November 2015

< Incarceration. Whoever it was that first devised that word and its meaning, captured the cold isolation that exists inside this institution perfectly. Locked away from the world and loved ones, unable to do anything but wait. Even the most trivial of events, a walk in the park or a pint of beer in a pub garden, now seem so precious to me.

Three weeks have passed since I saw the footage of the woman on the phone, and I can’t get it out of my mind. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Olivia with another man, and her response. She is due to visit in two days' time, and I am dreading it. There is this atmosphere around me, invisible and impenetrable, I can feel it, that sudden silence when I walk into a room.

Apart from on one occasion, when in a moment of distracted weakness, I was briefly allowed in, everyone else is following the code. No one is to approach me or say anything, but deep down I know what is happening in the outside world. >

***

I was in the showers, and the guy next to me was openly masturbating. That act in itself is not unusual in here, over time I’ve got used to seeing it. Before I was imprisoned the thought of witnessing another man openly masturbating would have been shocking, but in here there isn’t any privacy, and inhibitions are quickly forgotten, replaced by pure, basic animal instincts. There is a part of me that would love nothing more than to let my guard down and join them, but something holds me back – an insecurity.

He turned his face away from the white tiled wall for a few brief seconds, just long enough for him to look at me with this blank pre-orgasmic grin.

“I’ve seen her,” he slurred, “I’ve seen your wife and what does for you. I’ve seen her take those black cocks.” He didn’t go into any specifics, in fact, he barely managed to complete the sentence before spraying the back wall with his spunk, but it was enough.

The deal that Olivia had brokered was, I know, done in all good faith to protect me. She didn’t want me to know any of the details of what she was having to do. That was the agreement, but it did nothing for my mental health.

Before I saw that short film, I couldn’t imagine my wife with someone else let alone reacting in the way Amanda did, but now I was no longer sure what to believe. Nothing was normal anymore. The guy in the showers confirmed my darkest fear, that degrading footage of my wife had been leaked out and was circulating from cell to cell.

The men here couldn’t care who she is, and I unfortunately count myself amongst them. It is a quick release and nothing more. But the thought of these men getting off on my wife’s debasement is too much to bear.

***

< It’s not been a good day. One of the inmates was found dead in his cell this morning, and we were all locked down until it was cleaned up. He was was one of Dolan’s male whores, I didn’t know him and until today I didn’t even know his name, but two weeks ago I unintentionally disturbed him in a storeroom, he was bent forward at the waist facing the wall, being callously sodomised. It was the first thing that came into my head when I heard about him, hearing his tortured, pitying whine matched against the anonymous man's brutish grunt.

The day only got worse for me with a visitor, he also only bought me bad news. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I’m close to breaking point. >

***

The day before Olivia was due to visit, I had a visitor to my cell from another prisoner. I was lying on the bed when there was a tap on the door. I recognised who he was even though I didn’t know him personally, his name was Andrew Garvey.

Andrew kept himself to himself and was rarely seen on the landing. He arrived here before me and had been just as traumatised. He looked uncomfortable as he inched his way into the cell and sat on the one solitary chair in the room, unable to look me in the eye.

“I want you to know this wasn’t my idea,” he said staring down at the cold concrete floor, “but I guess by now you understand how it works. I’m getting out tomorrow morning, so it looks like this is my parting gift of sorts.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out three photographs and handed one to me. It appeared innocuous enough, a picture of my wife sitting at the table in our garden with her finger touching the stem of a wine glass.

She looked awkward and uncomfortable, her smile was forced, and I remember this overwhelming sense of unease wash over me, wondering where this game of ‘show and tell’ was going to lead.

He then gave me the second one. As far as I could tell, Olivia hadn’t moved, the fake smile remained as did her fingertips on the glass. The only difference was that she had been joined by a man who stood beside her. He was black, wearing a white vest, with tattoos covering the exposed skin.

I drew the photograph closer to me, I don’t know why, maybe I was trying to examine her face in the vain hope of reading her thoughts. I looked through the small barrier caused by the lens of her glasses, noticing the slight dilation of her pupils, signalling her nervousness and trepidation.

“Is that him?” I asked, now acutely aware of the direction this meeting was going, desperately seeking any information that Andrew could give me.

“His name is Logan if it helps,” he replied, “but apart from that ?” He shrugged his shoulders, more than a little embarrassed by our shared predicament. The third was candid, taken from what I immediately recognised to be the landing of our house, looking directly into our bedroom. I have stood on that spot many times since I got out, looking into the bedroom imagining them.

She was sitting on the end of the bed wearing only a black bra and knickers. He was naked, turned sideways towards her, with her head lowered, her attention, I imagine, drawn to the large flaccid cock that hung down from the man’s groin.

I gazed at the picture, conjuring the hour or hours that followed in my head. I tried to wonder what she was thinking at that very moment as the reality of the situation dawned on her as she saw him in the flesh, knowing that there would be no going back.

I knew that after this our lives were never going to be the same again. I could picture him penetrating her and her reaction, see her legs parted on either side of this man's body, hearing her moans echo in my ears as she succumbed, speculating whether she had conceded or if she had in any way resisted. Did she go willingly, or did she have to be forced?

“Look at you two cucks.” The sudden sound of the voice made our eyes dart towards the door, where Dolan was standing, looking at us both with a humourless expression on his face. “I’m glad that you had the opportunity to meet Amanda’s husband before he leaves us.” I took in what he had just said and glanced over at Andrew. The pieces were starting to fit. They needed a replacement stooge because the current one was leaving and that sucker, it appeared, was to be me. Andrew took the photographs from my hands and gave them back to Dolan.

“Is she okay?” I asked, more in hope than expectancy. Dolan always spoke in riddles, hardly ever giving a straight answer.

“Such depravity in this place. I am intrigued to know your thoughts though. How does it make you feel to know that most of the men in the prison have openly masturbated over naked images of your wife?” He paused, waiting for an answer that didn’t come. “Just a little information before she arrives tomorrow. She is still under the impression that you are oblivious. Keep it that way; my patience and protection only go so far. And if it’s a progress report that you are after, your wife is doing very well. Who would have known that the strait-laced schoolteacher would turn into such a slut when presented with a nice big black cock? The first time is always the most enjoyable. Don’t you remember Andrew, observing the transformation? Logan is such a talented boy. I love the way he breaks them in. Watching her go from yummy mummy to obedient whore in one small step. It’s almost obscene how easily they submit.”