By Hunter Perez
I opted not to block Nicky on social media. Instead, I responded that I would contact him once I had more details on my Albuquerque trip. I quietly resolved not to engage him in further conversation – while I had no bad feelings to him, I was also not eager to pick up where we left off ten years earlier.
The next morning, there was a message from Nicky on my social media page. “Good morning!” he wrote. “I hope today will be a happy and productive day for you. Take care of yourself! Nicky.” He added a couple of smiley emojis at the end of the message. I did not respond.
The following morning, there was another message. “Good morning! It will be a good day for you, enjoy it! Nicky.” A few more smiley emojis were part of that message. Again, I did not respond.
Continue reading A Left Turn at Albuquerque – Part 02
By Joshua Ryan
The party happened at a really nice steak place (“top ranked,” my brother said), and Wyatt and his friends ate and drank, and you could tell that in five years they would all be totally fat. Not that I don’t like to eat steak and drink. Because I do. But anyway, they were going on and on with all this sports talk that is totally uninteresting to me, while I kept ordering drinks with my fake ID, which made me feel like the kind of person the Department of Corrections calls “an offender”! although everybody at Kingston does it, and they’re all on their way to boring jobs, and finally I heard something that sounded like an interesting story. Which was that Donald so and so, who was in their class at St. Swithin’s, had fallen on hard times. His dad had gotten in all kinds of complications and Donald had to leave his job, which was “nothing to brag about anyway,” and come back and live at home, and now he had this terrible job that was barely enough to pay the mortgage. It was some manager job with, “get this! The Department of Corrections!” They all laughed at their friend Donald.
Then Wyatt said, “Hey Collypus! Maybe that’s the job that you should train for!” I blushed and squirmed, and they wanted to know why. Wyatt said, “Because he spends his time taking pictures of convicts,” and I had to explain that OVER A YEAR BEFORE we’d been on the ferry to Maskawa, and I saw something interesting, etc. “Yeah?” one of them said. “Sure you don’t have a boyfriend in prison someplace?”
Continue reading The Prison Writer – Chapter 16
See the VIDEO at Men In Chains
What could possibly go wrong?
See the entire video at Men In Chains
After an electric afternoon in bed together Tom fell asleep and Chris took the opportunity to make a phone call to his special friend. It was a short call, for Chris had been planning this game for years and Tom seemed the ideal player. Chris’s special friend confirmed that he would be able to make the arrangements, but he needed Chris to do a couple of things first. So as soon as he had finished the call, Chris went through Tom’s suitcase and quickly found his passport. He photographed each of the pages and forwarded them in an email. Then he called Elliott, who told him that of course he would be delighted to provide what Chris asked for as a memento and would email it straight away.
His work complete, Chris took a shower and went back into the bedroom where Tom was still asleep.
‘Wake up sleepyhead, the cocktail hour beckons.’
Tom opened his eyes. ‘What time is it.’
‘Time to get up.’
‘I was having such a great dream.’
‘Care to tell me about it?’
‘Well basically we did all that we did this afternoon, but instead of being here in bed, we were in a jail cell. Man it was so hot.’
Continue reading A Game of Chance – Part 03
Today is Friday, August 5, 1967.
Three hours ago, I was a more-or-less law-abiding citizen standing in the Latah County Courthouse in Moscow, Idaho, waiting for the jury to bring back a “not guilty” verdict, as my pricey lawyer had assured me they would. Now I’m a fugitive from justice speeding through the Rockies with a handcuff around one wrist and no idea what to do next.
But let’s back up. My name’s DR754, I’m 38, and earlier this summer, I returned to the University of Idaho, my alma mater, to talk to classes at the School of Forestry and recruit promising students. One evening, I had taken the opportunity to, well, make a more intimate connection with a couple of students I’d picked up cruising the college town’s infamous bar district. Once a Vandal, always a Vandal, I reasoned.
Continue reading Forlorn Hope – Part 01: Fugitive Fugue
I woke up early on a Thursday morning in July. It was going to be a hot day, temps getting into the mid 90s. I was going to drive over to my boyfriend’s apartment and hang out for a bit before heading to a BBQ and possibly to the clubs. Now let me say, I wear Levi’s everyday. I was a little worried about the abnormally warm day, but my legs are like chicken legs and so keeping them covered is important to me. Plus I love having denim hug my legs and my bubble ass.
So I decide to pull out my favorite tight Levi’s 501 light wash button fly jeans, my white “wife beater” undershirt, my calf high white socks with the red Levi’s logo on them, my white chuck Taylor converse, white canvas belt with the red Levi’s logo all around and a seat belt style buckle, and a light blue shirt snap down shirt. As you can tell, I love Levi’s!
I slip on my wife beater, then pulled on my Levis (no underwear), and then I pulled on my socks. I also put on my snap down shirt. I tuck in my shirt, and then button up the fly of my tight Levis. I slip on my belt and buckle it tight. I then put on my white converse high tops. I like to roll up my Levis to highlight my shoes and socks. So I roll up my Levis to show my shoes and the socks Levis logo actually is right above the height of my converse so I roll up my Levi’s above that logo. I do a look in the mirror and notice my tight bulge and ass and give a thumbs up!
Continue reading Outstanding Warrant
By Hung in Handcuffs
I thought I would just be able to slide through that minor traffic ticket with a quick guilty plea wearing dark jeans and a bright white polo before catching the NE Regional to meet up at my buddy’s house to hang out. I was a young guy — and it was just usual traffic court so I would apologize, pay up, show the judge respect and call it a day.
Turns out there was a change of plans, there was a severely overdue fine from a parking ticket I had gotten back in college during finals that had somehow slipped my radar. Awkwardly the judge informed me that I was automatically remanded into custody since it was an outstanding warrant, in front of a packed courtroom of people who forgot to update their tags or had minor speeding tickets.
Shocked, I allowed myself to be quickly handcuffed behind my back before almost forgetting my bag. Still stunned, I quickly nodded back at my backpack sitting under the chair I had been waiting in for my ticket number to get called.
Continue reading Old Warrant