Terry - Part 6 - Harris Tells the Rest of His Story

Prison was already changing us. I had masturbated before while being watched by other boys, but, I doubted that Terry ever had. Prison had stripped away any hope for privacy. If one had to shit and shower in full view of others, if he were routinely strip searched in front of women guards, if he had to walk down hallways naked, how, I guess, could he expect any privacy for sex. If, as Harris had implied, we were to be-just as routinely-raped, how would that change us? What would we become? That Terry was straight when he entered prison, I had no doubt. Would he still be when he was released? How, after being raped by other men, after years of having sex only with men, could one have a normal sexual relationship with a woman.

I was no longer certain of my sexual orientation. Although I had never screwed a girl, I had been sexually aroused by the few whom I had dated; and I certainly didn’t lust after every boy I saw-only Terry. I was gay for him; of that I had no doubt; and Harris turned me on; but, he was different; he was a boy-yet not entirely a boy. If he had balls, I wondered if I would have still been aroused by him. I didn’t think so. In PE, I had seen naked boys, more attractive than Harris, without being turned on.

But, after: being raped-the idea of which both frightened and aroused me; years of beating off with only the images of other men to accompany my orgasms-we weren’t even allowed to have issues of ‘Playboy’-consensual sex with other men; what would I become?

Becoming gay, however, was the least of my worries. Most pedophiles have been sexually abused as children. Although I was no longer a young child, neither was I an adult. Would I become like my abusers? Would I, when older and stronger, abuse-even rape-prisoners, younger and weaker than I? And, when released from prison, if I had, would I seek out-be turned on by-younger boys?

Those had been my thoughts after Terry and I had beat off while sitting in the shade with Harris in the recreation yard. I wondered what Terry was thinking, but he interrupted my thoughts by asking Harris, “Why are you here in segregation?. Are you also in protective custody?” Protective custody-wasn’t that a laugh. Who was to protect us from the guards-from Rogers and Snyder?

“No,” answered Harris. “I’m awaiting trial.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Murder.” Murder? While lost in reverie, I had been staring at the ground. The word, whipping my head, as if someone had grabbed hold of my chin, jerking it up, caught my full attention. Although I had known Harris only for a day, I had difficulty imaging that he could kill anyone. Alone with us-away from the guards-the cherubic look had returned. I saw only the boy who had been sent to prison for loving another boy.

“Murder,” said Terry. “Did you really kill someone? Who?”

Harris, first looking around, making certain, I guess, that no guards were around, said, “My lawyer told me not to discuss my case with anyone, but, although I’ve learned that you can’t trust any con, I guess that it won’t hurt to tell you some of it.”

“I killed O’Leary. Too many people, both guards and cons, saw me do it, so, that, I can’t deny. I’m claiming self defense because of the rape and the castration-but, because he wasn’t attempting to rape me or castrate me when I killed him, my lawyer doesn’t think that I have much of a chance. He wanted me to accept the plea that I was offered, but he’s a public defender. He would plead every case, rather than go to trail.”

“What did they offer you?” I asked.

“Life.”

Life? Seventy months seemed an eternity-but life in prison? Harris, only eighteen years-old, had already spent a year in prison, now, the rest of his life? “What happens if you’re convicted?”

“The needle, I guess.”

“The needle-you mean the death penalty?”

“Yeah, they’ll strap me down and put the needle in my arm.”

A choice between life and death, but was that really the choice? Was life, if it were to be spent in prison, really living? Never to walk free, to be always under the control of others, was that life? What would I choose, if faced with those choices? Perhaps, if free to live on the outside, I would accomplish little-perhaps I would cease to exist-mourned by no one, but, at least, there, I would have the opportunity to try. What could I ever accomplish in prison? If I were to live out my life here, there wouldn’t even be my parents to mourn me. I would be neither mourned nor remembered by anyone. It would be as if I had never existed-worse, I would have suffered the torment of prison for nothing. Given the same choice, I think that I would have chosen as had Harris.

