Sorry for the long delay...lol...I've been living.....this story isn't nearly complete, but here's another part.....thanks to all that wrote to me in the past....
Tommy 4
I awoke the next morning as I always did; when the grill of the sallyport opened to let in the C/O's with our breakfast. Large portable carts that are used to keep food warm in institutional-type settings were used to bring our breakfast. They rarely worked, and more often than not the food was cool. C/O's would make a circuitous route around the building, stopping at each cell door to pass out the trays to the cell inhabitants one by one. They would open each celldoor one at a time, so the process usually took awhile; there are 100 cells in these types of buildings with 59 on the bottom tier and 50 on the upper. They opened each individually because it wasn't unheard of for convicts to actually rush out of their cells to attack other cells occupants. It didn't happen often, but every now and again, a pair of cells would pop that held enemies and then fun would begin. It's actually quite amusing to see two guys rush down the tier, hoping to get in a nice sticking before the shocked C/O's can respond and shoot them with the block gun, alarm ringing and whistles blowing. Morbidly amusing, I should mention. Why would convicts do that right in front of the guards, knowing they might get shot or, at the least, be pepper-sprayed, you may ask? Well, I doubt that it had anything to do with any unbridled hate they may have had for their potential victims. More likely they were under orders from their particular shotcaller to attack at will. And they'd be in deep shit if the opportunity arose and they didn't take advantage. They could also be PC'ing up. This is where they are having trouble on the yard that might get them hurt on the yard (drug debts, missing an opportunity to attack an enemy, etc.) and the best way out of that scenario is to just attack someone in front of a C/O; then you'd be gaffled up and hauled off to the hole, probably awaiting transfer. You can also go to a C/O and tell them that you are in danger and they'll pull you out that way, but you'll probably end up with a rat jacket because they'll want names and stuff like that. If you attack someone at least you can tell the homies at your new pen you were acting like a warrior. Prison politics are ridiculous, harsh, and inflexible.
Anyway, the breakfast arrived at the building and I awoke Tommy. I didn't touch him, or anything, just called his name. I didn't want to push him too far, too fast. We had plenty of time to get to know each other. And that's what we did over the next few days. Our routine was punctuated by the twice daily deliverance of food (we were given a sack lunch with the morning meal). Most of the time we just laid back and watched the tube, did a little reading, or shot the shit. I learned that Tommy was a pretty good kid. His story was familiar to most cons in the joint: single mom, fairly poor, ditched a lot of school, got caught up with doing drugs, etc. Nothing earth shattering. He was doing a nickel and had ended up classified for a 4 yard because of some carry over points from an earlier suspended sentence. He was close enough to the cutoff that he'd be sent to a level 3 pretty soon; especially with the overcrowding problems on the 4's. In the meantime, he spent most of the day like I did, in gym shorts and nothing else, trying to acclimate to the new situation. I had plenty of opportunity to look him over. My assessment of him had been correct; he was one beautiful kid. I seem to remember that I stopped off at his waist in my description, so I'll finish the job now. That next morning, when he jumped off his bunk for breakfast he was wearing the gym shorts I had given him the night before, I was able to get a look at his lower half. Much like his top, there didn't appear to be much hair on the youngster; perhaps a fine downy covering over his calves, but the thighs looked smooth as silk. His butt was pert and had two cute little dimples just above the crack where his lower back began. It curved gracefully down to meet his hamstrings, and was shapely enough to cause the leg opening of the shorts to hang loose from the thigh causing his legs to look all the more slim. And those legs were surprisingly well defined: I learned later that he had liked to skateboard. His smallish feet were very pale and nicely arched, with fine blue veins running haphazardly across the top. His toes were compact and well formed, having healthy looking nails, albeit needing a trim.
I had continued my nightly masturbation routine and Tommy had never commented on it. Not did I ever hear him relieve himself that way. It had been three days and I had even yet to see his cock; that's a hard thing to do when the commode is a foot from the end of my bunk! But, Tommy had taken to turning himself completely when he urinated and the only two times I knew he had taken a dump was at night and the cell lights had been off not affording me a view. At least he understood the concept of the courtesy flush. After I felt he was becoming more comfortable in my presence I started to do those things that would allow me to touch him, if just briefly. Things like punching him playfully on the arm, poking him the ribs, grabbing his foot while he was lying on his bunk, etc. It wasn't until the evening of day three that I really began the seduction of Tommy.
It was probably a little after the 8 o'clock count and I was a bit restless. I got up and started pacing the seven feet back and forth from the desk to the door, stopping every now and then to peer out the celldoor window. Tommy was up on his bunk, lying on his back, reading one of the novels I had loaned him from the box of about 40 I had stashed. He was dressed only in the gym shorts I had given him, no t-shirt or socks^×it was still pretty hot. After a couple of laps around the cell, I decided to step up Tommy's education. I casually sauntered over to his bunk and flung my arm up to lie next to his calf, touching it. The bunk bed was just at my armpit, so a perfect height.
"How do you like the book?" I enquired, keeping a firm pressure along his calf.
"It's cool, I read the first one, but haven't read the rest." He said looking up over the top of the book; it was the "Children of Dune".
"Yeah, I've read the whole series twice, I like Sci-Fi"