WRITINGS FROM THE PRISON by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2006 written on December 10th 1994 translated by the author English text kindly revised by Richard E. Grant
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"WRITINGS FROM THE PRISON" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.
CHAPTER 1 - I GO TO PRISON, FOR A GOOD SUM
I don't know where to start telling my story. Possibly it should be when I went to prison, or perhaps sometime earlier, that is when they proposed that I go to prison.
I was looking for a job. I had been doing temporary jobs for two years. They were often underpaid, but I accepted them to be able to help my mother who was ill. In our family there was just she and I. Then she died, ending the struggle of her illness, and I was alone. There were a couple of uncles, but we never had a good or close relationship. After her funeral, I didn't see them any more. Thus, I was alone. I was looking for another job, while at the same time continuing to do the heavy, boring, and poorly-paid distribution of hand bills. I answered various ads, but without getting anything.
I had finished the umpteenth interview and was leaving the office when the guy said that one of his acquaintances could possibly offer me an opportunity to earn good money. Well, to make long story short, I went to the address he gave me. It was not an office, but rather a villa which was quite luxurious. I asked for the person I was to meet. He was a man in his sixties, the villa's owner. He asked me a lot of questions: who am I, do I have family, what do I do for fun, and so forth. I couldn't understand the reason for all of these questions, but the hope of a good job forced me to answer. I thought he might want me to work for him as a houseboy, like those I had seen in Hollywood movies.
And finally, he came to the point. His son, barely older than I, committed a crime, a really big crime, and now he was afraid the police would discover him and he would be arrested and have to go to jail. If I would accept the blame for his son's guilt, he would pay me a monthly sum, starting from the day when the police arrested me. The amount was decidedly high and would continue for the entire time I spent in jail. He said that I would be sentenced to two or three years, at most. He said he would also pay the lawyer who would defend me. I would have to plead innocent, to make the story believable, but then do nothing to prove it. He would provide the proof against me. I was hesitant. It was a lot of money, but going to jail and having that on my record? I was tempted on the one hand, but on the other...
He thought that my hesitancy was a problem of money, so he added that, besides the monthly pay he promised, as soon as the police arrested me, he would put a sum equal to one year's earnings in the bank, in an account in my name, I quickly did two calculations - to earn all that money I would have to work for at least ten years. I would lose just two years of my life, let's say three, and meanwhile I didn't spend a cent; therefore all that money would be there when I got out. To save such a sum, I would have to work all my life. I was sorely tempted.
To convince me, he added that he could fix it so that I received favorable treatment in prison. I asked him how. He didn't answer directly, but said that he could "move the right levers." I asked him why he chose me. He answered that he trusts the person who sent me to him and that, anyway, he gathered information about me through a private detective. I asked him what guarantee I have that he would really pay me all the money he promised once I am in jail. He said that I could only trust him. I don't know why, but I liked that answer. Thus, in the end, I accepted.
I asked him what I had to do. He said I had to go to meet his lawyer and to follow exactly what he told me. I went to see his lawyer. We talked and then I went back home. I waited and really did feel like a wanted man. A few days later, the police came and arrested me. There were examinations, the process, witnesses against me, no alibi, no witnesses in my favor. I declared my innocence, but in the end I was sentenced to two years and nine months.
And so, I entered prison.
It was a new building, opened just two years before; a model prison. I remember I saw it on TV. Who would have known while I was watching it on TV that I would end up inside, innocent but agreeing to be there? It had a small factory attached where the inmates work. It was called "social recovery." Whoever accepted work there, received a kind of pay. There were four-bed cells, each with a toilet and a sink. The cells were well lit, with two small tables, lockers, and bunk beds. It really was a model prison. There was a recreation hall with color TV, library, mess hall, soccer, handball and basketball fields, and common showers with cubicles.
