Terry - Part 4 - Harris, his tale

I was awakened by all three simultaneously, but it wasn’t the guard from the previous night returning, it was breakfast. When I went to the door for my food, I again asked the guard, “We were supposed to go to Connolly. Are we still going?”

He answered, “Connolly is in lock-down-so are we. No one is going to Connolly for now, and no one is leaving the Walls, either. As far as I know, you’ll be staying here.” When I attempted to question him further, he said, “That’s all I can tell you.”

Terry, who was sitting on his bed eating, asked, “What did he say? Did he say we weren’t going to Connolly?” When I answered that he had, he said, “We’re not going to Connolly? Why? Why are we staying here?”

I could detect the panic in his voice. “He said something about a lock-down. He said that no one was going to Connolly.”

“How about some other prison? Will they send us to some other prison?”

“I don’t think so. He said that no one was leaving here either.”

“Fuck, I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t stay. I’ll die here if I stay.”

He was becoming really upset. I tried to calm him down. “I no it’s bad, Terry, but it’s bound to get better. The guard said that we were in lock-down. Maybe that’s why we’ve been left in this cell.”

“But, I don’t want to get out of this cell, if we’re in this prison. I don’t want to be out there with them. But...in here...there’s that guard.”

“He didn’t come last night. Maybe we were mistaken about him. Maybe that was just routine. It’ll get better, Terry.”

“No, it won’t-not here it won’t.” Getting up, he dumped his eggs into the toilet. I guess he was too agitated to eat. He began pacing again. I had to pull my feet onto the bed, to sit cross-legged while I ate, to give him room. “As he paced, he repeated, “I’ve got to get out of here.” I tried to calm him down, but it was as if he didn’t hear me. He continued pacing, repeating his mantra, “I’ve got to get out of here.”

He continued until a whistle sounded through the speaker and we were told to line up on the yellow line. Once we had, the panel dropped. “Get dressed,” a different guard said.

After we had, we were each, in turn, instructed to place our hands through the open panel, at which time, we were handcuffed. When the door was opened, we were told to step out into the corridor, where we had manacles placed on our legs. Then our handcuffs were attached to a chain which had been placed around our waists. “Are we going to Connolly? Terry asked-hopefully, I thought.

“I don’t know anything about Connolly,” said a rather burly guard who accompanied the woman guard who had manacled us. You’ll have a shower, then it’s your recreation time

After having been locked up in that hot cell, sweating constantly for a day and a half, I could imagine how we smelled, but by now, my nose had become accustomed to the stink. I was looking forward to a shower; I was looking forward to recreation; I was looking forward to getting out of the cell. Terry, however, upon finding out we weren’t going to Connolly, became morose. I wondered what was bothering him, but when I attempted to speak to him, the burly guard told me to keep quiet. We walked past two cells, then stopped at the third one. After the prisoner inside it had been handcuffed, the guard opened the door-and he stepped out into the corridor.

I held my breath; Terry was actually shaking. I wanted to have some kind of recreation, but not with other convicts, and, from Terry’s reaction, I was certain that he was even more afraid than I. We had seen and heard the convicts in the prison yard. Were we going there, I wondered?

I felt relieved when I actually saw the other prisoner. He was just a kid-well, he was probably older than we were, but not by much. He might have been eighteen years-old, but he looked younger. He was only slightly taller than I was and probably weighed less than Terry. With red hair and freckles, he certainly didn’t look threatening. Since his ears stuck out from his head, one couldn’t consider him to be handsome, but his cherubic face was quite pleasant. A good looking Alfred E. Neuman, I thought, smiling to myself. His eyes widened when he saw Terry; then he smiled at me. Automatically, I smiled back.

When we reached the shower room, starting with Terry, the guards removed our manacles, had us strip and then enter the shower room. Terry was standing under a shower by the time I had stripped and entered the room. When I had entered, the new boy, was having his manacles removed so I didn’t see him naked until he entered the room. I was shocked by what I saw.

