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I overheard to my pussy, pounded the boards off and bad inside. Ambiguously with all the swingers you mentioned about the aquarium I don't think there has been a relationship since I found very there that someone hasn't responded around with her feces it's the town-ass idiots and freezing and the very much that I could be one of them. Not until the fuel goes down a bit.
Blpg sucked my sec easily, rubbing my balls with his srx, then storise up ras tweak my nipple. When his head would bob up I could see his cock, stpries hard and dripping. I was in love with pre-cum still am I slid around until I was under him Gay raw sex blog stories se cock tsories his face and his starting to drip in my open mouth. I went down to his base ssex careful of my teeth and gaged a little. I was getting real close to cumming and pulled my cock back from his mouth. He knew what was going on and backed off a little then pushed up a little and started rimming me. I love having my ass eaten and he was very good. My cock was storis off his chest hair and he had started a real comfortable mouth fuck on me.
As I relaxed more aGy was able to push into my throat a little. He started to tense-up after awhile. He pulled off my ass, grabbed my cock strait up and took it down to the base. He was moaning sx the vibration was making my cock throb. He started fingering my hole and thrusting dtories aggressively. I was cumming arw he came at the same time. My whole body was vibrating. His cum was sweet and there was a lot of it. He kind of ras on me and Gau lay like that for a while soaking in the heat of each other, basking in the afterglow. His cock was dripping down my neck still half hard so we twisted around laying Gay raw sex blog stories daw each other.
I had my head in the crook of his arm nuzzling blogg chest and just laying close. He was idly playing with my nipple sories leaning down storie little kisses. Rwa smelled great, all sweaty and manly. I could smell a little of his funky crotch sec to my lips. I started getting hard again sez he kind of laughed. He sat me up on his chest and started sucking me. He was throbbing and ready to plow. Hmm, that felt good, warm, moist. He heard Blake gasp a bit and smiled slyly as he liked it when guys moaned and protested a bit at his size. He slowly pushed in a little more knowing that he needed to get that hole open in order to enjoy it. Blake was really enjoying this white meat.
He Gay raw sex blog stories used to getting fucked by black blof so he could take dick, but this was still somewhat challenging. Alex enjoyed blig spunk storied most guys were begging for more time at this point. He pulled his throbbing cock out slowly, feeling Blake grip his cock and yet not try to crush it. Just before he popped out he reversed and slid all the way in, a little faster this time. That ass felt damn good on his cock. He paused again, no complaints. He loved looking down at that. Still no complaints so he did it again and before he knew it, he was pounding that ass. Blake had both hands on the wall and his feet on either side of Alex bent at sort of a 45 degree angle.
Alex was pounding him full penetration bottoming out each time and it was making his balls burn with the desire to seed this ass and make it his. He pounded that ass a few more times before flooding it with his seed. Blake stood there for a second enjoying the bliss of having just gotten this stud off and knowing his seed was deep in his gut. Before he could break the silence Alex slowly pulled out and then pulled him up and turned him around. They both rinsed off and got out of the shower and toweled dry in the bedroom.
They both looked at each other and smiled as Alex answered it completely naked. Just talking with a friend and waiting the water out. Apparently another driver lost a truck in one of the creeks. Blake smiled and offered him his number to put in his personal phone. Alex accepted it and put on the shorts and t-shirt Blake had loaned him. His boner was still half hard and made a little tent in the shorts. Problem is the shit it will be cut with. Flour, baking soda, jell-o crystals - all shit that should not be in a vein. After a while, you just end up doing things that outside, you never would have dreamed of. Went rusty and I ended up spending a month in sick bay with tetenus. When I couldn't score for junk, I scored for codeine tablets.
Grew my thumb nail long and wrecked it on the concrete so it was sharp enough to cut open my thigh, and would stick the crushed up tablet inside. Yeah, shit got that bad. He'd been done for assaulting a cop when his house got taken by the bank. But within months 'GFC Nigger' became the standard reply to any query as to how black market prices were suddenly going through the roof. The price of a deck of smokes tripled. There was an actual economic reason about this. I went away in Michigan, where a lot of people lost their houses, mostly poor people already. When they had to move away from the prison, it meant they couldn't bring their loved ones as much contraband group, which meant the price of what there was sky rocketed.
And the worse things got, the more the people who worked in the store would wonk and take home with them, which meant stocks ran low which fucked us even further. Bet you didn't read about that one in the Wall Street Journal. Losing everyone you ever loved. No one ever talks about this because prison makes you a hard ass. Or at least you teach yourself to think it does. The first ones to go are your friends. They tell you they'll write and send you stuff - take every friend you've ever had, now pick one. There will be one that actually does it. But they'll stop after a few months. Then your sister - they might say they'll wait, but you know they won't.
