Turning Out Pretty Boy - chapter one - Gay for the Stay

Turning Out Pretty Boy - chapter one - Gay for the Stay

* This story is fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or living persons is coincidental.
Personal experiences – images, events, memories, and words – flavor my writing, and while elements of this story may be (and often are) based in fact, the characters are entirely fictional.

* Unprotected sex is depicted. In real life, be safe! Don't gamble.

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Special kudos to one of my readers, mike, for his help with the prison life depicted in the story. Thanks much!

TURNING OUT PRETTY BOY

BY COLTON AALTO

CHAPTER ONE - GAY FOR THE STAY

The prison guards delivered the final indignity of my disastrous day, shoving me into a grim cell and intentionally jerking the shackles around my ankles. I lost balance, went sprawling, and banged my head and elbows on the concrete floor, causing me to grimace in pain. Looking up at the sneering guards, my temper flared for the umpteenth time and I sputtered, "You fucking assholes! I'm not gonna forget this!"

My burst of outrage was met with big laughs from the two guards. The older one smirked while the younger one slammed the cell door shut and gave me an earnest look that I knew was totally insincere. "I really hope you don't forget, pretty boy. I hope you remember this a long, loooong time. You're gonna have a nice, lengthy stay here, so you'll have plenty of time to recall being face down and ass up in a jail cell." He turned to the older guard. "What do you think, O'Rourke? Something tells me we got a boy who's gonna be on his hands and knees constantly, ass up and face down. I'd say the position suits him. He was made for it."

O'Rourke chuckled. "Welcome to your new home, shithead. It'll be a good place to work on a major attitude adjustment, and you're overdue for one."

Furious, I yelled, "Fuck yourselves, faggots!"

They laughed again and O'Rourke gave me a shit-eating grin. "Now wriggle your pretty little tush for us so we can say goodbye, Sunshine." Assholes. They'd started calling me Sunshine early in the day and ramped it up as we shuttled from the local jail to the courthouse, back to the jail, again to the courthouse and finally to the prison. It was my fault. After the first time they used the nickname, I complained to the judge. It was a fucking stupid move, not only because it was designed to embarrass the guards but also I unintentionally revealed that it pissed me off. The judge ignored me and after that the guards made sure to rub it in.

Ryan, the younger guard, blew me a kiss. "Sweet dreams, Miss Sunshine."

O'Rourke added, "Nighty-night. Enjoy the accommodations."

They were unable to keep from guffawing as they disappeared down the hallway. Admittedly they were more than justified in treating me like shit. I'd been a complete jerk while in their custody, and frankly my behavior warranted much worse than they'd dished out. All in all they'd showed considerable restraint. For my part, I'd had the worst day of my life and was sorta in shock at being jailed. I'd skated along for years without it coming to this.

It wasn't that I didn't deserve to be where I was. By all rights I was overdue. I'd been a holy terror pretty much my whole life, and I'd gotten steadily worse as I pushed the envelope. Still, I danced through problem after problem caused by my behavior. I didn't hesitate to use every trick in the book to escape serious repercussions – telling an elaborate story of woe about my terrible childhood, bemoaning and embellishing my awful family situation, begging for a second chance, a third chance, and more, and giving my best pouty, scared, lost-little-boy look. Yeah, I even produced a tear now and then when I thought it might be useful. All fair game.

My childhood and family situation were indeed pathetic. My dad split before I was out of the womb. Without a doubt I would have been an abortion victim if my mom had the money. As it was, she never kicked the drug and alcohol habits that dominated her life. She supported us mostly by taking up with whatever man would have her and, when that didn't work, selling herself on the streets.

By the time I was five she was whoring pretty much nonstop. We lived in a motel room, so I watched her getting fucked two, three times a night. Quite a childhood education. Most kids got Big Bird and Sesame Street. I got live porn. She turned more tricks than the ones I witnessed nightly, but she generally didn't use the motel room for blow jobs and sometimes guys would take her to their places. Her johns often were spooked by having a little kid watch, so I got banished to the bathroom, which, all things considered, was probably good for me. I slept in the bathtub a lot of nights. As I got older, I got banished outside, spending plenty of late nights on the streets. You can get into a helluva lot of trouble there and I did.

