By convict 975468
The horn blows and the lights come on simultaneously. I roll off my bunk and with precision and without hesitation fold my blanket and sheet. With the utmost care I place them perfectly aligned on the shelf above the bunk, and carefully place the plastic pillow on top. I raise my bunk and hook it against the wall, ensuring that the thin plastic mattress is centered on the bunk, leaving the same amount of space all around the frame.
At once I move to the mark at the center of the cell and stand at rigid attention facing the bars. Three short minutes are all that is allowed to accomplish my wake-up tasks. If I take too much time, or anything is even slightly out of place, I’ll feel the prison strap on my ass. My rigid piss-hard standing at attention sometimes merits a swat with a riding crop by a grinning guard.
The discipline in this prison is harsh; the routine is unbending. The guards are ex-military and enforce the rules with vigor and cruelty.
I was arrested on the job. Within an hour I was standing in a line-up. Within three I was charged with armed robbery, strip searched, and locked in a pod with 30 other prisoners wearing orange jumpsuits and flip flops. The fact that I had never robbed anyone did not make the slightest difference to anybody but me. In days to come I would learn that all my jail mates were “innocent” too.
I’m Mike Nelson, 6’2”, 190 pounds, black hair, hazel eyes. My dad deserted after my mom died in childbirth. My grandma raised me but she died when I was 20. I’ve been on my own since then. After high school my friend Joe and I went to work for his father’s company as carpenter trainees. By the time I was arrested at 26, I had become skilled, and was making great money. The company had super benefits. I had maxed out the 401k from the start, and I had money in the bank.
Standing rigidly at attention I try not to think about my bloated bladder. Soon the count begins, starting with cell 1. When my turn comes I shout, “Sir Nelson, Michael – 975468 cell 9 Sir.” The count goes on till the last prisoner sounds off.
Soon a guard shouts, “Dismissed! You have ten minutes”
Quickly I turn and move to squat over the commode with my hands on the back of my head. Prisoners are not allowed to sit on the rim or stand to pee. With a piss-hard, it’s not a simple matter to squat and pee. Shifting around so I piss in the bowl and not on the floor, I shuffle my feet till they are beside the commode, and squat lower while bending forward – catching my cock inside the front of the rim. I carefully move forward, forcing my cock lower in the bowl. I try to limit the flow from my bladder, hoping the backflow will not wash over the rim. My overfull bladder doesn’t cooperate, and I worry about the mess I’m making..
After peeing, I crap and I clean my ass with my last two pieces of toilet paper. After flushing, I get a rag and clean the pee off the rim and the outside of the toilet. There is a small puddle on the floor. I wipe it up and rinse the rag in the bowl before cleaning the commode and floor again. I get a clean rag from the rack behind the toilet to dry and make sure there are no water spots left on the surface. Water spots mean demerits, demerits result in an encounter with the prison strap.
Next I brush my teeth and shave with cold water and then clean up the sink attached to the back of the toilet. I clean the shelf above the sink and dry the razor and other items, placing them precisely as required.
I go around with the rags, making sure there is no dust anywhere – nothing out of place.
I dress in my uniform, tucking my pant legs into my spit-shined boots and again stand at attention to await inspection.
Joe’s father hired an attorney. When I met with him, he talked about the evidence against me and pointed out that I didn’t have an alibi. He suggested that I take the offer made by the DA’s office. If I plead guilty, they would settle for a seven-year prison sentence – the minimum allowed when a firearm is used committing a crime.
“I didn’t do this. I’m innocent!”
“If you go to trial, and lose – then you’ll get at least 15, maybe 25 years.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“If you take the court’s time and lose, they are going to come down hard on you. Think it over. I’ll come back next week.”
Inspection is one of the most stressful times of the day. The guards enter every cell looking for anything out of place and any speck of dust they can find. All I can do is stand here waiting as they move from cell to cell. I can’t help worrying that I forgot something. But there is nothing I can do when I’m standing at attention.
