious, the choice had to be B.  But Tom knew he had more time to decide.  He put the letter back in its envelope and tucked it under the plastic pillow that they give you in prison.

Tom had given himself until 20 September to make a decision. He wanted to make sure that it was sent in plenty of time to meet the deadline. He had no idea whether Chris’s friend would really leave him here if there was no letter when he came to open the PO box, but it was a chance he was not prepared to take. So on the evening of 20 September Tom sat on his bed with the piece of paper and a pen, his mind racing and trying to put off the moment when he ticked a box.

‘What’s up with you?’ Mitch called from the bunk below. ‘You’ve been brooding all day.’

‘I’m faced with a difficult decision, that’s all’ replied Tom.

‘The hell you are. That’s the one good thing about being in this place. You have no decisions to make. Someone tells you when to get up, when to go to bed, what to wear, what to eat and when to eat it.  Hell you even have a limited window when you get to shit. The only decision you’re allowed to make is how often you wank, which for you seems not to be a problem at all.’ He laughed out loud at his little joke.

Tom seemed to remember having thought about prison like that, back when he was doing role play.  In a real prison, the thought seemed strange.  Everything seemed strange except getting out. But he realised that Mitch was pretty spot on.

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right, but it’s something that’s sort of outside prison that I have to decide on.’

Mitch popped his head up to the top bunk and saw Tom sitting there staring at the sheet of paper. He snatched it out of his hand.

‘So what’s this? What do the letters mean?’

Tom looked horrified that Mitch had snatched it away.

‘Hey, no need to be so jumpy.’ Mitch said. ‘So what is this, what have you got to choose?’

‘I can’t really explain, I just need to pick one of these and it could have a big effect on my life and someone else’s.’

‘And you can’t decide?’

‘Well..’

‘Give it here’ Mitch said as he snatched the pen from Tom. ‘I find these things easy. I always choose the option that starts with the same letter as my boy’s name.’

Mitch gave the letter and pen back to Tom. Tom looked down at the sheet of paper with a cross written neatly in one of the boxes.

‘Now, can we have a little less brooding?’

To be continued…