Finally she got arrested for prostitution for the umpteenth time and I was placed in the first of a long, long series of foster homes. I never lasted in any of them longer than a few months. Early on, I had chances to be adopted, but my mom wouldn't relinquish custody. By the time she changed her mind, I was too old to be a viable adoption candidate, particularly with the disappointingly voluminous record of juvenile delinquency that I'd begun to accumulate.

The one thing that I had going for me was my looks. Take my picture and you'd believe it was torn from the pages of a teen magazine. You know, the handsome, impossibly cute, teenaged boy showing plenty of skin – guaranteed to drive teeny boppers crazy. Sun bleached, curly to wavy blond hair, blue eyes, long jaw line, and perfect facial features. Flawless, tight, impossibly smooth skin over firm muscles and tight abs. Halfway through my teenage years, I filled out enough to give me a slender, ripped body. The upbringing my parents bequeathed me was crap but the genes were spectacular. I was hot and I knew it.

I was barely 15 when a dude said he wanted to photograph me and send the pics to modeling agencies. When it became apparent that he was more interested in getting into my pants rather than photographing me, I told him to fuck off. After that I rejected a number of similar proposals without a second thought. Well, I did give some thought to them; I was always interested in making a quick buck and the thought I could make easy money by taking my shirt off was intriguing. But I wasn't about to let some old dude do me, so I hadn't followed up on any of the offers.

My looks opened a lot of doors. Sex with girls, for starters. For me it was a game to see how quickly I could bed them. After I fucked a cunt once, I was done, ready to move on to my next sexual conquest. It was much more about the challenge of getting another notch on my belt rather than any effort have a relationship. I cared about getting my rocks off, certainly not for any of the girls I used.

I could play that game with boys and did. My looks worked there too, but it took comradery, which I was happy to conjure up. Getting a dude to give it up was different than with girls. With girls you had to tell them how pretty they were and how great their boobs looked – even though most of the girls I fucked barely had tits. You had to make them think you'd be in love with them forever and that you firmly believed they were the one for you. With guys it was all about experimenting, bonding, and doing guy stuff together. And then convincing them to let me put my cock in their mouths and up their asses. Afterward, I coldly relayed the bad news that, despite whatever I may have said before, we weren't flip flop fucking because I only topped and no, they weren't putting their prick in my mouth either. The good thing about sex with guys was that afterward you could get them to do almost anything by threatening to tell everyone they were fags who liked sucking dick and getting buttfucked. I don't know if I was exactly a sex maniac, but I spent a helluva lot more time on fucking than on schoolwork.

My looks helped a ton with the authorities, too. I wasn't above giving a sob story about my hard life and making sure I looked directly into their eyes and batted my long eyelashes, occasionally letting a tear fall down my cheek. It worked on teachers, principals, social workers, policemen, and yes, judges. Not that it's fair, but the simple fact is that people find a good-looking kid more sympathetic than one without the looks. It's not even conscious. It's not like people are thinking, "I'll cut this kid a break because he's cute." It just happens. I was every innocent child actor playing a misunderstood and mistreated youth in the movies. For me, dealing with the authorities was the same game as getting sex – work every angle you can, play your cards right and see what you can get away with. I played the game to the hilt.

How had it gone so wrong? Mostly it was the clock: I'd turned 18. Before that, I'd legally been a juvenile and blithely gamed the system. I ignored the warnings that things might change. When I turned 17, people weren't willing to cut me as much slack as they had when I was 16. A lot less slack. I'd noticed the same thing when I turned 16, but it was more dramatic at 17. At 18, it was lights out.

My age wasn't my only problem. There was the unfortunate fact that my record of misdeeds got longer and longer. Dangerously long. The final straw was moving from the juvenile court system and the judge I'd played like a violin for at least a decade. I'd been before him so many times that I knew him better than any of my sets of foster parents. Deliver an embellished sad sob story about my horrendous upbringing, bat my long eyelashes at him with a sad look, and shed a crocodile tear or ten, tell him I'd really try hard to do better, and he couldn't bear to crack down on me. It was such a perfect formula that I didn't think it would ever fail.

