The Gum Job

After living in prison for awhile, you become desensitized to the madness that surrounds you. Many things that you readers find shocking no longer bothers me. You just roll with the punches.

About a week ago, I was having a private conversation with a friend that is openly homosexual. I know that I’m breaking a rule here by associating with gays. There is the standard belief in prison that “birds of a feather flock together.” So if I hang out with a few gays, then I MUST be gay as well. Not true.

I don’t hang out with gays because of their sexual preference. I associate with them because most of them in this prison are SO’s like myself. So I guess that I am flocking with my group after all, just not the one some think that I am in.

There are very few gremlins here, so I’m not really worried about being singled out. If people figure that I’m an SO, or if they want to call me a fag, so what? I estimate that 60% of the population here are in one or both of those categories. As long as I stay quiet, I’m just a tree hiding in the middle of the forest.

So anyway, I was having a discussion with a friend. We talk about all sorts of things – what we were doing in the world before prison, strategies on how to survive once we get out, prison politics – all sorts of stuff.

The conversation took an erotic twist, but I really didn’t mind. I’ve been talking with this guy for just about the whole six months I’ve been here, and I know him to be a pretty decent guy. He also knows that I’m straight. VERY straight. I’d even told him about the episode in Texas where a sexual encounter was almost forced on me just to drive the point home. He seemed to understand, so I continued to associate with him.

Well, that understanding just kinda got thrown out of the window.

He told me that he started having sex when he was fourteen, and eventually worked his way to being a prostitute for wealthy men while he was still a minor. Not really for the money, he said, but for the opportunity to see the world, and for the sheer pleasure of it.

Everybody has a story to tell in prison, and his story was more interesting than most. He’d have a best-seller in his hands if he ever decided to put his story on paper. I’ll just leave it at that.

I didn’t know what to tell him when he asked about MY amorous pursuits. Let’s get this straight – Joe is a blank slate when it comes to love and relationships. Well, almost. Think of Steve Urkel from Family Matters or Screech from Saved By the Bell, and you have a comparative picture of me.

I’m a geek to the extreme. On the outside, I stay to myself and I keep my own counsel. Since I’ll have to register as a sex offender for the rest of my natural life once I’m released, I doubt these facts will change.

He didn’t believe me at first when I told him about my relative lack of experience. Stretch out every encounter I’ve had with a woman from end-to-end, and you get a span of about three months. Tops. Looking back, I should have given him a big, fat LIE.

“Are you sure you’re not gay?” he asked.

“Quite sure.”

(WHY is it that when you’re a guy with little experience with women, that you’re automatically put on the other side of the fence? I can’t even dissuade my own mother from believing that I’m a homosexual, despite the fact that she’s seen me with the rare woman! Kudos to the person who can tell me. Anyway . . . )

“You’re not even bi-curious?”

“No, and I plan to stay that way. My goal is to leave prison in the same state that I came in. Straight, sane and disease-free.”

His lips curled in a slight grin. “Well, if you should ever change your mind, I’ll be a good friend and hook you up with a blow job. My teeth even pop out.” He. Showed. Me.

Aw, come ON! Not again. I couldn’t tell if he was taking pity on me, preying on me, or both. I didn’t know what his game was, but I wanted no part of it.

“Look,” I growled, “I’m not interested. You KNOW this. I don’t want anything like that from anybody, ESPECIALLY from another guy!”

“Well, if you ever change your mind – “

“I’m outta here.” I was furious. I turned my back on him and left the indecent proposer in his own company.

To give you readers some additional perspective, this guy is almost TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLDER THAN ME. I don’t want to hate on him or anything, but he’s a geezer with false teeth. His youthful appearance has long departed him. He’s in prison with the exact same charges as me, so that’s why I chose to talk to him. NOT because of sexual interest.

This is the one bad thing that goes with being in an SO prison rather than a typical one. However, the benefit of relative safety still far outweighs the unwanted attention, so I’m forcing myself to deal with it. Even with that said . . .

I just want to be left alone.