By Johnny Utah
I shuffled into the Receiving Building. I was the largest building I had been inside of in weeks, and it stank of industrial disinfectant. I thought I’d have to stop and do something like fingerprints and a mugshot, but then it hit me I already had a prison ID card. I had a record here. I had no idea why I was taken from the fields into prison. Everything was going OK since we got back to the work camp. Going to pick sweet potatoes wasn’t that bad, now I was facing something else. Something unknown.
In the processing area, Sergeant Stiles was waiting for me.
“Prisoner Utah, J. 35374, you are going to be processed for entry in the Special Housing Unit, disciplinary segregation section,” he announced.
I shuffled down a hallway and turned into a big white painted room with six tall cages, each one obviously meant to hold one man. I was put in a standing cage, painted white. It was about four by four feet. There was a kind of bench to sit on. The door clanged shut and was locked.
“Turn around, put your hands through the slot!” Sgt Stiles barked.
My belly chain and handcuffs were taken off. Down at my feet there was another slot. My leg irons were taken off through this slot.
“Get those boots off, stick ’em out through the floor slot!”
I did as I was told.
“OK, now everything else. Strip!” Sgt Stiles ordered.
I stripped out of my blue shirt, pants, boxers, and T-shirt. I was naked in my small cage.
Sgt Stiles moved in close to my cage. “Open your mouth, Prisoner!”
“Run a finger around your gums, open up wide!”
“Lift up your tongue!”
“Turn around, pull your ears forward!”
“Run your hands through your hair!” Not much hair up there thanks to you, Sgt. Stiles since that buzz cut you gave me. It was longer than stubble, but I didn’t need a comb.
“Put your hands on your head!”
“Lift up your cock!”
“Lift up your balls!”
“Turn around!”
“Lift up your left foot!”
“Lift up your right foot!”
“Bend over as much as you can and spread your ass cheeks!”
“Stay that way until I tell you otherwise, Utah!” Sgt Stiles, kind of laughed and walked away.
So, I stayed. Hands spreading my ass. On show to whomever might pass, guard or prisoner.
I didn’t know how long I was there, ass on show.
Sgt. Stiles came back.
“Prisoner Utah, get dressed!”
“Sir, Yes Sir!”
He tossed in a set of brown slide shoes, white socks, white boxers, white pants, a white T-shirt, and a white shirt. Running down the side of the pants in black letters was “Special Housing Unit.” On the back of the shirt was “SHU” in big black letters. Across the ass of the shorts was “SHU.” No mistaking where I was going, I thought.
“Prisoner Utah, turn around and cuff up!”
It was back into chains. Cuffs and leg irons.
Sgt. Stiles opened my cage and grabbed me by the right bicep. He squeezed hard. I was under his control.
“Walk!” Sgt. Stiles said.
“Sir, yes Sir!”
We went through a couple of doors that clicked open electronically as we progressed deeper toward the SHU. I noticed the smell, it was stronger. Since I had arrived at Baker there was a smell of paint, disinfectant, floor wax, and a smell of man. Not the same kind of man smell I was used to out at the work camp, or even at the cement plant. Out there in the open air working along the highway or loading that cement truck it was a kind of pleasant man smell. In here it was an acidic, onion sharp smell. I sniffed; it was fear.
Sgt Stiles pushed me up against a wall. He used his full body weight. He was a muscular fuck, I thought. I had to turn my face to the side to stop it being mashed into the wall.
Sgt. Stiles put his face right in my ear and said softly, “We’re about to enter the SHU. It’s my world. You don’t matter here. You do what you’re told, when you’re told. That’s it. That’s your existence.”
Sgt. Stiles yanked me off the wall, gripped my bicep, and walked me up to a massive solid metal sliding door. It clicked and slid open under its own power. Controlled from somewhere I couldn’t see. Somewhere I would never see.
The cellblock of the SHU was a long corridor. It was quiet. It was darker than all the other hallways I had been in so far. Heavy sliding solid doors hung on heavy rails. A clipboard next to each cell with documents clipped to it, and a picture of the man caged inside. The mugshots were all of shave-headed men. I wondered what all these guys had done. I could just barely make out the sound of men in their cells. They were talking, but I couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying or who they were talking to.
Sergeant Stiles took me down to a cell at the very back of the SHU. It was barely lit. Every other overhead light was out. Was it nighttime already? How long had I been here already? My leg irons were clanking against the concrete floor. With no soft surface to absorb the sound it was sharp and echoing. Other than my rattling chains, the only other sound was Sgt. Stiles’ heavy rhythmic boot steps.
