SEX IN THE SLAMMER 3
To nicole Wagner, the Deadly Gambit

When we get out of the cell the kid's composed enough, if pale,
but that don't matter because everybody knows he's got Bad
News From Home.
Yes, like that, with the capital letters all slotted in place because
this is what we fear more than anything in the slammer: Bad
News From Home. More than being beaten up, more than being
a cunt, more than becoming common meat, more than weeping
in public, because home is our Eden-dream that we got kicked
out of and we don't want the dream to become a nightmare.
- There was no more money so we got evicted and the children
are at granny's, are at the Social Service's, are in the streets.
- I'm fed up with waiting for you and
Dave-Bill-Michael-Derek-whatever has a honest job and he
never gets in trouble.
- I have to sell myself thanks to you, I like to eat, you know.
And worse.
- And don't think you can come back home when you get out. I
don't want to see you anymore.
And worst.
- Your mother-wife-son-daughter-father-girlfriend-lover is dead.
So Bad News From Home is the only thing that allows you to be
wan and listless and have puffy eyes in the morning and during
the day.
And noone, *noone*, will ever ask you what's the matter, noone
will ever ask you what's happened, because noone wants to
know and start fearing for his Eden-dream.
It is so terrible that you can even leak a few tears during the day,
and, even if you are a thumper, a bugger or a pervert, everybody
will refuse to see it.
So the kid's alright for the day and the next.
But the night after…
I lie in the dark trying hard not to think Wolverine-arousing
thoughts and I hear a sigh like somebody coming to a
conclusion.
A moment later he's climbed up to me.
"Monsieur…" a spiderweb whisper.
"Go to sleep, kid." I rasp.
"No, monsieur… Can we do it now, please? I want to." Then
without waiting for an answer he kisses my boxers where they
bulge because the *me* me has raised his head a little, like a
dog sniffing the air.
Fuck! No way out of this one, and do I really want to?
Yes, I love him and I have got so sentimental-delicate that I don't
really want to use his loneliness to satisfy my needs.
On the other hand, I'm lonely too and that butterfly touch has
awakened an ache in my… - what? Heart? Soul? Mind? Being?
– a yearning in the core of me for human contact that will not be
denied.
So I smile in the dark and say "You don't leave much room for
argument, do you?"
"No" he says simply, his lips still fluttering over my – by now
more than awake – cock, "You'll talk me out of it, Monsieur,
because you are very kind. But I need it as much as you, now."
Got me.
He's right as well.
Bless all gods of Wolverines and kids!
"Right, kid." I flute, lust and love soften my voice and fill my
manhood-veins to bursting. The *me* me wants out of his cotton
prison and into the boy-mouth, the kid-mouth, the love-mouth.
As he starts working on me – he slides my boxers down kissing
and gently biting every inch of the slowly exposed flesh – I can
see he's no virgin and sigh in relief. Despite all his talk of
whoring in the streets I had pegged him down as one.
Then his hardsoft boymouth encloses my gland gently working
the foreskin over and down and all thoughts flee from my head.
My head is down there in his wet hot tender mouth.
Unthinking I grab his hips to shift him over me, velvet and silk
and steel…
Now you see why I prefer men? – No, come on, don't yell at me,
besides it's important for the story, explains a lot of things that
happen later – Because with a man I always *know* what to do. I
don't have to grope in a ludicrous or humiliating – it depends on
the woman – search for the right buttons. I don't have to wade
into an alien world with no map or guide. - I always wondered
why the women don't get the men arrested for breaking and
entering. - The poor dears have to *say* things to me to make
me do things right by them.
And I hate it. No, not for me, but for the por woman who has, I
feel, the right to expect a good performance, if nothing more. And
I never know if they've come or how many times or if they're
faking to save my – or their – face. Because a lot of women are
resigned to men's clumsiness. I always preferred the other
ones.
The lady Mariko – or so I remember – rode me like a horse,
astride my heaving hips following only her pleasure because
she knew we could never really get into each other's bodies and
*know* what it felt. I liked that. Freed me of all bumbling and,
being a woman, her pleasure was so long and complex that my
simple one was swallowed in hers.
But with men I know where I stand, I know all the buttons, all the
simple pleasures and pains, because they're mine too.
Besides, men are always easier to arouse, which is plus side
for the women, I suppose.
I can give what I take and I can take what I give. Exactly. In equal
measure.
Yes, I'd rather bugger a young poetic ass than be buggered, but
I've felt the pleasure of buttfucking, and I do not despise it. It
keeps me aware of what I do when the *me* me, the Wolverine
me, snuggles its swollen gland into a squishy-tight arse. It gives
me an insight, so to speak.
As I said I always prefer the heady smell of pleasure to the
stench of pain.
Okay, got it off my chest. Now back to the upper in a night made
suddenly bright by an unexpected kid.
I grab his hips to shift him over me…
You know I can see in the dark, don't you?
Well, I've never blessed my heightened senses more.