He had no balls! Below a small flaccid cock was a small flap of skin but no testicles or scrotum. Other than the hair on his head, he was completely hairless. There was no hair around his cock, on his chest, or under his arms. His body, rather than that of a boy, seemed more like that of a girl. Slender through the shoulders and chest, his hips were full. He seemed softer than a boy should be, and what hair he had on his arms and legs was soft and downy. A blush merged his freckles together, when he entered to see me staring, mouth dropped, at his crotch. Before I realized what was happening, I had a raging hard on. I don’t understand why the sight of that ball-less boy had turned me on so much, but it had. Embarrassed, I started to turn around, but, by that time, he had walked up to me. “You can’t go out there like that,” he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. Reaching out with his right hand, grabbing hold of my cock, he began pumping it.

When he had entered the shower room, Terry was washing his hair. Facing toward the wall under a shower at the end of the room, he hadn’t seen the boy enter, nor had he seen him grab my cock and start jacking me off. Luckily, I came almost immediately-before Terry turned around. By the time I heard him speak, I had turned my back to him and the last of my come was dissolving in the stream of water from my shower. “Damn that feels good,” said Terry, referring to his shower.

“Yeah,” I answered. “It really did,” but I was talking about more than the shower. I had been horny from not having beat off for a couple of days and from having been turned on by Terry, but the sight of the ball-less boy had aroused me even more. Although it had taken little more than his touch to make me come, I had shot out more come than I had ever remembered. He was the third person to make me come. Gary had with his parent’s vibrator. Sam had given me a blow job. Now, this boy had gotten me off with his hand. I had to turn away from him to keep from getting hard again.

Keeping his back to Terry, he showered quickly and left, grabbing a towel from it’s peg on the wall on the way out. He was dressed in fresh prison whites by the time Terry and I left the showers. Terry never saw his ball-less crotch.

When I exited the shower room, naked, of course, I was handed fresh prison whites by the woman guard. It still embarrassed me to been naked in front of a woman, but I had already found that the prison guards had little concern for a prisoner’s modesty. There was no privacy in prison. One had to shower, shit, and piss, and, apparently, even masturbate in front of others.

Once again, the whites were too large for me, especially in the waist. It wasn’t so bad while I was manacled because the chain around my waist passed through belt loops in my pants. I could keep them up by holding my handcuffed hands a little higher than normal. When I wasn’t shackled, however, I had to hook a thumb in a belt loop.

After we were all three manacled, we were led down the hall. The woman guard led the boy, followed by me, Terry, and the male guard. When she stopped at a doorway, our manacles were removed, the door was opened and we entered a small recreation yard, instead of-to my great relief-the main prison yard. There was no one else inside the enclosure. Once inside, our handcuffs were removed through another drop down panel in the door.

Once the panel was closed and we were alone, the boy, turning to me, stuck out his hand to me and said, “Hi, my name is Harris.”

I stared at his hand for a moment before taking it. The same hand had jacked me off. “Hi,” I replied, my name is Lyon.”

“Is that Lyon, or Lyons?” he asked.

I was surprised. No one had ever bothered to ask before. They had just assumed that it was Lyons. “Lyon,” I answered, “no ‘s’.”

“Glad to meet you, Lyon.” He turned to greet Terry, but Terry, had picked up a basketball and was jogging toward a hoop at the far end of the yard. Watching Terry’s retreating back, Harris said, “Not too friendly, is he?”

Eager to defend Terry, I said, “Terry’s an OK guy. He’s just a little blown away by being in prison.”

“Did you guys just get here?”

“Yeah, this is our third day.”

“What the fuck are you doing here in the Walls? They usually send young guys to the Whinns Unit.”

“I don’t know. We were told that we were going to Connolly, but we came here instead.”