“The death penalty?” asked Terry. “You mean that they would kill you?”

“Yeah,” said Harris, with a little laugh, “that’s what they do when they put you to death. They kill you.”

“But, how could you risk that? Wouldn’t you be better off accepting the plea? After all, you aren’t denying that you killed him.”

“It’s not really that clear of a choice anyway. O’Leary was a member of a prison gang. All the other members have sworn to kill me. If I stay in prison, one of them will get me; sooner or later, I would have a shank stuck in me. Even if I don’t get any additional time, I’ll be lucky to live out my sentence.”

“Can’t they put you in segregation, or somewhere you’ll be safe?”

Harris laughed that little laugh again, upturning one corner of his mouth, not so much a laugh, I thought, but a question-a question asking, “Are you really that stupid?” then he said to Terry, “You’re in segregation. How safe to you feel?”

Rather than answer, Terry looked down at the ground. Harris continued, “One of O’Leary’s gang is in here-in segregation with us. He tried to attack me once in the hallway, even though we were both under restraints and there were guards present. He would have killed me, if he could have. Snyder is always threatening to let me have recreation with Bobby Duke. That’s his name.”

“He wouldn’t really do that, would he?” I asked.

“You guys don’t’ really know Snyder yet. Wait until tomorrow, if we’re all still alive-tomorrow. Ask me again, if you don’t know the answer by then. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing that Snyder wouldn’t do-as long as it would inflict pain, fear, or torment on some inmate.”

Up until entering prison, the most feared person that I had ever known had been the boy who had tried to make me suck his cock when I was fourteen. A year older than I, much larger, and always surrounded by his gang, he had tormented me whenever he had seen me, whether at school, or elsewhere. I had never known when or where I would be confronted by him, in the hallways at school, while walking home, or at school functions; but, although I had feared him, he had done me little physical harm. The blows, which I had received from him, had done no lasting damage-had never even brought blood. He-I’ve blocked his name from my mind-was the only evil to which I was able compare Snyder. I had the feeling that it would prove to be an inadequate comparison.

My thoughts returning to the killing of O’Leary, I asked, “How did you kill him?”

“Snyder? Oh, you mean O’Leary-I often dream that I’ve killed Snyder-I stuck a shank in him in the recreation yard.”

“Why didn’t you wait until he came in your cubicle to rape you?”

“We were always strip searched before entering the cell block. I couldn’t have brought it in there; besides, he usually held my arms pinned to the bed when he fucked me, or he fucked me from behind; and there were usually others lined up for their turns.”

Glancing once again at Harris’ crotch, I pictured in my mind, his lying on his bed with his legs raised, exposing his asshole, waiting like a whore, with come dripping from her hole, for the man in line-for the next cock. Reflexively, my asshole tightened at the thought.

“How did you do it?” asked Terry. “Did you just walk up to him and stick him?”

“No, O’Leary usually kept me around like a pet dog-like a mongrel cur which he kicked and abused. I was his slave-in every way. He kept me around to do his bidding.”

“Did he fuck you there?”

“No, he liked to do it in my bed, but, I occasionally had to blow some friend of his, or blow someone who paid him for me to do it.”

“What about the guards?”

“The guards don’t do anything, unless sex is really out in the open, or is causing some kind of trouble. Some cons would gather around, shielding me from the guards’ view, while I blew one of them. Any guards who knew what was happening, ignored it. Sex among convicts is part of prison life. The surest way for a guard to get hurt is to try to stop it.”

“So, what happened?” I asked.

“While he was talking to some of his gang, I stuck him.”

“In the back?” Terry asked.

“Yeah, he wasn’t facing me at the time. Besides, if I’d tried it face to face, I would have probably had the shank shoved up my ass.”

“But, in the back?” repeated Terry.

“Hey, I wanted to kill him-I did kill him. What does it matter-whether I stuck him in the front or the back? Do you think that he would have let me walk up and stick him in the stomach? I got him the only way I could”

“Did you make the shank yourself?” I asked.