Eventually they come to my cell. I stare straight ahead, not daring to move an eye, trying to breathe slowly. The Captain of the Guard steps before me and stops, looking me over – head to toe. He picks a piece of lint off my collar. I hear the others in the cell. The Sergeant turns to go and is followed by the others. “One demerit,” says the Captain. They lock the door and move to the next cell. Oh fuck, that makes eight, at ten I’ll get strapped.
I continue standing at attention while the other cells are inspected. Eventually I hear the command, “Dress out.” I remove my boots, taking care not to scuff the shine. Then I strip out of my uniform and refold it, ensuring that the folds align with the creases from the laundry. I remove my boot socks and roll them correctly, and after I lace and tie the bootstrings, place the socks on top of the boots. I retrieve my shorts, tee, socks, and trainers. I put them on and once again stand at attention.
“March” is the order and I begin to march to the cadence being called. Unlike an ordinary march, I lift my knees high, almost like a goose step. After about ten minutes of marching, I hear the order “double time” and I begin to run in place, still lifting my knees. This exhausting exercise goes on till I feel rivulets of sweat running down my body and dropping onto the floor that I worked so hard to clean last night. Eventually I hear the order “halt.” I bend over and rest my hands on my knees, breathing deeply, trying to recover.
The order to assume the front-leaning-rest comes all too quickly. I “rest” there until ordered to push out 50 pushups. Fifty situps and squats soon follow. After jumping jacks, and more marching in place – to cool down – we are allowed a rest, standing at ease.
After this vigorous start to our day, we are fed breakfast.
During the week after I talked with my attorney, I had “consultations” with a number of jailhouse lawyers locked up with me. Universally their advice was to take the deal. They also warned me that if I demanded a trial and was found guilty, I’d be sure to get a longer sentence.
I wolf down my breakfast of eggs with beans and bread. There is coffee and all the water I want. The nourishing breakfast helps us recover from the exercises and fuels us for the coming day of hard work.
I move to the bars on command, and cuffs are placed on my wrists, separated by an 18-inch chain. Then I move to the rear of the cell on my knees while leg irons are attached. I am led to the utility room along with another prisoner. There we gather buckets, rags, brushes, and other cleaning products. We are then taken through a barred door into a large hallway. We are ordered to wash the walls and get on our knees and scrub the floor with stiff brushes and rags.
Prisoners are not allowed to speak without the permission of a guard. Certainly we are not allowed to speak to each other. We work side by side, trying to keep the same pace. Occasionally a guard walks by. We jump to our feet and face the wall with our hands behind our heads till the guard passes. Naturally the guard walks through the soapy water on the floor, smearing it across the area we had already cleaned. We have no choice but to do it again.
Over time I have come to learn the names of some of the other prisoners, by listening to the count. This guy’s name is seared in my memory. He’s Billy Downing, a real son of a bitch.
The first time we worked together, we were assigned to clean the shower room. We cleaned the walls and floor as well as the plumbing fixtures. We were expected to wash, rinse, dry, and buff or polish everything in the room. My side of the room included several stainless steel mirrors. As we finished, I double checked my work and went and stood at attention just outside the door. After a minute or so Billy joined me, standing on the other side of the opening.
The guard who inspected the shower area said the mirrors were streaked. He assigned me ten demerits – that meant ten swats of the prison strap. Billy was taken to his cell, while I was tied to the punishment frame at the end of the cellblock. Then my ass was fried.
Several days later I was assigned to work with Billy again. Once the guard’s back was turned – he winked at me and grinned, leaving me no doubt that he had smudged the mirrors on purpose. To rub it in he mimicked wanking, with the grin still on his face.
My lawyer returned, still encouraging me to take the plea bargain. He reminded me that the state had an eyewitness who had identified me in the line-up. I told him that I am innocent and unwilling to take the deal – that I wanted to go to trial. He said he was willing to represent me, but it would involve a lot of billing hours. He would require a retainer of $15,000. If I cashed out my 401k, my savings would supply the rest. I agreed.