“Wait...,” he said. What day did you arrive, three days ago, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s the day of the big break at Connolly. Seven cons broke out, even killed a cop or guard. No one is going to Connolly until there is a big investigation. Fuck, that’s too bad. Any place is better than here-especially better than segregation here. What the fuck did you guys do to get put in segregation on your first day here?”

“We didn’t do anything. All the prisoners were yelling, telling us what they were going to do to us, everything from raping us to cut....” I was going to say, cutting off our balls when I remembered that Harris had no balls. I wondered what had happened to him, but was too embarrassed-or too afraid-to ask. I guess I was afraid that it would happen to me. It was strange. Although I was afraid of being castrated and certainly didn’t want it to happen to me, the thought of it had given me another erection. It was a strange conflict of emotions. The thought frightened and excited me at the same time.

Harris smiling, said, “Cut off your balls? You can say it. It’s been over a year since I lost mine. I didn’t want your friend to see me. He’s so handsome that I didn’t want him to look at me like a freak; but, why did they put you in segregation?”

“To protect us, they said.”

“Protect you-that’s a fucking laugh. Out in the general population, all you would have to worry about is getting fucked, and, if you were in the general population, you would get fucked. Young boys like you-and especially one as good looking as your friend will get fucked in prison. There’s no getting around it. In segregation, though, there’s Snyder. He’s worse than any of the cons in general population.”

“Who’s Snyder?”

“He’s a guard-works the late shift.”

“There was a guard a couple of nights ago. He made us strip, then had us stand there while he watched.”

“If that’s all he did, you were lucky. I wish that’s all he would make me do.”

“But he didn’t bother us last night.”

“Last night and tonight are his nights off. He’ll be back tomorrow night.”

The fear that I had felt that first night returned, “What does he make you do?”

“What the fuck doesn’t he make me do-shit. He fucks me, then make me take an enema to make sure that he doesn’t leave behind any DNA and makes me suck his dick, being certain that I swallow his come-but the sex isn’t the worst of it. Snyder likes to inflict pain. He likes to see cons suffer-to torture them. He’s hurt me bad, but usually internally, where it doesn’t show. He knows how to hurt. The sick son of a bitch even makes me pluck out the hair around my cock and under my arms. I think it’s because it makes me look younger, like a little boy. He’s the type that would fuck and torture little boys.”

“Did he...?” I glanced at his crotch.

“Did he cut off my balls-naw. That happened at Whinns Unit, where I was before. Some of the other cons in the bay I was in did it. They, having already made me their sex toy, thought it would be more fun if I didn’t have any balls.”

I wanted to know more about how he had lost his balls, but primarily I wanted to learn more about Snyder. About that time, Terry yelled at me from the other end of the yard, “Hey, Lyons, come play me a game of horse.”

“Maybe, later, Terry. Harris is telling me about that guard from the other night.”

Dropping the ball, Terry ran over to where we were-sitting in some shade against one wall. “What about the guard?” he asked.

“This is Harris,” I said.

“What about the guard?” Terry repeated, not offering to shake hands with Harris.

“He’s a bad motherfucker,” said Harris. “He likes to hurt people.”

“Has he hurt you?” asked Terry. Harris repeated much of what he had told me. “Why don’t you tell some of the other guards?

“The other guards-that’s a laugh. How many reasons do you want why I won’t tell them-why I can’t tell them?”

“Won’t they protect you?”

“First of all, they don’t care. I’m a con-in segregation. I have no rights. I’m not even a person to them. I’m some kind of caged animal. Hell, if we were animals in a zoo, we would be better treated because then we would be of some value. Here, we’re some creature that no one wants-that everyone wishes would go away. Society doesn’t care anything about us. To it, and to the guards, we’re scum, If I say anything to another guard, I’ll find myself having recreation with some really bad con-one that would kill me just because it seemed like fun at the time, or I’ll be put in recreation with Bobby Duke. I shanked one of his friends; that’s why I’m in here. He’s sworn to kill me.”

