by S A Reid
“If you chaps nominate me, I’d be honored.” Joey put on an impossibly posh accent, the sort of enunciation that gave “Shakespeare” four syllables. “But the governor will jolly well have to pay my price, won’t he? Is a month’s furlough and a case of bubbly too much to ask?”
Laughter and smiles all around made Joey feel almost normal again, back in his home village instead of this nightmare. Then Paulie Jensen turned up.
Paulie was E-block’s strong man. Blond-haired and squat, he had an overdeveloped chest and long arms like an albino gorilla. As with many of Wentworth’s lifers, Paulie seemed almost supernaturally attuned to the guards’ movements. Small pockets of unsupervised mirth drew Paulie like a shark to bloody waters.
“I’ve been watching you, Cooper,” Paulie told Joey, looking him up and down hungrily. “You’re too sweet for MacKenna. His dick tastes like Lonnie Parker’s shit, don’t you know that?”
“Spit it out, then.” Joey didn’t stand up, but all his muscles tensed. The visceral response came as a relief. True, Gabriel terrified him. But when it came to normal men, normal threats, he was still the Joey Cooper he’d once relied on. “And while you’re about it, piss off.”
Paulie’s eyes widened. “Stand up and say that.”
Joey stood up. When Paulie lunged for him, slow and untrained, Joey caught Paulie’s short legs in a wrestling hold and pulled them both down. Then, as if on the mat at Oxford, Joey jerked Paulie’s left arm behind his back. Even as the man grunted, unable to break free, Joey gripped Paulie’s lower half in a scissor hold.
“Give,” Joey warned. “Give or I’ll snap it, swear to God.”
Something hard connected with the side of Joey’s face. He let go of Paulie’s arm and legs. It took Joey a second to realize he’d been struck by a glancing kick. The wet warmth on his upper lip was blood. Head still reeling, Joey felt himself hauled up by two of Paulie’s crew, spun roughly around and bent over the half-bricked wall. None of the F-blockers were there. No one had stuck around to defend him.
Still dazed by the kick, Joey felt his trousers pulled down. His shorts were yanked to his ankles. He tried to scream but couldn’t – two men held him in place while an apelike hand clamped over his mouth. Joey’s heart beat wildly against his ribcage, blood roaring in his ears as Paulie rubbed up against him. It was happening again. Joey was bare-assed, helpless, it jabbing his inner thigh and about to—
“Paulie,” a familiar voice said between panting breaths, ragged with exertion yet fundamentally calm. “What’s this, then?”
Joey snapped back to himself. The wild roaring in his ears shut off. Such was his dread of Gabriel – the realization he was present, with Joey in such a vulnerable state, snapped Joey back to reality as nothing else could.
“Just looking over your girl.” Paulie’s simian fingers detached from Joey’s mouth. The other men let go, too. Backing away from the wall, Joey tripped on his shorts and trousers, still wadded around his ankles, and fell over.
Paulie laughed as Joey flailed, making himself decent as fast as he could. But Paulie’s friends weren’t laughing. They were blank-faced, staring at Gabriel.
“Paulie,” Gabriel said, still between breaths. He’d run a long way. “You used the phrase ‘my girl.’ Do you not know its meaning?”
“Oi! Are you in love, MacKenna?” Paulie scoffed. “Do you whisper Cooper’s name into your pillow as you lie down to sleep every night?”
As Joey got to his feet, Gabriel’s eyes slid over his face. “You’re bloodied. Right. Who did it?”
Joey wasn’t sure which of Paulie’s friends had kicked him. Nor was he sure if he was meant to answer. Wentworth’s culture felt a great deal like primary school. So Joey fell back on his old schoolboy’s oath never to grass, no matter what. “I don’t know.”
“Fair enough.” Whirling, Gabriel came at Paulie in a blur, something small and metallic in his hand. Paulie screamed – high, gut wrenching, primal. As Gabriel released him, Paulie staggered back, a long steel nail protruding from his left eye.
“Pull it out! Pull it out!” Paulie screamed at his friends.
Lips compressed, eyes wide with terror, the braver of the pair grasped the nail and jerked it free. Paulie screamed even louder as a gush of blood and what Joey knew must be aqueous humor shot from the ruptured orb.
“Joey,” Gabriel said in his ear.
Joey recoiled. Only with effort did he look at the man who’d protected him.
“Say as little as possible. Admit nothing. I’ll see you tonight in commons.” Then Gabriel was off, sprinting back to safety.
Soon Joey found himself under intense scrutiny, along with his recently reappeared F-block brethren. They’d abandoned him to warn Gabriel, Joey realized, surprised by his sudden emotional response. Was it twisted, feeling gratitude to one rapist for saving him from another? Feeling warmth for the men who recognized Gabriel’s ownership of him and hatred for the men who ignored it?
