Inmates keep telling me to get a haircut, and I keep refusing their advice. Why? Honestly, the last time my scalp has seen a barber was in April – well before I got in trouble and went to the hole. I’ve been using my ugly, overgrown mop of hair as a shield against unwanted attention. I suspect that at least a quarter of the population here is homosexual, and I’ve heard estimates of a third and higher. That’s what you sign up for when you get yourself sent to a s.o. prison.
Are there versions of Fudd walking around the compound? Not that I can see, but there’s so much opportunity for gay activity here, forcing yourself on someone really isn’t necessary. For two books of stamps ($10.00), I know of a guy who will perform any service you want. ANY service. (That is a rock bottom price even for prison standards . . . )
This place is freak nasty when it comes to interpersonal relations. Constant flirting, massages and blow jobs on the rec yard, and fighting over a boyfriend are commonplace here. All things considered, I still have to say that I prefer this place over Texas. I’ll take transsexual men over gremlins any day. I just wish that people would tone down their desires, even if it’s just by a little bit.
I’ve had my hands full with the little guy that came in a few days after me. He looked like a 16-year-old when he got here. Now that he has shaved his face, his age has regressed to TWELVE. From now on, I’ll call him Billy, like Billy THE KID.
Billy is in a bad situation. He’s in a s.o. prison, in which a large percentage of the population is gay, and he looks like a CHILD. He’s said that he’s straight, but now he finds himself in a perfect storm of gayness. NOT GOOD.
To make matters worse, this is his first time in prison, so he has no clue of the trouble he’s in. He’s only been here a week, and half the compound wants to mate with him! Even as weak as I am, I had to step in and help. Even the grocery guy from the ADC has been giving him advice. (I’ll call him Rob from now on.)
I confronted Billy and asked him why he shaved. Both Rob and I thought another inmate had requested it of him.
Me: “What on earth made you shave your face? Are you trying to get attention?”
Billy: “I’ve been sick, and I got tired of wiping snot out of my moustache.”
Me: “I’d rather wipe snot than C**.” [Insert crude term for semen here. –Editor]
That drove the point home, and now Billy is working on growing new facial hair.
Unfortunately, beard or no, a lot of gay inmates have been going out of their way to make friends with him. I’ve seen a guy wait in the lunchroom for the entire period (an hour) just to see if Billy would make an appearance. Billy can’t take three steps inside the rec yard without being approached by an inmate, and he’s constantly talked about by his church group. So am I jealous?
HELL NO.
I don’t have to be. Yesterday, I went to dinner with Rob, and the dining room was so full that we couldn’t find a table with two empty seats so we could sit together. We split up and ate separately. Rob didn’t know it at the time, but he ended up sitting with a group of homosexuals. What did they talk about at that table? ME.
Rob told me later that a Native American man sitting at the table asked him if he was friends with that “hot and sexy” man, referring to me. When I regarded him with incredulity, he offered to point the guy out and introduce him to me. Nope, no thank you.
So much for my defense; I guess I’ll finally get that haircut.
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