“Face the wall,” Sgt. Stiles said as he pointed to the wall across from a cell door — soon to be my cell door.
“When you are instructed to enter the cell, you will move through the door and move to the back wall. Do you understand, Prisoner Utah, 35374?”
Sgt. Stiles hadn’t used my number since calling me in from the sweet potato field. How long ago was that? How long had I been here?
“Sir, yes Sir!”
“No, that’s not how we do it down here!” barked Sgt. Stiles.
“You will respond with “Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
“The De-Seg stands for disciplinary segregation section,” he explained.
“You fuck it up and you will be given non-administrative punishment. Do you understand?” he paused, “Utah?”
“I wracked by brain trying to remember. “Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374 Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!” I shouted.
“Good job.”
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, enter your cell!”
I shuffled in and went straight to the back wall.
The cell door slammed shut, there was a sound of a heavy bolt being secured.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, back up to the cell door!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
Jesus, I just remembered it in time. That was going to be hard. It must be designed to trip prisoners up, an excuse for punishment.
I backed up to the door, stuck my wrists out to be uncuffed. The door had a slot near the bottom that let Sgt. Stiles take off my leg irons.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, you will go to the back wall of the cell, put your hands on your head, interlace your fingers, place your nose and toes to the wall, and spread your legs at least shoulder-width wide. This is called ‘assuming the position.’ Do you understand?” Sgt Stiles yelled at the top of his lungs.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!” I yelled.
That fucker was not going to beat me. I assumed the position.
Sgt Stiles must have been satisfied with my position. The slot cover slammed shut. I was alone with myself. I could just about touch the walls of my cell when I stretched out both arms. It wasn’t much longer, maybe 12 feet, maybe less. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all concrete, all gray. Concrete, I thought. The concrete factory with Johnson and Brodie, it seemed so long ago. What if the concrete to make this cell came from that plant? I found that thought sexually stimulating.
In the ceiling was a recessed light. I had no light switch. There was a stainless steel toilet and sink unit for me to wash, piss, and shit in. I didn’t have a towel or anything else.
Whatever time it was, I was hungry. My stomach rumbled. The last time I ate was breakfast before going into the sweet potato field. What time was it now? I curled up on the thin mat that was on the concrete mass that was my bunk. I didn’t have a blanket or pillow. I didn’t know if I could take off my uniform, so I left it on. I tried to get to sleep. I thought I was half asleep when I could just make out voices. There was a small vent covered with a grill at the top of the back wall. The voices were coming from there. I couldn’t make them out too well. There were several voices, though. They all seemed to be saying the same thing. I drifted off to sleep.
I heard him coming down the corridor. I don’t know how. Maybe I just sensed it. I got up, tried to fully wake up. I got into the position.
The slot in the door slid open.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, you will be allowed to eat in your cell under strict administrative procedures, do you understand?” Sgt Stiles said.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I had no clue what those strict administrative procedures were.
The cell door opened. He was in my cell. The cell door closed. He was still there. There was a smell of man and the smell of food. The smell was of Sgt. Stiles.
“Turn around, Prisoner Utah, 35374,” said Sgt. Stiles.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!” I was trained!
I turned. There was Sgt. Stiles in my cell. He was holding a plastic box with something tomato flavored by the smell of it.
“Are you hungry, Utah?” Sgt Stiles asked.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!” I shouted.
“Get down on all fours!” Sgt Stiles ordered
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I was on all fours in my narrow cell, in my white SHU uniform before my Sgt. Stiles. He spread his legs wide and put the plastic box between his boots.
“Over here, on all fours!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I scrambled over on all fours, I looked up at him for instructions.
“When I say eat you eat. When I say stop you stop. You understand, Utah?”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
“Eat!” Sgt. Stiles commanded.
It was baked beans in a tomato sauce. I ate, quickly. I was hungry. I wanted to do well. I was grateful to eat at his boots.
“Stop!” I hadn’t finished.
I waited. He had total power over me.
“Clean that bowl, Utah, EAT!” shouted Sgt. Stiles. His voice echoed in the small cell that was my new home.
He rested a boot on my head, giving it a little downward pressure.
“This is how you’re going to eat from now on, Prisoner Utah!” Sgt Stiles laughed at me.
Fucker!
I licked the bowl clean. My face must have been covered with leftover sauce.
“Stop!” barked Sgt. Stiles.
