There are a lot of things that can be experienced, or things can that just happen, at the Hampton Jail. As any good guard will know, it is the anticipation of not knowing what may occur, which keeps the inmates on their toes and focused. As a guard at the jail, I am committed to making it a good experience for all the inmates. We are awake and ready to go before the inmates are rousted in the morning, and we are there when we switch the lights out for the night and securely slam the steel doors of control.
However, regardless of what may happen in the jail, everyone starts out from the outside with an arrest and properly taken into custody. I was reflecting on a recent arrestee whose wide-eyed expression sticks with me and always brings a smile to my face.
I got in my trailer. I dropped the boxes with the butt plugs and leg irons from Sgt. Stiles on the kitchen table. I got out of my boots, dropped my shorts, and yanked off my shirt. I picked up the leg irons. I could do put them on no problem. The butt plug was another thing. I decided to try, after all Sgt. Stiles had given it for me to try. I went into the bathroom. I did have some KY gel. I got into my bedroom and hit the bed. All I had on was my socks and my collar. I locked the leg irons on. I admit they felt good. It brought back so many good memories. The restraint of the chain was reassuringly safe.
I had second thoughts about the butt plug but then decided to go ahead. I lubed up the plug. I used a finger to put some lube on the outside of my asshole. I laid back, tried to relax and slowly inserted the plug into my hole. It took a little pressure to get it in my hole, but it went in up to the base easily enough. I switched my concentration to the letter. I opened the letter carefully, so I didn’t rip the outside of the envelope with the address on it.
I shuffled into the Receiving Building. I was the largest building I had been in 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 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 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.
The bottom slot of the door opened and a food tray with a sealed plastic glass of orange juice was shoved through and the slot closed. 4798 got up from the bunk and moved over to the tray and picked it up. There was a piece of bread, thin beef stew, boiled carrots and one cookie on the tray. The only utensil was a plastic spork. He ate quickly as he was starving and as soon as he finished the bottom slot clanged open again and he shoved the tray back through. The guards checked the tray and closed the slot.
4798 lay back down on the bunk and just as he did the lights went out in the cell turning the cell pitch black. He lay there in the absolute darkness and listened to the sounds of the prison. The clanging of the food slots, banging on the heavy steel cell doors and the shouts of the heavily armed and protected guards. He finally fell asleep and did not wake up till the lights went on in the morning.
Sgt Stiles drove me off into the Florida Panhandle pine forests. I don’t know if we drove for five minutes or fifty. I must have nodded off a few times. Sgt Stiles didn’t say a word to me. I guess I was either too tired from working all day or I was unconsciously following his advice to keep my mouth shut. I was stuck, handcuffed in the back of the van. From time to time I’d get distracted by the back of Sgt. Stiles head. His high and tight haircut was so hot, so masculine.
We got to the camp as it was just starting to get dark. Not much to see. A clearing in the forest out in the middle of nowhere. The camp was eight canvas tents, and some plywood shacks surrounded by rows of that rolls of barbed wire. The kind you see on the top of fences at prisons. There were a few poles with lights and one gate.