But it did.

As a freshly minted, smooth-cheeked 18-year-old, I was sent to an adult court and faced a young, stern-looking woman. She cut me a break the first time I was in front of her and I mistakenly believed things were going to be the same as they had been in juvenile court. Maybe even better, I reasoned, because she was a woman and presumably softer than a male. Bad stereotype. I timed my second fuckup poorly, only days after I'd told her my sob story, and got hauled back in front of her barely a week after my first visit. My teen model looks, my mop of surfer blond hair, my beautiful blue eyes, my boyish charm, my sad story – nothing saved me. Not even some manufactured tears. She threw the book at me, telling me she should never have given me a second chance given my record and that she was certainly not giving me a third chance.

She swapped probation for prison and I got shipped to jail. It happened so quickly that I was shackled and behind bars before I considered the possibility it might happen. Five fucking years! The only good news was that I was shipped to a prison facility for younger men – 18 to 20-year-olds – which State had opened in one of the periodic efforts to reform the penal system. At least I wasn't going to be imprisoned with hardened criminals, although deep down I knew hardened criminal status didn't have a minimum age.

Looking up from the floor as the guards' footsteps grew faint, I realized a young white dude occupied one of the twin beds in the cell and was staring at me. He watched intently, his big green eyes trained on me with a mixture of curiosity and scorn. Still angry about the way my day had gone, I glared at him as I hauled myself up, spouting, "What the fuck are you looking at, asshole?"

"You," he replied calmly, conceding the obvious. The fucking obvious. Great. I had a smart aleck for a cellmate who didn't know enough to apologize or look away. Not only that, he couldn't resist a dig; he grinned and asked in a snarky manner, "Your surfboard parked outside, Sunshine?"

I rolled my eyes. I got the surfer boy comment with annoying frequency, a consequence of my long, wavy mop of bleached blond hair and skin that, while pale, tanned easily. I may have looked like I walked off the beach, but I couldn't even swim, let alone surf. I responded angrily. "My name isn't Sunshine, fuckhead!"

"What is it?"

"None of your fucking business."

"That's a long name. I like Sunshine better. Fits your sunny personality."

I glared. The dude was shirtless, an obvious concession to the heat in the jail cell. No air conditioning in lockups. As much as I wanted to punch him in the face for calling me Sunshine, I thought better of it. He was by no means a body builder, but he had fleshy muscles packed on a lanky frame. I wasn't a fighter. He might be. Case closed.

Instead I growled, "Fuck off!" and collapsed onto the other bed. It was narrow, hard as a rock and the shackles weren't comfortable. I just wanted to pass out and sleep it off, not that my situation would be any better when I woke up. Not that I was sleepy, either. It was only fucking seven in the evening, and it was hotter than hell in the cell.

"You must have really pissed the guards off. They're supposed to take the shackles off once you're in a cell. I guess they'll leave `em on all night. They're probably writing a report right now where they claim the keys were lost so they couldn't unlock them. What'd you do to them?"

"None of your fucking business." Shit. It dawned on me how uncomfortable it was gonna be to sleep on a rock-hard bed with my ankles shackled together. I couldn't even take my jeans off, which meant the only way I might get cool was to shove them down to my ankles. What a great picture that would make! My day had gotten worse and worse, and now the night was shaping up to be more of the same.

"It's not a good idea to piss the guards off. They can make your life miserable if they want to, and those dudes seemed like they really want to dump on you." I wasn't in the mood for more bad news, so I turned to the wall, closed my eyes, and ignored him.

He didn't take the hint. "First time in here?"

Shit. I had a talky nerd in the bed next to me. "Fuck off," I growled.

"Yeah, I had a hard time the first time I landed in jail. It sucked. But after a while, it's not so bad."