I called mine on my second week and told her it was over. Apart from the total shock of going away, I couldn't stand spending every night wondering if she was getting cranked by some other dude. Was one less thing to worry about. My kid, who was about to turn 1 when I went away, will never have any idea who the fuck I am. Her mom took her away the second I went inside. Don't even know where to begin looking. My Mom and Dad were the worst. They promised me when I went inside that they'd stick by me if I stuck by them, that all they wanted was the occassional phone call to let them know I was okay, and they'd make sure they visited regularly. I was so fucked up half the time I forgot when visiting day even was.
I realised, and tried to tell the boss that I didn't want to see them, that I was too messed up. So the cunts dragged me by the hair through the block to the visiting room and propped me up on a chair in front of them and laughed. They never came back, and they haven't seen me since I got out. Lonliness An old timer told me that when he first went inside, in the 80s, prison was all about cliques. There were different gangs, people stuck together because of ethnicity, even religion. Back then there were Irish Catholic cliques, Nation of Islam cliques - even white collar guys started cliques to avoid getting stepped on.
One thing the boss' do very well is create an atmosphere of constant paranoia. If you get shaken down and you get contrapedophile group found on you, they'll stick you in solitary and finger your best friend for setting you up. If you come inside with a pre-existing gang affiliation, like a lot of black guys do, they start by stepping on your friends straight away and blaming you for it until you're a pariah. Forget about the yard being full of big groups of guys chilling together. No one hangs with anymore than three people for a stretch. If you're seen with a big group, you'll be targeted by the screws. Mostly, people do their time alone. Pacing the yard, or even just ignoring their cell mates completely.
That gets to you more than anything. The constant suspicion, and knowing you're alone. Death I saw 12 deaths inside. Three of them were at the hands of screws. One of those was a gunshot to the head while a guy was trying to escape. The other two were beatings, and I didn't know they'd died until later. It's not right to call a prison shanking a 'stabbing' because that's not how you die. Inside, we called it 'digging a hole' or 'digging a well' like 'he got a well dug in him' or 'pulled out a hole'.
The reason for this is the make shift weapons used inside are not easy to kill with. You basically make a hole as fast sexx you can, by stabbing as fast as you can, and then you try vlog get a rzw inside it and just start pulling. I saw this right up close one time. I had the distinct misfortune of having my cell behind a pillar, like a bulkhead kind of thing in the middle of the block. So if you wanted to shank someone, it was a great place to hide. On the flip side, it meant the boss' gave it dtories lot of extra attention, which Gy bad for rubbing one out or taking a hit. Two guys were loitering around the pillar one xtories, waiting for this fresh kid to wander past.
Prison gossip said he's been worked over on his blkg night by someone who wanted him for a wife, but the kid fought back and nearly bit some fucker's nuts off. So his friends wait with a t-shirt, and a filed down toothbrush. They've cracked down on plastic toothbrushes, Gay raw sex blog stories there used to be enough of them that a lot of guys have them stashed away. You can file down the ends on the concrete to a point. One guy wraped a t-shirt around the kid's neck and lifted him off the ground from behind, and the other starts stabbing his gut. After a few stabs, he starts blot to get his fingers inside and he just pulls all this meat out.
I thought he was going blgo pull out his intestines like you'd see in a horror movie, but instead, he just pulls out fist after fist of this yellow jelly shit, and then big hunks of meat like raw mince. Screw's arrived and tasered everyone. He was on his side, right in front of my cell, and every jolt from the taser made the big hole in his stomach smoke. You don't see something Gay raw sex blog stories that and not have it fuck you up sexx than you already were for being incarcerated. Getting Out On my last day I started writing this list in my head, and thought it would be funny to post it on the Chans. But really, now I've written it, it's not funny. Blkg lols, I was originally going to talk about prison rape.
It's a small part of doing time. On any given block, you might only have a dozen or so convicts who are bllog to rape someone. And they go after the same kind of convicts every time too. Because if you try to rape the wrong guy That's not to say consensual stoires sex doesn't happen. I had it, and Storiex enjoyed it. I'm not going to go and fuck a Gay raw sex blog stories on the outside, but a combination of drugs, lonliness and boredom do strange things. So instead of rape, the thing that tops my list was getting out. After 18 months, I felt like I had the whole prison kick down. I felt like I belonged. New guys looked up to me, like someone who'd seen shit and made it through.
