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

that, Tim. Believe me, I know. Stick with me, and I'll teach you. You'll be having these motherfuckers eatin' out of your hand."

I'm not sure why I went off with him. I looked at him and hoped he wasn't bullshitting me, but Paul's face was proud, unflinching, and his eyes were bright and full of fire.

"So," he said. "I hear you like to suck dick."

I stopped suddenly, and my smile disappeared.

"Relax!" He grinned. "So do I!" He shook his head and frowned. "C'mon, silly rabbit. I'll show you."

He hooked his arm inside of mine and led me into A-unit.

28

Consider Yourself Part of the Family

The first time I saw a live musical was at Adams Junior High School. It was Oliver Twist, starring Tim Blankenship-a fellow seventh grader. They gave two recitals during the day for faculty and students, with two more at night for family and friends. I was neither in the cast nor crew; so after sitting through three of the first four performances, it should have been an early clue that something was amiss.

I had arrived early for each show and sat up front on the carpeting of the school's multipurpose room, eagerly awaiting that moment right after a cast member would sing, "Boy For Sale," and as Tim Blankenship climbed up on the coffin (loaned to the Drama Department by a local funeral home) and started singing, "Where is Love?" The tears welled up-in both of our eyes-as parents and teachers whispered all around us, "What a good looking and talented actor Tim was and how he looked like he was almost crying!"

It was the first time I was called a fag at school.

I lay there staring up at the bottom of Paul's mattress. Like at Riverside, we had sex under our beds with the sheets and blankets pulled down on the sides to hide from view. Paul was small, and I was skinny so we fit there comfortably. "How did you get the extra pillows?" I asked. My head was resting on two and there was another on top of his bed. "I know the quartermaster from M-R," Paul bragged.

His short whiskers tickled my skin. He was lying on his side, with his arm draped across my chest, and his right leg bent over mine. My arm felt natural resting on his shoulders and back. I wanted to cuddle up to sleep like that, and then maybe I could finally escape the nightmares that had been haunting me since the county jail.

It was the first time someone had satisfied me, the way I had been forced to satisfy others. And it was completely consensual. I just wish it could have lasted longer. Paul was a magician the way he worked his tongue and lips. And there was something very generous in the way lie touched one. I offered to return the favor but he gently pushed me back down on the blanket, saying that it was OK-maybe next time.

"You're funny," he said, "the way you wiggle and shake."

"It gets real sensitive," I said. "I can't help it."

"I know, but I've never seen anyone shiver like that."

I smiled. Paul was amazing, and I didn't know it was possible for someone to make you feel that good. This seemed to go beyond the physical-because my whole being felt tasted and satisfied. For a moment, I felt like pouring my guts out to him, because I finally felt like I'd found a friend that understood me, but I was still feeling cautious.

"Haven't you ever had sex with someone you enjoyed?" Paul asked.

"Once," I said, thinking about Brett. "Well, maybe twice, but that one's a secret."

"Who?"

"Uh-uh. My Dad always said a guy who'll tell on himself would tell on anybody."

"C'mon. Who?" Paul leaned up on his elbow and looked at me.

"Scatter," I said.

"How was he?"

I smiled.

"Cut or uncut?"

"Huh?"

"Was he circumcised?" he asked.

I didn't know what lie was talking about.

"This," Paul said, pulling on his foreskin.

"Oh, that's what you call that."

Everyone in my high school must have been circumcised. Before coming to prison, I'd never seen that extra skin there and it never really came up in conversations back home.

We heard heavy footsteps approaching and the sound of jangling keys. Paul tensed up and the pounding of my heart increased under his weight. The sound grew louder as it neared and we lifted our heads toward the door. We almost jumped when he heard the squelch of the guard's walkie-talkie. The noise continued past our door then faded down the hall.

Paul put his head back down on my chest. We were good until the 9:30 count. The other inmates were down in the day room watching TV, or in the card room playing pinochle or spades. I still wasn't out of Moseley's clutches, but he was in another unit, and I wouldn't have to contend with him until the next day.

"Don't you wish we could double-bunk?" I whispered.

"With my luck," Paul said, "I'd get an inmate with funky feet."

"Who snores all night," I added. "And farts in his sleep."

We both laughed.

"Shhh," Paul said. The guard was coming back up the hall.

After he passed, Paul said we'd better slip back out again. If the guard were counting heads, he'd notice us missing.

The guards changed shifts during the 9:30 count, and we were let back out again until 11:15. Lights out was at 11:30.

Inmates started their job assignments or school by 8:30 in the morning, and we weren't allowed back inside our housing units until 3:30 or 4:00. The afternoon count was at 4:30, and dinner was between 5:30 and 6:00 P.M.

When the weather was good, we were allowed a couple hours of yard in the evenings, but we had to he back by 8:30. The yard was in the back of the prison, which you accessed through a gate next to the gym. In the winter, the yard was closed, and inmates used the inner walkways to go to and from the gym, which