What a fucking idiot! Not so bad?? What was `not so bad' about being incarcerated? What was `not so bad' about bare concrete walls, windows with iron bars, and walls topped with razor wire? What was `not so bad' about the prospect of being shipped off to another prison, which would be considerably harsher, in a couple of years when I turned 21 and was too old for this facility?

"You'll get used to it. Everybody does. I mean, it's easier once you figure out it isn't like the outside. You just have to understand it's a completely different world inside and, you know, you gotta figure out how it works and accept that you hafta do things you wouldn't do on the outside. Everybody does. Sooner you stop fighting it, the better off you'll be."

The kid wouldn't shut up. I exhaled, accepting the reality that I was wide awake and wasn't sleeping anytime soon. I rolled over and snarled, "What the fuck makes you a goddam expert?"

His eyes lit up and he said brightly, "This is my third time, Sunshine." I resisted the urge to lunge across the room and strangle him for calling me Sunshine, but I didn't start fights I couldn't finish and there weren't many I could. Fighting wasn't my style; I had other ways to get back at guys. Besides, with my ankles shackled, I wasn't going to lunge anywhere except maybe face-first onto the floor.

"I was only out for three months before I violated probation and got sent back. But I kinda like it better here."

I closed my eyes, shaking my head. My talky nerd cellmate was insane. He liked being locked up.

God, maybe I'd wake up tomorrow and all of this will be a dream. Right. Like that was going to happen.

Resigned to my fate, I sat up, pulled off my T-shirt and put my back against the bare concrete wall of the cell. At least it felt cool in the heat. Gazing across the room, I wondered if I could talk my cellmate into sucking me off or even letting me bone his ass. I hadn't gotten my cock in a hole for long enough that my balls were reminding me it was past time to get a load out. As much as I hated to, in prison I'd probably have to resort to whacking myself off, but privacy for that sort of thing promised to be in short supply in prison. Getting my roommate to get me off would be sweet. As long as I had to listen to the dork, maybe I could figure out a way to make it happen.

"How the hell could you like it better here?" As soon as I asked, I had a funny feeling that I'd made a mistake and taken the bait. Answering him only encouraged the doofus, and I might not want to know what he was about to say in response to my question.

The kid smiled and shrugged. His slender frame was muscular enough to separate him from the usual skinny teenager. His big ears stuck out from his head and a spray of freckles covered his face, arms, and shoulders. He looked like a farmer, complete with a farmer's tan. He was a fucking hayseed from bumfuck nowhere. Admittedly one who'd done enough work on back 40 to develop some hard muscles.

"Like I said, it's a different world, but I got used to it. Once you accept what goes down inside, it's predictable and I guess I kinda like that. I spent enough time here that it feels comfortable."

He paused before lowering his voice and adding in a conspiratorial fashion, "The real reason, though, is Jamar."

"Jamar? Who the fuck is Jamar?"

He took a big breath, exhaled, and with dazed eyes and a silly smile said, "The most awesome, masculine dude I've ever met. Being with him is amazing. He's big, Black and beautiful."

I closed my eyes. The goddam hayseed had a crush on some brother! I really wanted to just roll over and go to sleep rather than hear more of the story, but that wasn't going to happen. I resigned myself to the inevitable. "Exactly what do you mean, `being with him'?"

"You know, spending time with him. Before I got out, he was my cellmate for the last six months, so just being around him and, well, doing stuff for him."

"Like what kind of stuff?"

"Well, like, everything. Doing his laundry, cleaning his room, fetching stuff for him."

Shit. I was savvy enough to know what went on behind prison walls. The hayseed was a fag. I finished his thought for him. "And sucking his big black cock and letting him sperm you in the ass with it."

He giggled. "Yeah! At first I didn't like it. I mean at first it hurt like all get out and I hated it. But I kinda got myself into a position where that was my best option. By far. And after a while, well, my outlook changed and I started loving it."

"You're a faggot."

