Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison by T. Parsell (ready to read books TXT) 📕

would be better if I stayed close until I learned the ropes, so no one would do anything that would get them thrown in the hole.

Manley told me about a guy who knew his boy was fucking around on him, and he didn't do anything about it. "The nigger was from Saginaw," Manley said as an aside, meaning that if he wasn't from Detroit, he wasn't a real man no-how.

"So the next thing you know, he fucked around and lost his boy."

"How?"

"The guy just told the boy he couldn't talk to his old man anymore."

"So what'd the old man do?"

"Nothing," Manley said. "Which became a problem for him, because by doing nothing, he was showing himself as a punk. He ended up having to lock up, by going into protective custody."

"Why?

"It was either that or get a man. Because once someone shows himself as a punk, it's all over," Manley said. "Some guys are doing shit under the covers." In other words, getting fucked or sucking dick without anyone knowing about it, but as soon as someone finds out, they pull his "ho' card." A ho' being a whore, and ho' card meaning they were laying that way.

"Only a man can have a boy," Manley said. "And once a man finds out someone is a punk, she'll have to get a man, because she can't walk the yard alone."

I asked him why he called them she, and he said that a lot of men liked their boys to act and look like girls. Like Cisco, who wore pool chalk on her eyelids and grew long hair and nails. Prison was divided between the men on one side and the punks, drag queens, and boys on the other.

A lot of the boys were straight before they got there, but once they were turned out, they were no longer considered that way.

"Shit," Bottoms said one night in the dorm. "I'm going out of this motherfucker the same way I got here. I'm going right back to my woman."

"Oh, you think you're gonna be a man?" an inmate asked. "Bitch, you ain't no man! You weren't no man in here, and you damn sure ain't gonna be one out on the street. If I ever see your punk ass out in the world, I'm going right up to you and smacking you-pulling your ho' card right out in front of your woman. And then I'm taking her!"

"That's right bitch," another said. "You just ought to get off that bunk right now and do your man's laundry."

Black, who was his man, just laughed. He treated Bottoms like he was nothing, and the others felt free to do the same. If they crossed a line, Black would let them know about it, but he hardly ever showed Bottoms any mercy. "What the fuck would you do with a woman anyhow," Black said. "Bump pussies?"

Bottoms got quiet while the others laughed. He tried to hide what he was feeling, but the color in his cheeks gave him away. I thought about Beth (Pizza Face), and I wanted to do something, but there was nothing I could do. Speaking up would have turned their attention on me, so I just lay there on my bunk fingering a zit on the side of my face. I didn't want to get Slide Step involved in something that wasn't any of my business. It was the kind of thing that Manley had been warning me against.

I felt sorry for Bottoms, because of how he became a punk. And because of how he struggled to accept his circumstances. He confided in me once that he used to think he was straight, but then a few times-while he was being fucked-his dick got hard by itself. "I even came once," he said, "without touching myself. So I figured that maybe it was a sign that I'm really gay." If Bottoms could have talked to the prison doctor, he might have been told that his involuntary ejaculations had something to do with the involuntary massage of his prostrate-but Bottoms remained convinced that it was his own fault.

I heard Red say once, "The tip of my dick can't tell the diff. It's hips, lips or fingertips," he said. "'Cause when I close my eyes, it's all good." But for some men who were uncomfortable with the notion of having sex with other men, the more their boys looked like women the better. Sonic made them even change their names. One boy, who was named Bobby, became Barbi, while others were forced to dye their underwear red (using hot Kool-Aid) because their man wanted to see them in panties. The men generally wore boxer shorts. While the white fitted briefs, because of how they hugged the ass-were preferred for the boys. The inmates called them Come-Fuck-Me's.

I didn't care what happened to me, I was not going to change my name and become like one of those queens. They made me feel ashamed of what I was becoming in there, and the further away from them I got-the better.

I thought about Cisco and how helpful she was the day after my rape, as I walked the yard in a daze. I didn't feel threatened by her, nor by the two old timers that were with her. They were small and weak, and I could have easily defended myself. And because California was a queen, I felt superior to her, so I was willing to make an exception. So I swallowed my pride to talk to her. Especially since she was leaving in a couple of weeks.

Manley explained "swapping up," which was when two boys got together to take care of each other sexually (since a man wasn't going to be any help in that area). "But clear it with Slide Step first," he said, "because you don't want to start any problems."

It wasn't going to be a problem, because none of the "boys" appealed to me. The drag queens were too swishy for me, and I