At last I see his sex and it's magnificent. When he will grow to
his true height and might, it will be a thing of beauty and power,
but now it's huge.
Huge and perfectly formed, potent but elegant, not the raging
colour of fury, but the deep blush of late down.
I already loved the kid for his burning courage, his satanic pride
and his tempered-steel soul, but in that moment I fall in love with
his breath-taking shaft that's just starting to stretch its taut
sheath.
And I don't even want to think about his balls! I could rant for
hours.
Normally that's a portion of male anatomy I find not very
attractive.
You know a scrote's a scrote, a most useful thing, yes, I couldn't
bear to be without, yes, I couldn't bed a man with no balls – in
every sense of the phrase – yes, but I never up till now felt any
pressing need to admire the things.
Right, I love to play with them, lick them, slurp, bite and gulp
them… but admiring them?
No way.
But the damn kid's body seems to be made to a recipe of
perfection so that no part of him can't help but be beautiful.
I stare entranced not even noticing my hands are gripping the
peach-fuzz buttocks harder and harder and the kid misinterprets
my reactions and starts another lust-dance.
He slides his head down, his mouth surrounding my cock, until
his nose is brushing my balls – no thing of beauty they, but
mightily sensitive and his breath is making them tighten – then
he slides his head up and away again until the tip of my gland
rests on the tip of his tongue.
Then he slides down again and up again, so slow and sweet
and maddening, no breaks, no stops in this fluid-wet pendulum
of arousal.
My hips are following his movements now, the *me* me
quivering with craving, so, in the spirit of not letting good things
go to waste and to show that practised mouth that I know one or
two tricks as well, I prepare to stun him with my `Glide into
Danger'.
Kids and gentlemen we now present the `Glide into Danger'! The
thrillingest ride to erection, no refunds, no complaints,
satisfaction guanteed for the happy glidee!
What? You don't know `Glide to Danger'? Of course you do! It's
one of the simplest…
No, I tell a lie, it's simple but requires a lot of lip and an iron
control.
Ok, draw back your lips, grit your teeth and press them gently
against the tip of the glidee's pecker. Now pout mightly and grab
the gland with your lips. Now press gently and relentlessly and a
nanosecond before the glidee starts getting worried, part your
teeth just wide enough to accommodate his shaft and slide up it
tenderly grazing his skin.
As I said it's simple, but requires great control.
The hard part is to maintain control when your own cock is being
slowly and maddeningly swung on that unstoppable pendulum
of lust.
But I'm an old hand at this and perform steps 1 and 2.
I never get to step 3 because the kid cries out – ok, gurgles out,
because his nose is nuzzling my balls at that point – and I let go
as if burned.
Fuck! Have I hurt him? Yes, but how? I was barely brushing
against him! He can't be *that* sensitive!
He slids me out of his mouth, but his head keeps going back
until he's looking at the ceiling.
He's breathing oddly in deep slow gasps that make him
shudder from head to toe.
"What?" I say bewildered.
"Monsieur…" he exhales between huge gulps of air.
"What?!" I'm starting to get scared, I can't see his face and I want
to.
Besides I'm getting fed up of talking to his lovely balls.
So I grab him and twist him towards me.
Oh, fuck, his face!
Is that the face martyred saints wore at their death? That mixture
of ecstasy, pain, joy and terror?
"What?!!" this is the kind of low volume scream you use at night
in the slammer when you are at the end of your tether. You get to
keep the intensity and *not* attract the guards. "What?!!!"
No answer but a frenetic shake of hs head.
Right, give him time to get a grip.
It takes awhile, but at last his breathing is back to normal, his
unearthly eyes are so dilated they eat up his alabaster face.
"Monsieur, y… you… you don't have to d… do that." He
stammers a bit in a very odd voice.
Curiouser and curiouser, as the man said.
"No, I *don't* have to. I just happen to want to. What's your
problem?" I ask, curiousity dripping out of me like sweat.
"B… But I'm y…your c… cunt now…" he's stammering, but I don't
care. That blasted word is the last straw.
"You are not my cunt, or anybody's cunt," I snarl low and really
menacing "do you understand? It's just a fucking word they use
in the slammer in England, it means sodding nothing. And if I
hear that word from you once more, I'll rip your face off.
Understood?!"
Why in hell is the kid never afraid? The way he smiles you could
think I had praised him for fuck's sake!
"Understood, Monsieur." His smile fades while he adds. "I'm not
used to this. Men generally didn't want to see my…" He stops
embarassed by what he just said.
The god of Wolverines assists me once again – it's enough to
make you believe, innit? – and stops the answer that's shaping
in my mouth:
"Of course the punters wouldn't be interested in your tackle,
especially if you were too young to get it up."
Brilliant, innit? And what would he be supposed to say to that?
`Thank you for hurting me?'
But, as I said, some god stops me and I swallow the shit and
say:
"Is that why you turned your back to me in the showers?"
"Yes, Monsieur." Very quiet now.
"Okay, I like men so I like cocks. Yours is too beautiful for words
and I like to taste it. Are you game or are you afraid I'll bite it off?"