"No! That's the bizarre thing. I'm straight! I never dream about dicks. Well, other than Jamar's. I dream about girls and their cunts. I've been with my girlfriend outside forever and I love her! I never in a million years thought I'd have sex with a dude. No offense, but it just isn't my thing. I've always been okay with dudes who are gay because I figured it was less competition for me and, I mean, so what if that's what you're into? But a couple of months inside and I began to see how superior men of color are. I gotta tell you, every white inmate knows it. Guards, too. They all deny it, but deep down they know and if they're honest they admit it. It's obvious men of color are the alpha males and white boys are the submissive betas. And Jamar, well, he's amazing. Powerful, masculine, and in control. When he turned me out it felt totally right."

"Turned you out?"

"Yeah, you know, turned me into a boy who takes it in the ass. I'd been staring at him a lot because in the back of my mind I was thinking he was awesome. Anyway, when his jail wife got out he picked me for a replacement. Looking back, I was so fucking lucky, but at the time I didn't think so. I was terrified. It would have been easier if I'd been gay although the gay boys don't have it easy inside. They don't have it easy outside, either. But it didn't take Jamar more than like a few days to turn me out. It was almost like he had a tight script and a system to do it.

"He started by going out of his way to be nice. That went on long enough that I began to relax and accept it. It kinda pumped me up that the stud seemed to like me. I should have known something was up. I mean, I'd seen it happen to others. That stage only lasted so long. I said something he didn't quite like and out of the blue he delivered a bitch slap that rattled my brain. That was a wakeup call and I knew what was in the cards. They say that inside you can fight, get fucked or climb a tree... and there ain't no trees. I'm an okay fighter but I'd been inside long enough to know fighting every fucking day sucks. Jamar never raped one of his boys or even coerced them, but he never had to. They just figured out the situation and knew what they had to do. I mean, it's pretty damn obvious. And really, just because a dude fucks you, it doesn't make you gay. You have to stop thinking about it that way and just go with the flow. So what if a dude has his cock up your ass? Doesn't change anything."

"Like hell it doesn't!"

"No, really! After the bitch slap, he was super nice to me again and then out of the blue he asked if I wanted to suck him off. I was too stunned to answer, but he pulled his big snake out of his pants and began stroking it. It was one of those questions that had only one answer. I mean, I suppose I could have said no, but I didn't really want to find out what would happen if I did. I guess I knew deep down that I'd be in that situation ever since he started being nice to me. The next thing I know I'm gagging on his big prick.

"He got close and told me that he'd really appreciate it if I ate his nut and swallowed. It hadn't crossed my mind what I'd do when he climaxed but then and there I knew I was gonna do it. I mean, he didn't make me. I knew what I had to do and did it. Afterward I wanted to wash out my mouth with soap, mouthwash and disinfectant, but he pulled me close to him and explained how lucky I was to have his man seed inside me, how much he appreciated me helping him out, and how much he needed me to relieve the pressure on his big eggs.

"The next day he asked if I wanted to suck him off again, then the day after that, and the day after that. Like every day. I suppose deep down I knew before, but at that moment I knew I'd been turned out. Until something changed, his nut would be in my mouth, on my tongue, and in my stomach every day. He told me I should feel great because I'd made him feel good and that he was grateful for what I'd done. He also left no doubt that I had to work to keep him happy. He said I could be a much better cocksucker and he was sure I'd become the best.

"I knew what was coming next and dreaded it. I was petrified. Sure enough, it happened after about a week. I'd just sucked him off, but rather than zipping up he told me he was still really horny but knew he could count on me to help him out. He told me to take my shirt off and get on my stomach. He pulled my pants and underwear down and got on top of me, with his big, muscular chest on my bare back and his manhood in between my legs. He didn't shove it in right away. He rubbed his bone in my crack and told me in his deep voice that I was lucky to serve him and he looked after dudes who helped him out.