“No guard’s going to take the side of a con against another guard,” he continued, “Besides, Snyder’s not the only one to whom I’ve had to give a blow job. He’s just the worst of the lot. That’s why it’s such a joke that they put you in segregation for your protection. You were probably put here so a guard could have some of your sweet ass instead of some con. Prisoners put in segregation for their protection are always being killed by another con. Either the guards are incompetent, or there is some collusion on their part in the murders. You’d better hope they send you to Connolly or Whinns, any place but here.”

“Would we be safe there?” asked Terry. He hadn’t heard the previous tale from Harris about what happened in the general population.

Harris laughed, “Fuck-no.” If you go to one of those places, I advise you to find yourself a husband, some guy that likes you and is big enough or powerful enough to protect you. That way, you’ll only be fucked by him. Otherwise, you’ll be some kind of sex toy-used by everyone-you, especially,” he said to Terry. “With your looks, there are going to be fights over you. Some one’s bound to get killed. Be careful you don’t get caught in between, or get a shank stuck in you by some guy who’s jealous that he can’t have you.”

“It can’t be that bad,” said Terry, in, I thought, an effort to convince himself.

“You think not,” said Harris. With a lopsided smile on his face, he dropped his pants.

Terry stared at his crotch, speechless, with his mouth open. After a moment, he shifted his gaze to Harris’ face. “What happened? he asked.

“What does it look like? They cut my balls off.”

“I mean, how did it happen?”

Harris pulled up his pants; then the three of us sat on the ground while he told us his story. Here it is in his words:

_______________________________________________

I was seventeen years-old and a senior in high school. I’m gay, I guess. I’ve always been turned on by other guys. In school there was a boy-he was fifteen, two years younger than I. He was my best friend-and my lover. It wasn’t just about sex; we really loved each other. Sometimes we would sneak into a storage closet at school for a little loving. One day, when he was sucking my cock, a teacher opened the door, discovering us. I was arrested for the rape of a minor. It didn’t matter that I was only seventeen or that the sex was consensual or that we loved each other. I was two years older than he. According to the law, that meant that my having sex with him was a felony. I was sentenced as an adult to a mandatory sentence of seventy months.

I was sent to the Whinns Unit. That’s where they usually send the younger guys. I’ve always been small for my age, and, even when I had balls, I wasn’t very strong. Also, because I was classified as a pedophile, I was despised by the other prisoners. Convicts who have committed murder or robbery have been sent to prison for offenses which are at the top of the hierarchy of offenses among the other convicts. Those who have been sentenced for sexual crimes are at the bottom, with those who have been sentenced for having sex with children at the very bottom.

At the Whinns Unit, instead of being housed in an individual cell, I was in large room with about eighty other convicts. Cubicles, each with a wooden partition, were arranged in rows. Each, which included a area about eight feet by ten, had a built in bed on which there was a three inch thick mattress. A trunk, also attached to the floor, was at the foot of the bed; in it, we kept our possessions. Although the cubicle was a prisoner’s personal space, there was no way to prevent access to it by another prisoner. There was no door; besides, the partition was only about five feet high. There was no air conditioning. Urinals and toilets lined one wall.

There was no privacy. One had to shit and piss in full view of everyone in the room. I had always been so modest that I had gone into the stalls in the restrooms at school to pee, instead of having used the urinals. Now, I had to shower, was strip searched, had to shit and piss, in front of convicts and guards, both male and female. During a shake down, everyone in the room had to strip, standing naked for hours until the shake down was completed by the guards, almost forty percent of whom were women.

When I was taken to my cubicle, there was a handful of cons in the room. Although the presence of the guards suppressed the comments somewhat, I still heard: “Look at that sweet meat; He’s a fucking pervert-a child molester; Well, he’ll be the one molested here.” Laughter accompanied the last remark.