“Assume the position!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
“Hope you enjoyed breakfast, Utah.”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
Sgt. Stiles left my cell. The door slammed shut.
I sat back down on my concrete bunk. Was that breakfast, I thought? Was that right? Had I been here a full day already?
I don’t know how much time passed.
The slot in the door opened.
“Assume the position!”
I jumped to put my hands on top of my head, nose and toes to the wall, and spread my legs.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, prepare for hygiene procedure!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
Hygiene procedure? What was that? Was I finally going to get a shower?
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, cuff up!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I put my back to the cell door and stuck my hands out behind my back. I had to crouch down a bit to make sure my wrists would go out through the slot.
My hands were cuffed.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, leg iron position!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
The lower slot at the bottom of the door opened. I positioned my feet so the leg irons could be locked on me.
“Against the back wall!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
The door slid open.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, walk backward slowly to the door. Stop at the door. Do not enter the corridor!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I backed out carefully, making sure the chain on the leg irons didn’t trip me up. I got to the door then stopped as I had been told.
Sgt. Stiles grabbed my shoulder and turned me and pushed me toward the SHU entry door, down that long dark corridor. I could hear voices of men, just barely loud enough to be heard. We got to the SHU entry door. We stopped, then it clicked and slid open. The whiteness of the big room was intense, so much light. In the middle of the room was a man. A big bruiser of a guy, at least 6-foot-5, 250 pounds easy, maybe more. A muscle bull. He had a shaved head. It was shiny, like it had been polished. He wore the standard blue pants with a white stripe down the leg, and he had a white T-shirt on. He looked like Mr. Clean.
There was a plastic chair in a corner of the room.
He said, “Sit down!”
I had to stop myself from saying the whole “Sir, Prisoner Utah!” routine. I was that institutionalized. I was brainwashed.
Sgt. Stiles watched me like a hawk, a big smile on his handsome face.
Mr. Clean took a hair clipper from a table. He clipped my hair short, even though I didn’t have much after my haircut from my initial intake back at the work camp. How long ago was that? I must be pretty close to my 30 days. He cut my hair down to stubble.
I thought I was done. Nope.
Mr. Clean got a can of shaving cream, squirted out a mound of it in his big paw of a hand, and spread it out on top of my head. In a sexual way he lingered and made circles in the thick and luxurious shaving cream on my head. He caressed my head, over my ears. Mr. Clean took a disposable razor and shaved my head! I couldn’t believe it! Fucking shaved to the skin! And then Mr. Clean gave me another shave! This time he didn’t take so long spreading the cream around. Mr. Clean used a new disposable razor for the second shaving. He was going to make sure I was as smooth as a cueball.
He picked up a small can, I thought it was shoe polish from the size of it. It was a kind of wax. He fucking waxed my shaved head! He used two fingers to rub the warming wax into my head. Small circles worked the wax in. I was getting hard. His big fingers kept rubbing with a firm pressure. He made my head sleek, polished, as shiny as his own head! I was tenting my pants when he was done.
“Good job, Prisoner Powers, 54108,” said Sgt Stiles to the muscle bull barber.
“Sir, Prisoner Powers, 54108, Special Housing Unit, De-Seg Cell 7, yes, Sir!”
As I shuffled back to my cell, I looked at the pics of the prisoners on the clipboards outside the cells. I now had the same shaved, shiny, and smooth heads they had.
I had been in my cell for a while for me to recover from the head shave. I ran my hand over my smooth head. It felt really good.
The slot opened. I was at the wall in the position.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374!” Sgt Stiles was back.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
“You will receive non administrative punishment for displaying an erection!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit ,De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
Non administrative punishment what was that going to be?
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, cuff up!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I went to the door, stuck my wrists out. They got cuffed. Leg irons went on.
“Step to the back of the cell!” barked Sgt. Stiles.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
The cell door slid open.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, back up to the door. Do not enter the corridor!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I backed up in my cell. When I got to the door Sgt. Stiles grabbed me by the bicep. My leg iron chains clattered on the cement floor. I passed the pictures of shaved-headed prisoners. I was just like them now. Sgt. Stiles took me to the end of the corridor, except instead of going through the big door to the white room where I was shaved, we took a turn to a dead-end corridor with a door at the end of it. It scared me. It was unknown territory. Sgt Stiles opened the door. The room was empty. Lights in the ceiling gave a dull white light. Gray paint on the walls. That was it.