"As he started to penetrate me, he said, `My cock's gonna hurt when it slides into your asscunt. May hurt a long time. Don't ever think I'm gonna stop just because it hurts you. You're here to get fucked. You're not gonna whine or complain. You're gonna take it because you know you're being bred by a Black man and that's as good as it gets. You knew what was gonna happen to you the first time you saw me. This is just the way it was meant to be here on the inside. If you're lucky, it'll stop hurting and begin to feel good. That's when you'll know how right it is to have my manhood inside you. Deep down, every white boy knows that Black men are superior. You know it too. When I nut in your boi cunt, I'll mark you. It's kinda like a cattle brand, but inside your body where nobody can see it. But I'll know what's there and you will too. You'll always know and be changed for life. You'll know you let a Black stud breed your tight little boi pussy and you'll never be the same. You're here to take my cock, whenever I want, however I want and wherever I want. That's just the way it was meant to be. You're a bright boy and you're not gonna fight it because the story always ends the same way.'

"He spit on his cock put it in my hole. I thought he'd rip my ass to shreds. I don't think I've ever felt anything as painful. The whole time he was whispering in my ear, `I'm inside you. My big black cock is inside your little white boi pussy. It hurts but you know this is how it was meant to be. You're lucky you found a man to breed you right and teach you about Black men and white boys. Don't fight it. Relax that tight asscunt and let me open you up right. Just accept that your ass was always destined to be used by black cocks. But don't worry because I always take care of my white boys. If anybody hassles them, they have me to deal with.'

"He was right that eventually it didn't hurt so much. And then it kinda felt good, in a weird sorta way. When it was over, he whispered in my ear that he liked my boi pussy and was gonna keep me. I hadn't realized it was an audition.

"For some strange reason I kinda got off on having passed the test. And kinda got off on one of the most masculine Black studs in the joint picking me. But I gotta say, that first time he spermed me and took my cherry was really painful. After I relaxed it was, I dunno, strange. Hot, weird, kinky and... awesome.

"All I can tell you is that I looked up to him and admired him more and more every day after that. It got to the point where I couldn't wait for the lights to go out at night, when he'd summon me to his bed and bone me. In the morning I woke up early, eager to take his black snake in my mouth and coax his nut from it. Still nothing I like more than a mouthful of his thick, white jizz."

"That's sick, dude. You're totally gay."

"Eh, see it however you want to. There's a term for guys like me. Gay for the stay, straight the rest of the way. While I'm inside I take it up the ass, which I guess makes me gay. That's where we are so that's all that matters. You gotta forget how things work outside. You'll see how it is soon enough."

"I'm not letting any fucker stick his smelly dick in my mouth or my ass. I'm not even going to touch it."

He smiled and said, "Every newbie says the same thing. And they mean it. But it doesn't take long before they realize things are different here."

"No asshole is gonna turn me out."

"You ever take a dick in your butt?"

"Hell no! Not planning to start either."

"You suck a cock before?"

"Fuck no!"

He was silent for a minute, shaking his head before sighing. "Name's Aidan, by the way. Let me tell you the way I see it, Sunshine.

"Between juvenile reformatory and this place, I've been behind bars for a long, long time. It's my third stint. Remember when I said inside you can fight, get fucked or climb a tree? Well, like I said, there aren't any trees. Meaning, there's no place to run to, no place to escape to, no place to hide. As for fighting, you're not a fighter. Your nose is straight. It's never been broken, has it? Your skin is totally smooth. No scars. Not even little ones. It's tight and perfect. You aren't missing any teeth. Not even chipped ones. You don't even hold yourself like a fighter. You don't have a fighter's instincts. I could tell that when the guards tossed you in here. Bet you never even had a job that required you to lift a finger. And look at your body. Some dudes in here have hands so big they could wrap them around your waist, let alone your neck. It's not like you're 6'4" and are packing 240 pounds of muscle. Fuck, you probably don't even weigh half that!"

I resisted the urge to tell him he was wrong, although it wouldn't have been much of a correction. I weighed more than 120, but not much more, and the difference wouldn't have tilted the playing field. Opening my mouth would only have made his point.

"By the way, there are plenty of dudes inside who are 6'4" and 240. And most of them are mean SOBs."

Aidan was right about me. Rather than fight, my modus operandi was to run to the nearest adult and beg for sympathy until they intervened to save me from getting pounded. In school, plenty of dudes wanted to kick my ass, but my whining had been successful enough that they were afraid to do it, fearing they'd get in trouble.