They made me undress completely and gave me a uniform and a change of underwear, then took me to my cell. The three men already there just raised their eyes when the warden took me inside and showed me my locker (of course it didn't have a key), and my bed - the bottom bunk, near the door. I settled my few possessions as the warden left. I looked at my companions; one was lying on the upper bed near mine. He was around forty, reading a cartoon magazine. His shirt was open and his chest was bare and hairy. Two thick eyebrows underlined his deep eyes, absorbed in the magazine.
The other two were sitting at the table. One must have been a little less than thirty, with the face of an actor or a model. I was enchanted just looking at him; he was of such incredible beauty. Also his body had to be beautiful from what I could see through his uniform. He had a frank, open look. The last one was in his forties, with a small mustache, penetrating and worried eyes, with a somewhat plump but not fat body.
He was the first to talk to me, "Your name?"
"Alberto."
"Years?"
"Twenty-one."
"Years?" he insists.
"Tomorrow, twenty-two."
"No, blockhead! How long are you going to be here?"
"Ah, two years and nine months."
"You'll be the first out, then."
"My name is Lorenzo," the handsome one said, then added, "He is Mario and the other on the bed is Stelvio, but they call me Renzo. And you? Berto?"
"No, I don't like it."
"Then Alberto, okay. Of course they explained the rules to you."
"Yes."
"And there are also the unwritten rules. You'll learn them. The first is you have to respect your elders. And the second is that you should never be seen talking to the wardens. It could be really dangerous for your health. The others - you'll learn them. What did you do?"
"Nothing. I..."
"Yes, all right. In here, ninety percent are innocent. Why did they arrest you?"
I told him the process. Of course, I said nothing about the pact. I simply insisted that I really was innocent. I think they didn't believe me. Perhaps Renzo did.
I had to be careful not to look at him too much.
Well, the fact is, I'm gay.
I discovered it when I was sixteen. In my school, there was a school mate. He wasn't in my same class but I admired him a lot. In fact, he was our school hero. He had already won several medals for water skiing in the youths' championships. I admired him a lot, but I was still not aware that I was physically attracted to him, possibly because I was sexually rather shy. Up until then I had contented myself with masturbation, not very often and without fantasy. It was simply a way to give vent to my feelings when I felt too horny.
But that day, I was standing at the urinal in the boys' bathroom during class time when he entered. His name was Giacomo. He stood at the urinal next to mine, greeted me, then pulled his dick out and starts to piss. I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye - it was the first time I had ever seen his dick. I was not particularly curious. Not really. Then he shook it and I noticed that he stroked it almost as if he was masturbating. Somewhat surprised, I did look at it. It was hard, straight, and beautiful. He asked me, with a little smile, "Do you like it?"
"Well, it's big; bigger than mine."
"Yes," he said and turned a little towards me, to let me see it better. I looked, hard. He stretched out his hand and touched mine that was still hanging out of my trousers.
"Yours is not bad, either," he said. I liked the feeling of his fingers on my dick.
I got a hard-on and his smile broadened. "Touch mine. Go on," he suggested.
I stretched out my hand and caressed it.
"Beat it." He said.
"What if somebody comes?" I said, slightly embarrassed.
"From the door, they can't see us. And we will hear in time. Go on, beat mine," he said again, starting to masturbate me.
I liked the sensation. I started masturbating him.
He pulled me to him and said, "I like you, Alberto." And while we continued to masturbate each other, he kissed me on the mouth.
Oh, I felt a great heat inside me. It was a revelation. I remember that I thought at once "God, do I ever like this! But then... I am a fag!"
Self-assuredly he pushed down lightly on my shoulder and whispered, "Go on down, come on, suck it."
I complied, almost dazed, but willingly. Then there was a noise at the door and we had to stop. We tidied ourselves and left.
In the corridor he said, "After school, I'll wait for you. You come to my place. I want to make love with you."
It was clear and straight. Not a request, not even an order; simply a statement. I felt stirred up and, even blushing, I answered yes.