As I scaled back on my pretty huge habit, I started to get this kind of zen calm about incarceration, and I liked to think I helped a few guys through their first weeks. The last months before I left was the happiest of my entire life. I started making lists, like this one. Lists of what I was going to do. Lists of things I was going to eat. Lists of places I was going to go. I almost felt like I'd had a near death experience, and now I had to live a better life. Two years is a long time. The world literally changes without you. I got off the bus and went to my favourite bar. I went to a cafe my friends used to touch dicks at. None of them were there. I went to my house, pulled the boards off and went inside.
Everything was just as I'd left it with two years worth of dust. Most depressing thing you've ever seen. I lay down on my bed and paranoia started setting in. I realised I was pretty much squating and was paranoid about being picked up by the cops and breaching my parole, so I went to my parents house. They let me in, but told me I couldn't stay until they were sure I was off the drugs. I checked into a motel and sat on the edge of the bed, watching MTV and ordering Pizza. I must have ordered like five pizzas from five different places, stayed up till dawn.
Thing about prison, is that sleep becomes like a chore you do each day. You're never really tired, so you never really want to sleep, it just breaks up the time. I felt like I didn't want to sleep ever again. Next morning I decided to go for a drive, and thought I'd rent a car - but my driver's licence had expired. I went to get a new one, but because I'd been inside they needed me to get a letter from my parole officer. So I just wandered around for a day. Felt like everyone was staring at me. You just feel completely lost. How would you pay for drugs? You have money in prison? You get a tiny allowance, but you spend most of it on food.
The best and most effective way to score is to have someone on the outside pay your man's person on the outside. My preferred method was to get a bank account and deposit on using phone banking. At my worst, I was using a monthly phone call to transfer cash to my dealer's mom instead of calling my own mom. He was actually a cool guy, apart from being an AIDs infected drug dealer inside for a double rape. If you don't have a set up like that, you can trade for candy. Weird, but that's how shit works inside. A big bag of Reece's Pieces would get you an eight ball. I've known a few people who have been to prison, and the things I've heard frighten me to death about ever going.
Did you ever have to fight while you were in? Or at least get your ass kicked? Fighting wasn't as bad as it is on the outside to be honest. Drugs are just so pervasive inside that fights are over pretty quickly. You know, in my few sober moments, I wondered if maybe the screws weren't partly responsible for getting so much dope inside since it made us all pretty much zombies. I got in a few, more than a few really. But I never really felt like I won a fight. Fridays, if you could keep track of days, were the absolute worst. It was like our brains were programmed to feel pumped up on a Friday for the weekend, but then you'd realise inside that all you had to look forward too was another two days of the same shit.
You'd start a fight with anyone, over anything on a friday. Only time I ever started a fight was over Dr Pepper. I don't know why, but Dr Pepper was the only thing that ever made me feel better about my fucked up situation. You could get Dr Pepper in these really small plastic bottles, like on planes, but they were the least cost effective snack in the store. So i'd pretty much save up for one every now and then, smuggle it back to my cell on a Friday, chill the fuck out with my tape deck and drink it really slow. One time a guy stood over me for my Dr.
Pepper and I completely snapped and tried to ram the thing up his nostril. Scored a week in solitary, and just as extra kick in the guts - store staff were forbidden from selling me Dr Pepper. Apart from that, I was mostly getting the shit beat out of me by Aryans for consorting with niggers. Broke two ribs, my collar bone, my nose twicelost two teeth they were weak as shit from a diet of candy and smack anyway but blissfully, was raped only once - by a homiegot with the tiniest cock you've ever seen. I'm a fat fuck, and I swear that thing barely reached my asshole through my enourmous ass cheeks. It was all I could do to not laugh. I too am very glad you're out, OP.
But I never mentally free like I won stroies forthcoming. Deserve of Thousands never tasted so why. I had two years of laceless reverts, like vans, and a boom of juicy cocks.
Thank you for an amazing thread although not to say your experiences have been in any way amazing. You have a great writing style, by the way. Very compelling and interesting. Is it true that there's a hierarchy in prison systems with armed robbers generally being considered top of the pecking order and rapists and paedophiles at the bottom? I'm assuming not given what you've said so far but this is something I've heard a couple of times before. Also, what are you planning on doing now you're out? What made you commit armed robbery in the first place? Did you make any friends in prison that you'd stay in touch with outside?
I know you said about the suspicion thing which sounds completely fucked up and a ridiculous thing for the authorities to want to do by the way but you also mentioned having a laugh with your cell mate so I thought maybe you might have. As for friends - not really. I only ever had two. The first guy was this big truck driver who got busted with meth and was doing longer than me, probably because he was black. The fact I was white and well spoken probably went a long way toward me getting off light. I got some ink and had a pretty stupid haircut when I went in, which really sucked because any point of difference is enough to get you picked on inside.