Sgt. Stiles led me to the center of the room. I didn’t see it when I first looked around. There was an eyebolt secured in the concrete floor. Sgt. Stiles positioned me, then locked a padlock through the eyebolt and the chain on my leg irons.
He uncuffed me.
I was facing Sgt. Stiles. What was he going to do to me?
Sgt. Stiles spread his legs and said, “Prisoner Utah, 35374. Your action of an having an erection during the hygiene procedure of a mandatory head shave has been found to have violated the administrative rules. The Special Housing Unit, Disciplinary Segregation Section Officer has found you guilty of this offense. You will be subject to non-administrative punishment.”
I wondered what was about to happen.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, on my command you will masturbate. Do you understand?”
Did I hear right?
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, masturbate!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I dug into my pants and boxers. I got my right hand on my dick pulled it out and started pumping. I closed my eyes.
“Keep your eyes open, Utah!”
Startled, I opened them and kept pumping. My pants slipped down my thighs. My cock jutted out over the waistband of my lowered boxers. Looking straight at Sgt. Stiles. My tormentor, my jailer, my keeper, my life depended on him. I wanted to please him. I had to come. I let the image of him into my mind:
His boots glistened. Thick and heavy leather. So close when I ate from the floor that I had smelled the leather and polish while I ate my beans. His uniform pants, pressed and creased, fit him like a second skin. Tight around that firm round ass. Such a beautiful behind. His thighs stretching his pants.
His crotch, that bulge, that cock that lurked just behind a zipper. He denied me that cock. All this time I had never sucked it. Why was it withheld from me?
His shirt was tight and form fitting. Sgt Stiles had beefy, manly pecs. How much time had he spent straining and grunting lifting weights to achieve them? Sgt. Stiles in the gym. Hot, sweaty, and wearing only shorts. His biceps strained the short sleeves of his shirt. His huge forearms and big hands thrust down to rest on his narrow hips. His traps sloped up to his massive neck.
His square jaw, firm and set. I bet he’s a great kisser. Long and hard kisses.
His high and tight haircut. A perfect, well-clipped oval of hair on the top of his head. A fucking manly and tough haircut. Marine tough. I wanted to run my tongue along the line where skin met the short, clipped hair. The rest of his head was razored smooth. Did Mr. Clean service my Sgt. Stiles?
His blue eyes fixed me in his time and space. I was his.
I gulped air. I pumped as hard as I could. I shot a stream of cum toward him. I almost hit his boots.
Sgt. Stiles smiled.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374. You have been disciplined for the offence of an erection. Further erections will result in more corrective measures. This finishes this disciplinary action. You will remain standing here with your legs spread, hands on your head with fingers interlaced until I come back. Do you understand Prisoner Utah, 35374?”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!” I shouted as loud as I could. I was feeling triumphant after my ejaculation! What distance! I had pleased Sgt. Stiles.
How much time passed? I don’t know. Sgt Stiles came back for me. He unlocked my leg irons. I pulled my pants and boxers up. My calves were tired. I was thirsty. I was handcuffed and shackled and taken back to my cell.
When I was placed in my cell, I went to the back wall to assume the position. Normally Sgt. Stiles would just slam the slot door shut, but this time he said, “Prisoner Utah, 35374, from now on it is permissible to use the phrase ‘Permission to speak’ to ask a question. Do you understand?”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!” I shouted at the back wall of my cell.
“Let’s practice. Ask me a question, Prisoner Utah, 35374!” Sgt. Stiles said.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, permission to speak, Sir!”
“That’s good, Utah. So you must have something to ask me. Go ahead.”
“Sir, um, what day, I mean Sir, er, what day is it, Sir?” I asked, really pathetically.
Sgt. Stiles laughed. “Oh man, Utah, you really are a fuck-up. You can’t even keep count of days. It’s Saturday, the 9th. You’ve been here five days.”
Only five days! It felt like a couple of weeks!
Sgt. Stiles said, “Prisoner Utah, let me inform you of some procedures that might fill your time more productively. You will not sit or lie on your bunk unless it’s lights out. You may stand in the position. You my do push-ups facing the back of your cell. You may do sit-ups facing the back wall of your cell. You may sit on the floor facing the back wall of your cell. Do you understand, Prisoner Utah, 35374?”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
The slot door slammed shut.
I heard the voices again. I knew what they were saying. They were just like me, or I was just like them. From that small vent, voices of other prisoners all saying just about the same things. Only the names were different, and there was a delay.
Here it comes. “Sir, Prisoner Wright, 43822, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 1, yes Sir!”