He said he would file a motion to get a trial date as soon as possible. Then he warned me not to get my hopes up – my best chance would turn on his ability to successfully cross examine the eyewitness.
Our work is inspected without problems – and yes, I’ve kept an eye on the son of a bitch. .
For the second work period of the morning I have to spit-shine several pairs of very scuffed guard’s boots. It takes nearly an hour to do each pair. A prisoner assigned mess duty brings my lunch of rice and beans with a little meat mixed in. There is bread and water too, but no coffee.
The trial takes several days. I am sick with fear through the jury selection. I sit silently trying to hide any reaction to the opening statement of the DA. It’s hard to do when someone is putting you down and saying things about you that are not true. Occasionally, my attorney lays his hand on my arm as a gesture of support.
Then comes the testimony. It’s also painful, but there is little I can do but try to control myself as my lawyer told me. I think the testimony of the older lady eyewitness is devastating. On cross examination my attorney comes at her from several directions, with little success. At one point he is asking about the time of day. Then he asks her if it was raining. She starts to answer; her mouth is half open but she doesn’t say anything. She sits there staring into space. My attorney waits, and finally says, “Mrs. Haversack?” She doesn’t respond. Eventually, the Judge leans over and also calls her name.
She turns to the judge and says, “That’s not him! I just had a flashback – it’s not him. The other fellow was better looking.” There is laughter. My heart stops.
The judge questions her a bit – but she sticks to her guns.
Prisoners are allowed very little free time. There are four three-hour work periods each day, two in the morning and two in the afternoon. Also there is a two-hour period after supper. The day ends with an hour of “personal time,” which is really time to clean my cell and make sure everything is straight and to spit-shine my boots.
After lunch I am assigned to the brick room. It’s a long room set up similar to a bowling alley. At the end of each “alley” there is a large stack of bricks, and a place for another stack. There are ten alleys. There is a prisoner assigned to each end of an alley. His job is to take each brick one by one from his pile and as quickly as possible stack it at the other end of the alley. While he is moving his bricks, the other prisoner works in the opposite direction.
Now you might think that having 20 prisoners loose in one room is a security risk. There are no security risks in this prison. Like all the other prisoners I have an implant in my taint, the area between my balls and my asshole. Any guard can activate it, and if he does the lucky prisoner falls to the floor withering in agony.
“You’re in deep shit here 68”, the guard said as I noticed my stack of bricks was not complete.
“The dude before you is new and only moved about three quarters of his bricks. He will get ten swats with the strap.
“Unhappily for you, the rest have to be brought down here before you can move them back. If you don’t get it all done – you’ll get five swats.
“But the Captain decided to offer you a challenge. If you are able to move the rest of his bricks and also move yours, you can have free time for the next work period. You can lower your bunk – take a nap – jerk off – whatever. But if you accept the challenge and fail – you get 15 swats.”
My cock is now rock hard.
“Sir 975468 requests permission to ask a question Sir.”
“Go ahead 68.”
“Sir is 975468 allowed to carry more than one brick at a time during the challenge Sir?”
“The Captain said that‘s OK – but if you drop one and it breaks you lose the challenge. What’s it gonna be boy?”
My cock takes control of my mouth, “Sir 975468 accepts the challenge Sir.”
The trial went on. When our turn came I took the stand, denied committing the robbery, and swore I was at home alone.
The jury was out for a day and a half. Waiting was miserable. In the end, I stood before the court, and the judge read the verdict, “Not guilty.” The sweetest thing I ever heard. Now I had my life back!
It’s a struggle to move the bricks, and I barely make it. Afterward, in spite of how tired I am, I take full advantage of my break. I spend three sweet hours lying on my bunk wanking, never giving a thought about the cameras always focused on my cell. I had been denied an orgasm for too, too long.
At the end of the three hours, my cock is sore, but I don’t care – it’ll only be used for peeing for a long, long time.