Tell me. Does it make any sense that convicts hate cons who have been sentenced for sex crimes, yet they routinely rape and molest the young-the vulnerable? I hadn’t raped anyone. I had sex with another boy-a boy I loved. Yes, he was younger than I, but, in many ways, he was more mature. We were actually fairly evenly matched. He was sucking my dick when we were caught, but it was because it had been his wish, not that it would have mattered. I would have been sentenced, if I had been sucking his.

Word that a new inmate had arrived quickly spread among those returning for evening lock down. That I was a child molester also quickly spread. Frightened by overheard remarks, I was lying on my bed. Convicts filed past my cubicle, peering at me over the partition. Some of them even spat on me. They told me, in explicit detail, what was in store for me that night. I hoped, at first, that the guards would protect me, but they were also inclined to hate child molesters; besides, this eighty person communal cell was monitored at night by two guards who, stationed in a circular cell in the middle, never entered the communal cell except when changing shift, or when accompanied by other guards. Since, among eighty inmates, the toilets were frequently being used, it wasn’t unusual for someone to be out of bed. If some of those stopped at my cubicle, who was to notice?

The strongest, the most powerful, the most brutal-in a prison population, are the ones who rule, the ones who have the first choice of new prisoners. They were the ones who visited me that night. Four of them, the unofficial, but accepted leaders of our cell, sneaked into my cubicle. Two of them swooped in, quickly stuffing a sock into my mouth before I could cry out, then held me for their leader. Tall, at least 6’2”, he exuded strength and power. The muscles in his arms and chest were evident even beneath his prison whites.

Stripped of my clothes, they held me supine on my bed. “Not bad. He’s kind of cute. Looks like a girl-except for those,” he said, indicating my cock and balls. “Maybe, we’ll have to do something about that.”

Dropping his pants, he revealed a cock that, already erect, was at least eight inches long. I was concerned with its size because I knew where he intended to stick it-and I couldn’t see how it was going to fit. Its length didn’t concern me as much as its diameter. It was the thickest cock I’d ever seen, although I had seen few erect cocks. Prior to that night, Jamey, my friend, had been my only sex partner, and his, the only erect cock, besides mine, that I’d ever seen. Jamey’s cock was slender and no more than five inches long . Besides we had never attempted anal sex.

I struggled, but to no avail. Although I was held by two of his cohorts, alone, he could have easily raped me. Raising my legs, he rammed his cock into my ass. It fit, but I felt as though I were being ripped apart. The pounding of his huge cock against my prostate, against my will, caused me to have an erection. It angered him. “Fucking little queer,” he said, striking me across the face, “I’m not fucking you for your enjoyment.” After coming, he withdrew his cock. There was blood on it. Then his friends had their turn. After they were through, he told me, “Keep your mouth shut. The guards don’t give a shit; they won’t do anything, but, if you cause me trouble, you’ll get a shank stuck in you instead of a cock. My cock, as big as it is,” he said, smiling, “might have hurt, but a shank will hurt a lot worse.” When they left I heard him announce to the listening convicts, “He’s mine. If you want him, you talk to me first.”

I became a sex slave, to be used by him, his cohorts, and others, with his permission, for favors done or for payment. I was his whore; he was my master and my pimp, selling me whenever it was to his advantage. That the guards knew and would do nothing to protect me was evidenced by their laughter at how I walked because of my sore ass during those first days after my initial rape

Always the first, he fucked me every night; then turned me over to the others. Some nights I was fucked by six or seven different men. When, afterward, I walked to the toilet to rid myself of their offerings, I could feel their come running out of my ass and down my legs. My sphincter became so stretched that I had difficulty retaining my shit.