“No, I bought it from another inmate.”

“What did it cost you?”

Harris, laughing that same laugh, said, “I paid with the only thing I had-my ass.”

“You couldn’t have made one yourself?”

“I could have made one; I worked in a metal shop; but, I could never had taken it from the shop. The guards strip searched us every time we left. They even bent our dicks back and forth to make sure that we didn’t have something stuck up our pee holes.”

Seemingly impatient, Terry asked, “But, what happened after you stuck him? Did you just stick him once?”

“No, I stuck him more than once.”

“How many times?”

“Shit, I don’t know. After the first time, it was like I was watching myself stab him; I could see myself plunge the knife into his back-again...and again. Then I dropped it and ran.”

“His gang didn’t try to stop you?” asked Terry.

“I think that they were too shocked. Everyone, including O’Leary, had thought that I was a thoroughly subjugated slave. That I would retaliate for what he had done to me, was beyond their comprehension.”

Entranced-I had never before talked to someone who had killed another human, much less heard him describe that killing-I asked, “What happened next.”

“All hell broke loose. The guards shot gas into the yard; then sent in a swat team which grabbed me. As they dragged me from the yard, I heard O’Leary’s game yelling-telling me that they were going to get me.”

“They didn’t sent you back to your cell, did they?” I knew it was a stupid question as soon as I had asked it. If they had, he would have been killed-wouldn’t be telling us this story, now.

“No, they threw me naked into an isolation cell. I lost track of how long I was there; then they brought me here to await trial.”

“How long have you been here?”

“About six months-although six months with Snyder has been a lifetime.”

“Did he start fucking you from the first?” asked Terry

“No, first he just made me strip and stand on the yellow line in my cell while he watched me. Sometimes he made me stand naked on the line for hours. If I wasn’t standing there when he came by my cell, he sprayed me with pepper spray.”

“Then, the beatings started. He beat me for any reason-or for no reason. The worst part was that there was no pattern to the beatings. There was nothing that I could do to make them stop. Before long, I cowered in the corner of my cell whenever he was on duty-I still do. I was almost glad when he started fucking me. Sometimes, afterward, he’d leave me alone for the rest of the night.”

“How could you let him fuck you?” asked Terry. I recalled what Terry had said-that he would rather die than get fucked.

Harris looked up at him, a lopsided, half smile on his face-but obviously not a smile that reflected pleasure. “You’ll find out when your time comes.”

“I’ll kill myself first.”

“You say that now, but, by the time Snyder gets through with you, you’ll accept being fucked as the lesser of evils. I’d rather get fucked than to give him a blow job. When he fucks me I can blank out my mind-or think about being back home-think about Jamey-but I have to concentrate when giving him a nobber. If he feels my teeth on his cock, I get beaten.”

“I’ll kill myself first.”

“Well, if you decide to, don’t let Snyder know. You’ll find yourself naked in a bare cell. There won’t be anything to do yourself with.”

Changing the subject-not wanting to think about Snyder anymore, I asked, “When’s your trial?”

“A couple of weeks, I guess. Soon, but, I don’t know exactly when. At least, one way or another, I’ll be out of Snyder’s grasp. Of, course, he or Rogers might put me in with Duke first-but, if they do, at least, I wouldn’t have to worry about Snyder any longer.

Since being sentenced, I had been reading all I could about the law. I had even been able to check out some books at the law library while in jail in Fort Worth. I realized that, unless somehow mitigated by rape and castration, Harris had described first degree murder. The killing of O’Leary had been premeditated. Worried about Harris’ chances, I asked, “Do you think you might be acquitted?”

“I can only hope-hey, I just had a thought. This has been the first time since I’ve been in segregation that I’ve had recreation with anyone else. Did the guards set me up with you guys? Did they tell you to try to get me to talk about O’Leary?”

