Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison T. Parsell (ebook reader play store .txt) 📖

you feel. How you've been messed over-but I don't hear you taking responsibility for anything. Regardless of what was done to you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. "I'm going to school." I almost felt like crying. I didn't understand why she was attacking me.

"Sure, you're gong to school. That's great. I'm very proud of you, but what I'm talking about is growing up. Getting rid of these baby attitudes, like how wrong the world is and how everybody is always hurting you. A lot of you guys use that stuff as an excuse for your behavior-like it's OK to act any way you want."

"I do not!"

"Yes you do. That's all I've been hearing from you-how unfair it is that Simon had Paul moved. You know you two are lovers and that sexual misconduct is against the rules, yet the only thing I hear you talking about is how wrong Simon is."

"Well he is! They didn't catch us doing anything." I hated her for turning on me like this. What did she know about "sexual misconduct"? Had she been gang raped or forced to turn to a man for protection and then had to do anything he ordered her to do? I had thought she was cool. With Paul gone, Miss Bain was the only bright spot in my life. I needed her attention now, more than ever. Only she wasn't listening. She was talking just like Goodman, Simon, or the warden.

"Oh never mind!" I said. "I thought I could talk to you."

"You can talk to me," Sherry said. "You can always talk to me. But it doesn't mean you'll always hear what you want to hear."

"You're all just a bunch a homophobes."

A bunch of what?"

"Homophobes," I repeated. "Homophobia." I read it in the book Paul gave me.

"I'm not afraid of homosexuals," Sherry said. "And I don't dislike them either, but the rules are the rules, and the issue is not whether anything is wrong with being gay. The issue is-the enforcement of rules and your willingness to accept responsibility."

"Forget it!" I stormed out of the office.

How could she be so callous?She was probably taking Simon's side because she had to, and I didn't want to hear it. I felt betrayed by her, and I didn't care if she reported nee, or wrote me up. I wasn't going to listen to any more of her bullshit. What made me think anyone inside would be different?

"You always have a choice," she had said to me once, after Paul and I beat up Reese with our locks. "You can let what happens in here harden you upor soften you. And only you can decide that. But take a good look around. Which one do you think will take you further?" She obviously knew what we had done, but neither of us would discuss it with her directly. Besides, she knew we would never admit it, so we talked around the matter without putting either one of us in an uncomfortable spot.

Paul's lips tasted sweet, but his stubble pinched the skin around my mouth reminding me of old times under his bed. When Slide Step first kissed me, I had asked if he wouldn't do it again. I didn't like kissing. I told him about the girl I had once dated in seventh grade and the time she stuck her tongue in my mouth after a dance. It grossed me out. Slide Step understood. But now that Paul was doing the same, I was able to surrender to it. In fact, I loved it. He was holding the back of my head while caressing my neck. When I opened my eyes, I was expecting to see his shut, but they weren't. He was staring at me intensely, and it drove me wild. Paul was the first person who made me feel I could do no wrong. He even liked it when I acted like a geek and embarrassed myself. When he nibbled on my lip, I felt my dick grow.

We were lying beneath the junipers next to the gym. It was cold outside, and an occasional pine needle cut through my jeans. They were sharp, like his chin, which scratched a light trail across the skin of my stomach. He had been sucking me for what felt like an hour. He caught my load, as I exploded, and continued sucking. My breath was racing as fast as my mind, but in those few moments, I felt as if I had transcended the barbed-wire fence that surrounded us.

Paul was in D-unit, and I had been moved to C. We waited a few weeks and asked if I could be moved to D; meanwhile Paul asked about C-but we were both told no.

I took Jake on as my man. I didn't have a choice, and Paul was being pressured as well. Something happened to him earlier in the day, but he didn't want to talk about it.

Paul scooted up beside me against the wall and took my hand. "I just can't take it no more," he said. His eyes glassed over. "I've been down a long time."

We sat there silently-holding each other's hand and listening to inmates come and go from the gym. "You know, before coming to prison," Paul said. "I'd never harmed anyone physically. I never even considered it. People don't realize how difficult it is to keep your mind when you're in an environment where at any moment you might be assaulted. It's a had way to live."

I squeezed his hand.

"In order to survive, you have to become an animal just like everyone else, because the only thing they respect is violence."

"I wish people on the outside knew what went on here," I said.

"Shit. We're convicts," Paul said. "Nobody cares about convicts."

I looked up at the sky through the trees.

He was right, but it still didn't seem right.

"You'll be out in a year or so," he said. "I still have a long time to go. I'm just tired,