"So you're not a fighter, which leaves only one option. To top it off, you've got a big, big problem. Well, two problems. The first is you got off on the wrong foot with the guards. That will take a long, long time to overcome. Months. Years. You'll probably be out of here before it happens. I don't think I've ever seen them as pissed off as they were. They'll do little things to make your life miserable. Big things, too. Don't expect them to lift a finger to help you if you get into it with another inmate. I mean, from the way those two guards acted, a dude could punch you out just for the fun of it right in front of them and the whole inmate population and they'd file a report saying you instigated the incident and it was totally your fault.

"As bad as that is, that's not your biggest problem. That's your age and your looks. You're what, barely 18? You're probably the youngest dude in here and the prettiest, by far. A lotta dudes are gonna go after you. You'll be like a trophy. I mean, rape doesn't happen very often – certainly not as often as people on the outside think – but the thing of it is, dudes don't have to rape inside. Guys like you figure out that life is a helluva lot easier when the other inmates leave you alone because you're somebody's else's property. And there's benefits. Jamar's bros treat me nice. I can score cigarettes or food from outside or even drugs, although I'm not into that shit. By the way, absolutely do not do drugs inside. The ones smuggled in are either too potent or contaminated with other shit. Dudes who leave here in a box are more likely to be the victims of a drug overdose than a shiv. Anyway, Jamar's group looks out for me when he isn't around. They're pretty much the only friends I have in here."

At that moment two guards and another inmate – officially called a resident, but that's putting lipstick on a pig – came down the hallway. Aidan watched them closely and I followed his gaze. Neither the guards nor their prisoner glanced at us or said anything, but after they passed, Aidan asked, "See that dude? He look like a faggot to you?"

"Nah." The dude was maybe 6'3" and well-built, with short, light brown hair. Handsome in a white bread sort of way. He looked out of place, but he also looked like he could defend himself.

"You're right. He isn't a faggot. Big football star from the suburbs. Has a hot girlfriend, a cheerleader, who visits him religiously. Never been in trouble before, but he did something serious enough that the judge had no option. First day in here a group of bros were real friendly with him. I mean, real, real friendly. He figured it was because he was a jock, and he got off on having made new friends so quickly. Guys who were cool, gave him stuff, let him lift weights with them, explained how things worked and helped him out. His new buds even told some other bros to fuck off when they hassled him.

"Well, that went on for a while until one day after dinner they all went into a TV room and the bros told the other inmates to split. Then they explained he owed them for what they'd done for him, and what they wanted. No coercion. They asked nicely. Persistent, though.

"He said no. Understandable. But things changed overnight. His friends weren't his friends any longer and worse, he didn't have a friend in the entire joint. Nobody lifted a finger to help him out, even when he needed help against some of the bros who decided to mess with him. He kept saying no for a week.

"He's a smart boy and it became clear that if he didn't help his friends out, they wouldn't help him. If he continued to stiff them, he'd be in deep shit, having made a bunch of enemies and no friends. On top of that he'd be a target for the rest of the population because of what happened. He's in for a long time, so it wasn't like he could hunker down until he got out. But there was a very simple, easy solution. All he had to do was get over his hang up about sucking cock.

"He did. Dude had never had a dick in his mouth, but that night he sucked a helluva lot of black dick. The bros hadn't exactly told him that he'd be swallowing, but when the first dude got close, the rest of the group held him down so he had no choice but to swallow. He ate a heckuva lotta black nut that night. Hated everything about it. I heard he cried himself to sleep realizing he'd become what he'd ridiculed for years: a cocksucker.

"But his bros weren't done. Blow jobs were fine, but they wanted something else. After a week of getting head, they very patiently explained that swallowing their jizz was one thing, but he had to swallow something else: his fear of letting a bro bone him. He wasn't happy, but nothing about being inside makes you happy. He got over that hurdle, too. Record time. Before he was inside for a month, his virgin ass was history and every one of his new friends had taken it for a looong ride. Every inmate in the joint knew it, too.

