07 Feb 08
Zucchini (Part 1)
Because many of you asked for more details of what prisoners get up to sexually, I spent a long time with Max documenting his sexual awakening in the prison system. Fearing repercussions, Max asked that I wait until we were both out of prison before I posted this series. It’s a long series, and Max just gets in deeper and deeper. I’d like to thank Max for being so candid.
“I was deliverin’ chow,” Max said, “to lay-ins on Yard 3, and I see my buddy, Log, peekin’ outta Cindy’s door.”
“What do Log and Cindy look like?”
“Log’s a big dude, and Cindy’s a tiny white dude, maybe one-hundred-and-five pounds, with long light-brown hair.”
“With a pretty face?”
“No. With a dude’s face.”
“I leave my cart with all the trays on the motherfucker – I know they’re gonna get stolen – and I go into Cindy’s cell. Cindy’s on the top bunk. I’ve seen him around, but I’ve never spoken to him before. Log’s standin’ next to the door, and he says, ‘Look at this.’ I said, ‘Wassup, man?’ He says, ‘Cindy, lift up the sheet.’ Cindy was layin’ on his side. He lifts the sheet, and I see a shampoo bottle about as round as a tennis ball but with serious length. The motherfucker had to be at least eleven inches, dude. Log comes over and lifts up one of Cindy’s buttcheeks, so that his starfish is in full view. Log says, ‘Hey, do that thing again.’ Cindy commences to get the bottle and slowly work it into his tiny little pucker – and you can’t just shove somethin’ that size in there, dude, you’ve gotta work it in. Well, he finally gets it in a coupla inches – picture somethin’ tiny with somethin tennis-ball wide inside it. I mean, it was sheer amazin’, dude, that it so stretched to capacity. I mean, how does one blow their O-ring like that? Does it take years of practice? Do they have sphincter control when they take a shit or do they just squat and it goes plop-plop?
So me and Log are just standin’ there lookin’, and Cindy is workin’ the shampoo bottle in further. It’s startin’ to get a little natural lube thing goin’ on. It’s so wide I’m thinkin’, If he takes an inch, he might as well get the whole eleven in there. I could’ve stuck my fist in there – and I’m a big dude with big hands – but not that I would.”
“Was Cindy making noises?”
“Of course. He’s moanin’ and tryin’ to make it seem all seductive and shit. Like that’s a turn on. Fuckin’ that would be like droppin’ a pencil down a mineshaft.”
“Are you sure you weren’t thinking about giving it a go?”
“Hell no! He’s nasty, dude. I woulda caught all kinds of stuff.”
“So what was the joy of watching this?”
Blushing and stuttering, Max said, “There was no joy. If you ever come across a situation like that, you’ll be stupefied.”
“How did you feel?”
“I don’t know, man. I’m not a voyeur.”
“Yes, in some small way.”
“Yes. Four or five minutes went by, and it was like I was a deer caught in the headlights. I was stuck. What broke me outta the situation was when Log said, ‘Imagine what you could keyster in there.’ And then they called me back to the kitchen over the loudspeaker. I say, ‘I’ve gotta go, dude.’ I’m chucklin’. I just don’t know what to say ’cause I’ve never been in a situation like that before. Do you say, ‘Right on, dude. Thanks for the show’?
I leave and my face is all red, and people are yellin’, ‘Max, what happened?’ I get my cart – which is seven trays light – and go back to the kitchen thinkin’, He didn’t even use grease or anythin'. He literally pushed it in there.”
“So you couldn’t stop thinking about it?”
“I have to admit, I was fascinated by it. I’ve seen broads in porno mags gettin’ fist fucked, but the poon is made to stretch like that. So I get back to the kitchen, and guess what they tell me?”
“That I’ve got to go back to Yard 3 to give a CO a tray. And the CO is right by Cindy’s cell.”
“Which, naturally, you happened to return to?”
“And then what happened?”
“Oh, dude, do you really wanna know?”
If you were in Max’s position would you stay away from or return to the scene of the shampoo-bottle show? And if you would return, why?
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Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood