James Harris - June 2005
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James Harris - June 2005 |
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BEING PAMELA ANDERSON The guards here simply don’t exist. They’re just groveling servants to the top boys; turn a blind eye to us new-uns. They don’t really have a role accept transferring dodgy money, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and porn- not just normal porn either- it’s a kiddie fiddler’s paradise in this place. So after three days, I get a message from big Rigsby saying he wants to see me. Needs to meet and greet us new boys. He’s been in residence here for twenty-one years for an armed robbery on a security van. He murdered two people in the process, one being Old Bill. That’s if you can call Old Bill people. Hard as a stallion’s cock too; no one fucks with big R. So I turn up in the laundry room like requested, and wait with three others for big R to show. He’s a punctual fucker; I have to give him that. Bang on cue he strolls in with two of his men. “Right you bunch of girls, all form a circle,” he spat through a weak lisp. A minute later and we’re all sitting in a circle, Rigsby in the middle. “We’re going to play a game. Spin the bottle? Anyone of you cunts remember that one?” He laughed as he pulled out an empty bottle of coke. No one said anything. “Don’t look so worried. It’s just a game I play with the new-uns. Unconventional version, none of that kissing. I ask questions and you answer. I like to keep a strong sense of community in here y’see; need to know what floats your boat, right?” Rigsby said, placing the bottle at his feet. Women seemed to be the topic of interest. Each time the bottle stopped spinning and pointed towards a new prisoner, they had to explain which bird they’d most want to fuck. “Cameron Diaz,” said a skinny, Irish guy called Tilly. “Nah fuck that shit. What about Hilary Duff? Nice and young…firm like,” said one of Rigsby’s men, Tony. They all laughed and the new-uns followed suit as if in synchrony. The bottle eventually landed on me of course. “So Carter, what about you then…eh? Who tickles your fancy?” Rigsby asked me, looking bemused. He gave a wink. “Oh I don’t know, probably someone like Carmen Electra. She’s got one fuck of a body on her,” I replied, acting the man. Really I would like to screw someone sweet like Winona Rider or, Drew Barrymore, but I wasn’t gonna have the piss ripped out of me. Rigsby’s turn at answering, and everything started to go wrong. “Me, I’d have Pamela Anderson mate,” he said. “She’s still got it alright. I like to bend that over, eh?” He exploded into a roar of laughter as he lent forward and slapped his fat arse. I knew he was going to say Pamela. I’d seen into his cell; loads of posters of her pasted all over. Tony piped up, teasing the big twat. “A bit long in tooth now don’t you think? What with all those flabby bits wobbling about?” He laughed at his own wit. “She’s still got it fuck stick. Don’t let me hear you saying otherwise.” The mood turned sombre. “Right boys, you know the drill, everyone out except Carter here.” Rigsby stood up and his men ushered out the other prisoners. “You and I are gonna have a little fun.” The fat cunt winked at me again. Tony revealed an eight-inch kitchen knife that was hidden up his sleeve. I was told to go take a shit and return within five minutes. Under the circumstances, I had no problem achieving that request- I’d pretty much shat myself already. Tony followed with the knife stolen from the kitchens. I had a good idea at what was going to happen. I passed many guards on the way to the bogs; those wankers also seemed to know the score and just smirked as I was pushed past. I returned to the laundry room feeling a few pounds lighter. Rigsby stood, leaning up by a washing machine. In one hand he held a blonde wig, in the other a red swim-suit- a women’s swim-suit, I may add. “I’ve got a little something for you here Carter. You’re gonna wear it too, or you’ll be shitting teeth for the next month.” He held it out to me as Tony pushed the knife point into my back. I ended up stripping naked in front of big R and his men. Tony rubbed the front of his trousers. I wanted to puke; couldn’t believe what was happening. After putting on the blonde wig, I stretched into the swim-suit. This may make you chuckle, but in the butt, a hole had been cut out especially. It’s what Tony referred to as the “Party Hole.” And as he so quaintly added, I was now a “fuck puppet.” I’ve been broken in- used meat. I don’t even know when I’ve shat my pants. They don’t call Rigsby, big R for nothing. I say used meat, but big R gave me the wink this morning at breakfast. It’s been weeks since he’s done that- done anything in fact. There hasn’t been many new-uns come in lately either. I guess he must be missing his dream bird. I’m on laundry duty as from tomorrow too… |