"Now he's been trained. A bro gives him `the look' and he knows the only question is which hole the bro is gonna use. Usually both; a little mouth work to get hard, then some major butt action to get off. But, you know, aside from treating him as a cum dump, the bros are nice to him. They protect him like one of their own.

"Word is that a couple of his bros like to double team him. One in his mouth and one in his ass. But they both like ass better and they take it a little farther. You know, double penetration. I could never take two BBCs at the same time. It's all I can do to handle Jamar's big prong. But apparently football boy can do it. He had a wide-eyed, dazed look on his face by the end of the first month and after that he wouldn't look you in the eyes and you could tell that he'd accepted his fate. He's like me. Not a faggot, but gay for the stay.

"The white boys from the burbs, like football boy, are the easiest to turn out. They've been preconditioned. They haven't been around that many Blacks so they believe the myth that all Black men are motherfucking thugs hung like horses. Never mind that Black boys aren't any bigger than whites – well, maybe a tiny bit on average, but nothing like what burb boys think. Kids from the burbs also believe that prison rape is rampant. It ain't! Happens some, but like I said it's not nearly as prevalent as they think. But facts don't matter, just what they believe. So a scared white boy from the burbs shows up thinking that half the population has huge black shafts and they want to shove them into his virgin butt and rape him. He's super jumpy at first, thinking his date with destiny is just around the corner. With that mindset, he's very, very amenable to alternatives short of a gangbang. It's kinda funny to watch how it works when a white burb boy shows up. It's like a feeding frenzy of hungry sharks. The bros think all white boys have money so that's part of the appeal, but they also know that white burbies are easy to turn out so they gotta move fast `cuz the innocent-looking boy is gonna get taken down fast. Some thugs really get off on busting a dude's cherry ass.

"You know, in here it's not really sex. It's like scratching an itch. Everybody understands the stuff that goes on here wouldn't happen outside. But it's a different world behind the walls. Nobody believes you're gay if you help another dude out. Nobody believes you're gay if you accept your fate and go gay for the stay. You may be acting gay inside but you're not really gay. Life's a helluva lot easier if you play the game and don't fight it.

"I know you aren't asking for my advice, but if I was you, with your looks, I'd turn it around. You could totally pull that off. Instead of being stuck with the first dude who corners you, take your pick. Pay attention and you'll know who the alpha males are. I call them the Black Godz. Pick one you like, who'll treat you nice and help you out. With my homely looks, I couldn't pull that off. I was lucky enough to be in the right spot at the right time to get Jamar. But you don't need luck. You'll be in the driver's seat with your looks. Like I said, you'll be a dude's trophy. A big fucking jail trophy. A thug who owns you will be hot shit. Think about it."

I'd gotten edgier and edgier the more Aidan talked. The dude was totally psycho. "What I'm thinking about is how fucking crazy you are!"

"I probably am. But on this I'm right. You'll find out sooner or later. Sooner is a helluva easier path than later."

I waved him off, and at that moment the guards began working their way down the hallway, turning off the lights in the cells. It wasn't that late, but – no surprise – the inmates didn't pick their bedtime. Hot, uncomfortable, and irritated, I plopped down on my bed, grinding my teeth. I had to sleep in my jeans because I couldn't take them off with my ankles shackled. Aidan didn't have that restriction, so he dropped his jeans and crawled into his bed in his boxers.

TO BE CONTINUED...

I hope you enjoyed the beginning of the story. My plan is to post a new chapter every two weeks, luck willing.

Reactions or feedback? Please send them along! Coltonaalto@gmail.com

My other Nifty stories can be found in the author index (listed as Colton) using this link: https://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#colton. You can also locate them by searching for "Colton Aalto" using the Nifty Archive Search button, or by following this link: https://search.niftyarchives.org/?keywords=colton+aalto&sort=Relevance (I like this link better). I jump around in different Nifty categories, so you'll find a bit of everything. I've also recently published a book, "Lance & Leo". https://www.amazon.com/dp/1590217314/ Enjoy!

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