The pounding of his cock against my prostate continued to cause me to have erections which earned me curses and blows across the face. He reminded me that I was his slave-that his fucking me was for his pleasure, not for mine. Although I think it gave him some satisfaction that he was the only one who made me hard, he still didn’t like it. A slave, used at the discretion of his master, existed to give his master pleasure. He was to receive none himself-not that I was. My erections were a physical reaction caused by the pounding of his huge cock against my prostate. I hated him; I hated getting fucked by him-and by all the others. Sex with Jamey had been as much about giving as getting. I had been turned on more by giving him pleasure than by receiving it from him.

His name was O’Leary. His principal cohorts were Holcomb and Schmidt. One night they visited me, but not for sex. Holcomb and Schmidt grabbed me, pinning me to my bed, while stuffing a sock into my mouth. In the dim light, I could see that O’Leary held an Exacto knife in his hand. I thought that they were going to kill me. I often wish they had.

Holcomb and Schmidt held me. “I’m gonna fix you, slave, so that you don’t get off on getting fucked,” said O’Leary as he grabbed my balls with the hand that wasn’t holding the Exacto knife.

Carefully, he sliced off my scrotum. My screams were muffled by the sock in my mouth. Tilting up my head-I couldn’t turn away-I could see my balls dangling by their cords. In the dim light, they had a pale bluish appearance. Taking out some thin twine, he tied it tightly around the cords. “We don’t want you bleeding to death, do we?” he said. Then, one at a time, he cut through the cords. I fainted before he finished the second one.

When I awoke, the lights were on and several guards were in my cubicle. “The little fucker cut off his own balls,” I heard one of them say. He held the Exacto knife, which he had picked up off the floor next to my bed. I started to say that I hadn’t, that it had been O’Leary, but I knew that, if I had accused O’Leary, I would have earned a shank in my kidney. Better to lose my balls than my balls, my kidney, and possibly my life.

I was taken to the infirmary where a doctor finished the job that O’Leary had begun. First my groin area was shaved by a convict who assisted in the infirmary. Then, given a local anesthetic, I watched as, the doctor made an incision on my abdomen on each side of my cock, through which he extracted my mangled cords. After cleaning and suturing them, he reinserted what was left, then stitched together the remains of my scrotum.

I had a mild infection, which was treated by antibiotics. Within a week, although I pleaded not to be, I was returned to my cubicle and to the control of O’Leary. He let me heal first. I’ll say that much for him. He didn’t fuck me, nor did he allow anyone else to fuck me until I my wounds had completely closed and the stitches were removed. I had become a valued commodity. Although, without balls, I was in even greater demand, O’Leary became reluctant to share me. I was now a proper slave. After some weeks without balls, my prostate must have shrunk, because I no longer felt O’Leary’s cock rub against it. I no longer became hard when he fucked me. Neither did I become hard at any other time. Before losing my balls, I had masturbated every night before the fucking had begun, because once, after not having masturbated for several days-so repulsed was I by sex and getting fucked-the stimulation of O’Leary’s cock against my prostate had caused me to have an orgasm. He had become so angry that I had thought he was going to kill me. From then on, I masturbated before getting fucked so that I wouldn’t come.

I masturbated a few times shortly after losing my balls. For a while, I still woke up with an erection, but that didn’t last long. I beat off out of curiosity-to see if, without balls, I still could. I came. It didn’t seem as thick or as white as before, but it felt much the same. The morning erections disappeared before long. About that time the fucking resumed. I no longer masturbated. I no longer had any desire or need for it. My cock had never been much longer than five inches when erect. Always flaccid after losing my balls, it shrank; now it’s no longer than about two inches. ______________________________

Harris’ tale was ended by the guards returning to take us back to our cells. There was so much more I wanted to know, such as how he got away from O’Leary-how he came to be here, at the Walls Unit-in segregation. I was looking forward to our next recreation period, not only because of my curiosity, but because I liked Harris-and not just because he had jacked me off. Despite all he had been through, there was a child-like innocence about him. Some people, regardless of the abuse they’ve received, retain their goodness. I suspected that Harris was one.

_________

The boys have another night free of Snyder. Harris’ tale will be concluded in part 5