Now it is time for me to clean every surface of my cell and scrub the floor on my hands and knees. When finished it’s time to get back into my uniform and present for inspection.
Like I said – we have little free time. If there is no work to be done the guards give us paperwork to do. After supper we are given dozens of math problems – long division – multiplication. Time consuming busy work – which we must do correctly or earn demerits. Tonight I am so tired and sleepy that I keep nodding off – I fuck up a long division problem and don’t even get to the last five of them. Six demerits plus the eight I already have. I’m fucked! But the wanking time was worth it.
I went back to work after the trial. Most of the guys acted supportive, but I could tell they were uncomfortable. A few were real assholes. Nobody came right out and said anything, but I knew they were thinking I was guilty. My friends began to fall away. Though I had done nothing wrong, I was being punished. I had my life back, and yet I didn’t.
I spoke with my Joe’s father, who suggested I transfer out west, where the company had a large project. I thought about it and decided it was best to start over in a place where no one knew about the trial. I sold my car and arranged to fly out there.
After I got off the plane and claimed my luggage, I saw a guy holding a sign with my name on it. That was a nice surprise; I didn’t expect it. The guy with the sign said his name was Jack. He phoned the driver, telling him what door to meet us at. Soon a big SUV pulled up to the curb. The driver opened the rear door by remote, and Jack helped me stow my gear. He opened the back passenger door but got in after me, saying we needed to pull away from the curb quickly.
The driver turned in his seat to introduce himself, and reached to shake hands. Jack, now seated beside me, jabbed a needle into my thigh. That was it for me.
The next thing I remember is standing before the Captain of the Guard. I was naked, with my hands cuffed behind my back. I could hear him talking, but it was all fuzzy. I knew the words, but they weren’t making sense.
“Why did you bring him in here when he’s not fully awake? Put him under a cold shower. That’ll wake him up.”
I was taken away and returned shivering, cuffed, and naked. I stood before the Captain as before.
“Prisoner, let me remind you that when you speak to an officer, you will begin each statement with Sir, and end it with Sir. Do you understand?”
“Whadda ya,” I stopped when a guard jabbed me with his nightstick.
“Answer the question boy.”
“Sir yes Sir,” I croaked.
“That’s good. At least you are with us now. You are not permitted to speak without permission. And you certainly don’t have permission now. I loved the look on your face when I called you a prisoner. That is what you are now, and it is what you will remain.
“You thought a friend had arranged the airport shuttle, but that was our SUV. So here you are, in our prison!
“A number of years ago several wealthy men were falsely convicted and served time. Eventually they came together and talked about their experiences. They were angry and wanted revenge. While correcting mistakes of the criminal justice system – seeing that criminals who ‘got away with it’ are punished – is not revenge, it does give them a sense of satisfaction. They created the organization that built and runs this prison.
“Most of the time the governing board chooses criminals who get off on a technicality. When they looked at your case, the board was about to put it aside. Then they learned that the eyewitness, who changed her story, was suddenly flush with cash. An investigation didn’t uncover who gave her the money. Since you are the beneficiary – the buck stops with you!
“I’m sure you will understand that due to the private nature of this facility, parole is not an option. However I can assure you that justice will be served by you remaining here under the our strict conditions of confinement for the remainder of your life.”
The last hour of the day is called personal time. I spend it making sure that everything in the cell is clean and orderly. Then I put another layer of spit shine on my boots and make sure my trainers are clean, and everything is properly stowed away. I remove my tee, running shorts, and underwear. Just before the horn sounds, a prisoner comes by with a bag collecting dirty laundry. Another brings clean replacements. I lower my bunk and make it up with the sheet and blanket. I stand naked at attention and await the count. The horn sounds again, I have a last piss and lie on my bunk at attention. The lights go out as the horn blows for the last time.
Metal would like to thank convict 975468 for writing this story, and Joshua Ryan for inspiring it!