“Sir, Prisoner Winter, 35901, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 2, yes, Sir!”
“Sir, Prisoner Adams, 75407, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 3, yes, Sir!”
It went on
“Sir, Prisoner Powers, 54108, Special Housing Unit, De-Seg Cell 7, yes, Sir!” Mr. Clean! My barber!
“Sir, Prisoner Harvey, 44344, Special Housing Unit, De-Seg Cell 8, yes, Sir!”
I gave it a try. I heard the last voice. It was the loudest, so I figured it was the closest.
“Sir, Prisoner McGarva, 82724, Special Housing Unit, De-Seg Cell 13, yes, Sir!”
I gave it a second, then I said as loud as I could into the back wall of my cell, “Sir, Prisoner Utah 35374, Special Housing Unit, De-Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!” There was pause.
“Sir, Prisoner Wright, 43822, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 1, yes Sir!”
It went on until it was my turn again.
This went on for a long time.
Prisoners of Sgt. Stiles repeating our words like children used to do, memorizing multiplication tables. We were being brainwashed. What choice did I have for any other human contact? I eventually stopped. I was losing my voice. I took a drink of water using my hands. I decided to do some pushups then sit-ups. I did them I until I couldn’t do anymore. I just sat facing the back wall of my cell. Well at least I’ll have time to muscle up like Mr. Clean, I thought. I knew there were more cells than 14. I figured that I only heard men on our side of the corridor because of the vent system. It must not connect to the cells on the other side of the corridor.
My second try with the vent system I discovered that it was easy to talk to with Mr. Clean aka Prisoner Powers 54108. He was right below me in Cell 7.
“Powers, how long does it take to get out of this place?” I whispered.
“Don’t know. Prisoners come and go. You’re the new arrival. It’s been about six months or so since I shaved a new guy’s head. I’ve been here about two years, I think.”
“I was only supposed to be here for 30 days,” I said. “I mean in total behind bars. I made a deal.”
“You made a deal with Sgt. Stiles? Guess you’ve figured out by now that wasn’t a good idea,” said Powers.
“But he has to let me go, doesn’t he?”
Oh Fuck. I changed the subject.
“Powers how did you get here?”
“Stiles found me in Jacksonville. I wasn’t working. He offered me a job working at a supply depot for the Department of Corrections. Then I got arrested for stealing supplies. There was all kinds of evidence against me, I still don’t know where it came from. I took a plea deal. I got 10 years. Sgt. Stiles got a hold of me. I’ve been in the work camp, the cement plant, and out on the roads. That Stiles is a hot fucker, isn’t he? He knows how to get what he wants. When I got here Sgt. Stiles slammed me in the SHU. Now he owns my ass.”
“What has Stiles done to you so far?” Powers asked.
“Other than get me here, huh? He made me eat at his feet. I had to jerk off in front of him.”
Powers interrupted me. “You still can jerk off? I mean haven’t you been tubed?”
“Tubed, what’s that?” I asked.
Powers answered, “That’s what the last guy I spoke to called it. I think some of the guys here before me called it getting de-balled or de-nutted, something like that, because that once you wear this thing it’s like you don’t have balls anymore. You get these two rings and a tube around your balls and cock. It gets locked on. You can get a little hard, but you never get a full erection anymore. Sgt. Stiles is the only man who can release me.”
Oh no! If I don’t get to jerk off, I’ll go fucking crazy! Would Sgt. Stiles do that to me? That thought was stopped by Sgt. Stiles.
“Lights out!” bellowed Sgt. Stiles, loud enough to be heard throughout the SHU.
I got on my bunk. Sleep did not come quick. Normally the pitch dark of my cell surrounded me like a blanket. I tossed and turned. No 30-day release. What had I done? How would I get out of this? Then the thought crept into my mind. Did I want out of this?
I tried to recon the days I’d been at the camp, the cement plant, and now here at the SHU. It had to be close to 30 days.
I did my sit-ups and push-ups.
Sgt. Stiles came to the door. “Prisoner Utah, 35374!”
I assumed the position.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
“Prisoner Utah, 35374, you are being transferred out of the SHU. Cuff up!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I was getting out of the SHU! Oh man! Was this my release?
Sgt. Stiles cuffed and shackled me.
“Prisoner Utah, 35374!” You will exit the cell then you will stop, do you understand?”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing, Unit De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
As soon I was outside my cell a hood came down over my head. It was sudden. I jerked around and squirmed, but Sgt. Stiles held me tightly by my arm.