That's good tactics with this kid, the word `afraid' is like a goad to
him.
"Of course not!" he low-screams and I can practically see huge
neon letters over his head proclaiming
WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?!
I grin and he grins and we get in position again.
He's at me in a thrice and I decide to upper the stakes a bit.So I
give him my very best trick, my world-famous Double Helix.
Yes, I name them, so what? It's a free universe.
Anyway, I take that shapely hugeness into my mouth and swirl
my tongue in a complete circle, as wide as I can make it,
dragging his heavy gland along, then, without stopping, I do the
same thing widdeshins.
He cums! Right out with a suffocated cry of pleasure geysering
into my unready mouth a torrent of lava.
I almost choke to death, but even so his taste is ravishing, like
nothing I have ever tasted, spicy and hot and salty and tangy.
Must be his mutant blood.
I start to think that maybe we muties could be better than normal
humans in some respect. Taste is one respect that comes to
mind.
I want to taste it again. And again. And again.
He's very shaken and I'm coughing, so I have to reverse him
again.
Let me tell you that all this toing and froing would be hell if I were
not so strong and he didn't pass half the day in the gym, but I am
and he does, so we manage easily.
He's weeping. His face has a look of such incredulous surprise I
want to laugh till I cry.
"Hey," I try to comfort him, as soon as I get my voice back,
because I wrongly think I know why he's weeping "calm down.
It's nothing to be embarassed about. It happens, especially to a
young `un like you when he's deprived of sex for a time. I don't
mind, so why should you?" This comes out a bit strangled, so I
take a breath and go on,
"Come on, next time you'll last for centuries. I really like you, kid.
Come on, pull yourself together and forget it. We have a lot of
night to enjoy each other still."
To clinch the thing, I hug him fondly and kiss his teary mouth.
He goes rigid in my arms and in that moment I understand a lot
of things.
I was wrong, see?
He's a virgin. No kisses, no hand jobs, no blow jobs and I bet my
ass he's never used that divine cock. I fear that was his first
orgasm ever. That's way he had that extraordinary look on his
face, why he came so quickly and why he wept.
He was used and never allowed to feel.
He must have been scared to death on his wedding night, this
virgin who knew all about men's urges but had never been
allowed to see himself as male.
Scared to death, yet resigned to it, as he must have been that
first day in the slammer.
Poor kid, no wonder `cunt' stuck in his craw.
Pity overwhelms me for a moment, I embrace him tighter and
wait for him to relax again.
And while I wait the Wolverine-me, for once in total agreement
with the Logan-me, takes a solemn, if silent, vow to make him
loose the third virginity and see the man emerge from the boy
chrysalis.
Of course I don't say any of this to the kid.
I'm mad, yes, but not that mad.
Instead I wait and when he's relaxed again I murmur in his ear
"Give us a kiss, kid, please."
The `please' does him in. Very tentatively, as if afraid of being
burned he puts his wet lips on my dry ones that open for him at
once before he can have second thoughts.
He's drawn in, his tongue slowly and shyly caresses my tongue,
and just as slowly, but tenderly, I initiate him into the joys of deep
kissing.
And do you know? He takes to it like a duck to water and thing
are very interesting again.
Next morning he jumps out of his bunk.
Of course he's gone down after a while, you do things together,
maybe even love each other, but you never sleep all the night
through together because you don't want the guards to find you
in the morning.
The written rules say it's not allowed, that's all, so you can be
punished for breaking them and I hope I don't have to go over the
ABC speech again, do I?
So he jumps out of his bunk grinning like a happy panther and
prods me.
"Wake up, Monsieur!" he urgently whispers.
"You woke me up with that stupid jump of yours." I snarl: being
unbeautiful, I need my beauty sleep. "What do you want?"
"You have to renew your mark, Monsieur."
This really wakes me up.
"Okay, kid, it's too early, you'll get permanent scars if we're not
careful. Besides you don't need it anymore. Ain't nobody stupid
enough to tackle you, kid, not after what you did to Turd. You don't
need my protection anymore, except with Baz, but he has to wait
for me to say it."
With the beautiful logic of the terminally demented he says:
"That's exactly why I want it, Monsieur. I don't need it for
protection, I want it out of pride."
And he kneels straight and strong before me.
Oh, fuck fuck fuck! He's gotten to me again.
You see? I get to him and he gets to me, we're starting to know
each other.
I can't refuse after that so I leave you to say which of us is the
terminally demented one.
Because he's said `pride' I slash a bit too deep and he hisses,
but gets up smiling a little secret smile.
I grin back, I can't help it.
And all the time while we shower and dry and have breakfast and
so on, I think on nothing else but how to get that incredible cock
in me, because it's not going to be easy, not easy at all.
I know the kid will not want to do it, that he will scared to death.
But if I can make him resigned to it…
Think, Logan, think!
And I sigh deep and weary because, my friends, male love can
be a real pain in the ass sometimes.
TBC