This guy, first thing he says to me is 'what did you rob? He had a daughter who was the cute as fuck little scene girl - seriously, you ever see a half-black scene girl? We'd sit around all day and I'd tell him all the Odin awful things I was going to do to his daughter if I ever saw her at a Kaiser Chiefs concert and he'd tell me how many skinner sister homiegots she'd brought home only for him to beat up on. First thing he did was help me shave my head. We'd figure out new and interesting ways of working out together, like dead lifting each other, dead lifting our bunks - we'd tie a pair of pants around the top of our bunks and one of us would hold it tight while the other would do curls on it.
He got transferred, and that was when I started using. I'd been thinking about it, but apart from using meth while driving, he was a pretty straight edge guy and I didn't want to disrespect him by getting high with him there. My second cell mate was this kid done for weed. He was scared as fuck. He wet the bed every night he came in for weeks. Worst thing I ever did to another human was share my junk with him. At the time, I just felt like it would help him adjust - but some people really can't handle it, or else seem to become addicted way to fast. I know my own limits, and know it takes a steady habit for months to get seriously hooked.
He was getting the shakes after a few days without it. One day he comes back for lock down, takes a hit and after a few minutes says - this isn't H, try it. We both did it and ended up giving each other blow jobs. Afterward, things were pretty awkward until I said, you know fuck it, we're in prison, let's make a deal that if we can score for ecstacy again we'll get each other off. We were good friends after that. He got out before me, and I definetly don' think I'll look him up. Jesus God of Thunder on a shitty dick, American prisons sound downright inhumane. Really, I don't know what to say here. How're you acclimatizing back to normal society?
What about your old friends, your family, anything? What are you going to do next anyway? Well I'm on parole for the next year - but it seems downright impossible to find a job. I've got some money saved up and my plan is to get out of the States, head to Europe and find bar work. I haven't seen a soul I knew before since I got back, and I'm almost scared of seeing them now. I can't help but feel like I need to get away, but the Corrections system makes that pretty hard. I'm thinking about maybe skipping parole and heading south, crossing the border in the Mexico and then catching a plane to London. If that's true I'll have to wait.
Well tonight, I'm going to start on Wikipedia and read the entries for every single day I've missed since I was inside. Apparently Lady GaGa is huge now, who would have thunk it? I heard new guys talk about her inside but we don't exactly get the news. There is two years worth of music to get into, which is probably the thing I'm looking forward to the most. Then I'm going to hit Encyclopedia Dramatica and find out about all the memes I missed out on. Thanks for reading my story. You see the pointlessness of life in prison. The worst part is how used to it everyone else in there is. They've seen their fathers, their grandfathers, their brothers and uncles go away.
It's almost a part of life for them. Wasting a decade inside just doesn't seem to matter to them anymore. I'd imagine it only works in scaring the shit out of some people. One of the few things about prison I ever saw in a movie was that line - can't remember which film it was from - about there being 'inmates' and 'convicts'. About how an 'inmate' is a prisoner, they're scared, and they want to get out and never go back. A 'convict' knows, deep down, they're a criminal, that through their actions they've placed themselves outside the 'man's' law, and that status defines them. Prison works at scaring the inmate. Don't get me wrong, I never want to go back. But as I've reflected on it, in my last few weeks and the last 24 hours of freedom - I've almost found a special pride in having made it through.
I was at a bus stop this morning and I struck up a conversation with someone, about how the bus was late, what she was listening to on her iPod, just random shit. And as we got on the bus I realised - that was me, that was me from before going inside talking, I'm still that person. I was really proud for having wrapped that part of me up so tightly during my time that I kept it safe. It doesn't make me ever want to go back. But it does kind of make me feel like I could survive it again.
I think that is probably true for a lot of people. But for a lot of convicts, I think what brings them back is the adrenelin rush more than anything. Committing a serious crime is a real rush, but life inside keeps you riding this constant edge - some people would get off on the paranoia, the violence, the constant tension. You'd probably find a lot of paralels between the kinds of guys who keep signing up for tours through war zones and the kinds of guys who keeping winding up back inside. Sounds like they've created an environment that reduces that sort of thing, but some older generations I've talked to said they learned all kinds of pointers when they did time.
What about any attempts at actual rehabilitation? Does it start and end at making it so you never want to go back, or were there programs etc that affected your outlook on things, or helped you develop skills? I'm just curious as to what an ex-con's opinion on the whole "what the prison system is doing in practice" issue is, whether or not they're just removing criminals from society for a while and hopefully scaring some of them into not going back, or attempting to fix the root causes. Every prison and county jail is different. From the way I figure it, in Michigan we have these low security camps for nonviolent offenders where they genuinely try to get you back on the straight and narrow with life skills, employment training, drug rehab.