“Settle down!” he shouted.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I gasped for air, but I was just scared. I couldn’t see a thing.
“Walk!” Sgt. Stiles ordered.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I put one leg out as far as my leg iron chain would let me, then I slowly put one foot in front of the other as Sgt. Stiles pushed and guided me down the corridor.
I was scared. Why was I hooded? Where was I going?
“Stop!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
There was a familiar click. We were at the door leading out of the SHU. The door to the big white room where I was shaved smooth by Mr. Clean. What was Mr. Clean doing right now I thought. That big body doing a 1,000 sit-ups and push-ups a day I bet, and shaving heads of other prisoners. Getting that head shave was so fucking hot!
“Move!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
I shuffled along hooded. Sgt. Stiles guided me.
We went down corridors. I heard the echo of Sgt. Stiles’ bootsteps on the walls. I could smell the concrete blocks of the walls. It reminded me of the cement plant. That wet sand and concrete dust smell. I had a flashback of Brodie. Oh man, that guy could give a blowjob!
“We got some steps coming up!” announced Sgt. Stiles. That put an end to my daydreaming about Brodie. Hmm, he had that sweet ass too.
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
“There’s four steps. Go slow,” Sgt. Stiles said as he kept a hold of me as I delicately negotiated the steps.
A couple of times we went down steps.
After what seemed like a mile long walk, we stopped.
A door opened; we were outside. The fresh air I could smell through my hood, the noise, the crunch of gravel under Sgt. Stiles’ boots.
“Raise your foot up, there’s a step into the van.”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
A van? Was I going home?
I could up and slide down a metal surface. There wasn’t much room for my legs. I bumped my hooded head on the ceiling of the van. I made a “clunk” sound. Must be made of metal, I thought. Was I in one of those prisoner transport vans?
The door slammed shut and there was the sound of a lock being turned. Then the heavier thud of the outside door closing. I was locked in.
We moved. A couple of turns and then some stops and starts. Then we picked up speed. Were we on the highway? Shit, I thought, I just have to sit here like cargo, cuffed and shackled. Being taken to wherever, like a delivery of meat. Was I going back to camp? Was he taking me out in the woods to get rid of me?
We stopped. Good thing too. I was feeling carsick.
“Slide your butt along the bench to the door!”
“Sir, Prisoner Utah, 35374, Special Housing Unit, De Seg Cell 14, yes Sir!”
“OK, knock off that Special Housing shit, Utah!” Sgt Stiles yanked off the hood. I squinted in the daylight.
I knew where I was. I was back at the parking lot next to my car. It has been washed and looked better than when I left it. I didn’t know what to do.
“Sir, what do I do?” I asked Sgt. Stiles.
“First thing is to strip out of that uniform and give it back to me. No free souvenirs. Your jeans and T-shirt are in the car. Come on, strip!”
I got out of my uniform. I lingered over the feel of the pants and shirt. I would miss them.
“Boxers and socks, too. Come on, I don’t have all freaking day Utah!”
I stepped out of my boxers and pulled on my jeans. They felt heavy and tight. Not free and easy like the cotton blue uniform pants with the white stripe. I had gotten used to them. I had scrubbed them in a tub with a bar of soap at a cement plant where I worked as forced labor. Man!
I pulled on my T-shirt. I was back in civilian clothes. No trace of my uniform was left. No trace of my prison time. Just my memories. Then it hit me. Not everything was gone. I was still bald. Sheared, razor shaved twice, and waxed by Mr. Clean. I wondered if I could keep it this way.
“Sir, what now?”
“You go free, Utah. Your 30 days are up. I kept my part of the bargain.”
“Yes, Sir,” I mumbled. I was in shock.
“The keys are in the car. Go back to the hotel. I got you a room reservation. Get yourself back into the outside world. Read the newspaper.”
Then Sgt. Stiles moved in close to me. It felt so good to have him that close.
“I’ll call tomorrow. We’ll get together at that bar. Do you remember it?”
“Yes, Sir,” I replied.
“Be careful driving. It’s been a while since you’ve been behind the wheel.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Go on, go. I’ll watch you leave,” Sgt Stiles said as he backed away.
I got in my car and took a deep breath. I was a tearing up. I drove away. The last view I had of Sgt. Stiles was of him standing, legs spread. With his hands on his hips, he watched me pull out onto the road.
I didn’t see the smile on his face.
I didn’t see what was coming.
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Metal would like to thank Johnny Utah for this story!