On his bike, holding me against him, I felt aroused. When we got to his house there was no one there. He took me into his bedroom and we undressed. On his bed, we resumed where we had stopped. And after a while, he managed to persuade me to let him fuck me in the ass. So I found myself on all fours, and he slipped inside me. It hurt. Even if he had used a lot of cream, it would have hurt. But, at the same time, I liked it so much that I made no attempt to escape him. I thought of all the school girls dying for him and felt proud that it was me who was getting all of his attention. In spite of the pain, I enjoyed his moving back and forth inside me.
The fact that I knew I was gay didn't trouble me at all. The fact that Giacomo liked me and wanted me, excited me a lot. He continued to pump inside of me and told me that from the beginning of the year he fancied fucking me. He said that I have the most beautiful little ass of all his mates. He said he wanted me to be his boyfriend. I felt very happy.
In reality, he just wanted to fuck me. I fell in love with him at once, but to him I was just a nice little piece of ass. I was aware of that, but it was really okay with me. I let him take me any time he asked. And that happened quite often. He was a horny boy. I liked being fucked by him, feeling him rocking and bobbing inside me and thinking I belonged to him.
It lasted all that year; that is until he graduated and went to the university. Then he got another boyfriend, and was no longer interested in me. To me, this was not a great disappointment. After all, I was expecting it. But I missed him, and his fucking.
If Giacomo seemed handsome to me then, Lorenzo, now, seemed to me more than beautiful. I felt terribly attracted to him. But I didn't want the other inmates to find that out.
Between Lorenzo and I, there gradually arose a sense of friendship and I got the impression that Lorenzo was worried about my ability to enter, without problems, into the narrow and peculiar prison community, with its unwritten, but no less strict, rules.
I liked looking at him when, during outdoor recreation, he languidly abandoned himself to basking in the sun, seemingly oblivious to others. But his eyes were ever vigilant, his body always ready to spring, like a panther in the jungle. I also noticed that, despite his being rather young, he was respected if not feared. There were several groups, each one with its recognized leader around whom its followers revolved. Only Lorenzo and a couple of the others seemed to belong to no group. When I passed near him in the wide court-yard, he always gave me a greeting gesture, and at times, a light smile that I liked a lot.
I have always been particularly sensitive to the smiles of others and I can say that I judge others before anything else from their smiles. Lorenzo's smile made me quiver. In spite of the fact that he was a bully, in a way, his smile revealed a hidden sweetness that gave me a strong sense that, underneath, he was very tender.
Moreover, seeing him half naked, and even entirely naked at times, I desired more and more strongly to bond to him. I thought it was hopeless for on the wall near his bed there were pictures of scantily-dressed or even naked girls, and I knew he had a woman waiting for him. I figured he was hopelessly straight.
This didn't prevent me from desiring him, or to dream about him. I did so in a way that nobody would notice, especially him or the other two mates in our cell.
There were inspections. Some were routine, but others were unexpected and, when they occurred in the morning, they made us lower our underpants to ascertain that we didn't have weapons or other forbidden items hidden in there. On those occasions, Lorenzo frequently had splendid erections which he showed without any embarrassment. They made me shudder, increasing my desire for him.
I soon became aware that, inside the prison, there was also a lot of discrete sexual activity. Its foundation was the fact that it was almost always the youngest who were the passive lovers or whores. Some were committed to relationships, mainly with the bosses. Others simply allowed themselves to be fucked, willingly or unwillingly, by whoever asked them.
There was a nineteen-year-old boy, Lino, who I often saw leaving with one or another of the inmates. He was openly gay, and a committed bottom long before he came to the prison. As a consequence, he had easily been persuaded to be fucked by any of the other inmates. Other young men had been "persuaded" (that is, practically gang raped) and now underwent the sexual attentions of "their man" or of various inmates. But Lino didn't seem to suffer for it. On the contrary, he seemed happy about his condition that earned him, in exchange, care and favors.
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 2
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