“No!” both Terry and I protested at once. “They never even told us that we were going to have recreation with anyone else,” I continued. “In fact, it scared the shit out of me when the guards stopped to let you out of your cell yesterday. I was afraid you’d be like those guys who had been yelling at us.”

“And none of them said anything to you afterward?”

“No, nothing.” Terry, shaking his head, concurred.

“They probably will-might even offer you some kind of deal, if you’ll testify against me.”

“If they ask us, we’ll tell them that we don’t know anything about it-that we never discussed why you’re here,” offered Terry.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “we’ll say that we don’t know shit.”

“I like you guys-and I guess that I’ll have to trust you. I shouldn’t have said as much as I did. It won’t be easy to keep quiet. The guards might really put pressure on you. They’ll probably even ask you to invent things.”

Our eyes met when Terry and I turned to look at one another. “Lyons and I will keep our mouths shut-won’t we Lyons?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I swear that I’ll never say anything, no matter what they do.”

“OK, but don’t talk about it back in your cell. It might be wired.”

“Are all the cells wired?”

“Naw, they don’t have time or men to monitor all the cells-but yours might be. I wouldn’t worry about it, but, just to be safe, don’t say anything about me and O’Leary.

Changing the subject, I asked, “What about Rogers? Is he like Snyder? Does he fuck you too-or make you give him a blow job?”

“No, as far as Rogers is concerned, we’re too far beneath him for him to have sex with us. I think that he’d sooner fuck a chicken. To him, we’re scum. Be careful around him, though. He’s the kind of guy who would pull the legs off of a grasshopper just so he could watch it squirm.”

While we sat talking more about Snyder and Rogers, but mostly repeating, because of our nervousness-our fear-what we had said before, I realized that it was a little cooler than it had been the day before. What day was it I wondered. Without a calendar or clock-with every day the same-it was difficult to keep track. Concentrating, I thought back: We had entered the Walls on September 20; we had stayed in our cell all day on the 21st; we had met Harris on the 22rd; that meant that this was September 23. It’s Terry’s birthday, I suddenly realized. He’s seventeen today. In thirteen more days, on October 6, I would be seventeen. Although still considered a minor I would be old enough to be eligible for the death penalty. Although Harris was eighteen now, he had been seventeen when he had killed O’Leary.

“Terry-today’s your birthday”

“It is? Is today the twenty-third?” After I went over the calculations which I had just computed in my head, Terry said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Shit, hell of a birthday. This is my party, I guess, sitting here naked in the shade in the rec. yard-worrying about what kind of a present Snyder might have for me.”

Damn, I thought, why do we always have to come back to Snyder. I’d give anything to be able to forget about him for a while. “Hey, guys let’s don’t talk about Snyder-the other fucking guards, or even this fucking prison-at least not for a while-not until they come get us.” I threw my arms around Terry, hugging him. “Happy Birthday, Terry.”

For a moment, he didn’t react, then returning the hug, he said, “Thanks, Lyons-I guess-although I don’t feel much like celebrating.”

Holding out his hand, Harris said, “Yeah, Happy Birthday, man.”

Terry stared at the proffered hand, then taking it-touching Harris for the first time-shook his hand; then using it to pull Harris toward him, he hugged Harris, too, saying, “Thanks, Harris.”

With that gesture, I realized that Terry had accepted Harris, as I had. Harris was our comrade. It didn’t matter that he had no balls-or that he was gay-he was our friend, and, in here, surrounded as we were by the guards and the other prisoners, we needed each other. As irrational as it seemed, I already thought of Harris as one of my best friends-second only to Terry. I wanted to tell Terry how I felt about him-that I loved him-that my love for him was more than that of a friend; overcome by emotion, I almost did, but chickened out at the last minute. With tears in my eyes, I said, “Terry-uh-Terry...,” but looking down at he ground, I couldn’t continue.

“What is it, Lyons?”

“Nothing,” I said, standing and walking away so they wouldn’t see me cry. I was still wiping away the tears when Rogers ordered us to come to the door to be handcuffed.