I’m losing my mind, Joey thought, not for the first time. Maybe I’m dead. Maybe the train crashed on the journey to Findley. The person I took for Dr. Pfiser was really Satan, and Wentworth is really hell.
But surely hell would make sense. And Wentworth made no sense, none at all. Under direct questioning from the lieutenant governor, Joey, Paulie’s friends and even Paulie himself repeated the same ludicrous refrain. They had no idea who’d blinded Paulie with a nail – just a mystery man without a face. The lieutenant governor had speculated, threatened, even hinted he might be permitted to birch obstructive witnesses. But beaten by a sea of mute, gormless faces, the lieutenant governor finally gave up. The guards bundled Paulie off to the infirmary to have the empty white shell of his eye removed and the lid sewn over the socket.
That night Joey didn’t sleep ten minutes together. He’d felt certain Gabriel would at last demand repayment, and after that brief, terrifying moment with his ass bared to Paulie, Joey didn’t think he could withstand it. Which would be better? A deep vertical slash up each wrist? The tremors, the ensuing chill, the disintegration into absolute darkness? Or should he take his chances with that rampant heartbeat, that wild roaring in his ears? To survive in body if not in mind?
Yet Gabriel kept to the bottom bunk. Now he had a torch, won from McCrory, and kept it discreetly under his blanket, reading far into the night. Presently he was re-reading The Adventure of Huckleberry Finn and seemed to find it more necessary than sleep.
Sometime around the fourth week, Joey began suffering a new kind of anxiety. It had been a long time, longer than he could remember, since he’d had sufficient quiet and privacy to take care of himself. Before his arrest, Joey had pleasured himself whenever he needed it, twice a day if necessary, often thinking of his fiancée, Julia. But that was all spoilt now. He wouldn’t be permitted to visit Julia face to face until Christmastide, and if she didn’t end things at that meeting, he would. He wasn’t such a monstrous egotist that he would expect any woman to wait eighteen years for him, then wed him under a cloud of disgrace. Even thinking of Julia, recalling his hands traveling up her skirt, her slender body pressed against his, brought Joey no pleasure. Only shame that he’d let her down, tarred her good name with his own.
There was no way he could see to himself in the cell. Pissing and shitting in the bucket was humiliating enough; leaning over it to masturbate was unthinkable. One morning Joey awakened with a painfully stiff cock. That night when he tried to fall asleep the urge to stroke it, squeeze and pull it, was overwhelming. Joey managed to force his mind elsewhere – mentally reciting the elements of the periodic table was a good distraction. But a bit later he woke up with his hand down his pajama bottoms, bunk springs squeaking and halfway there.
Gabriel, he thought, terrified. With effort Joey relinquished his grip. As quietly as possible he shifted, placing his hands at his sides and willing himself to relax.
“Will you not finish?” a quiet voice asked from the bunk below.
Joey didn’t know how
to answer.
The bunk springs below gave a low squeak, signaling a man rising. Then Gabriel was up the steel ladder, invading Joey’s bunk with his long, lean body. In the mirror-reflected light of the security beacon, Joey saw Gabriel wore only pajama bottoms, his chest bare except for a bit of curling dark hair.
“Go on,” he murmured. Gabriel was handsome in the half-light, compactly muscled without an ounce of fat, that big cock tenting the fabric between his thighs.
Joey shook his head.
“Let me, then.” Gently, Gabriel slid Joey’s pajamas down to his knees. A firm grip closed over his cock, working up and down with the assuredness of an expert.
Joey didn’t dare look at Gabriel. Behind his eyelids, all he saw was the white-tiled shower floor, pink water swirling around the drain. So in desperation Joey thought of Lionel Coates’s gardens. After his natural father finally acknowledged him at age fifteen. Joey had spent three summers working in those gardens to earn pocket money. Boxwoods, perennial shrubberies, apple and pear trees, daisies and carnations …
Gabriel’s hand was moving faster. Joey’s breath sped up – he couldn’t help himself, it felt too good. Determined, he shifted his thoughts back to the Coates garden. He’d loved working there, not for Coates’s sake – they were nothing to each other – and not even for the wages, though his mum needed them desperately. Joey had simply loved it, never ashamed to break a sweat or get his hands dirty. There was truth in the earth, the sunlight. In roots and maggots and horseshit fertilizer. And great satisfaction in settling a small, vulnerable plant into the crust of the world, giving it love, tamping it down and watering … watering …
Hearing himself groan, Joey pressed his hands to his mouth, thoughts of the Coates garden disappearing. He was coming, the violence of his response proving he was at least as much mere animalistic nerve endings as he was a higher being with an immortal soul.
“Joey,” Gabriel said in a husky voice. He kissed the tip of Joey’s softening cock. Then Gabriel had himself in hand, working frantically, gritting his teeth until he gasped, spilling a stream of hot fluid onto Joey’s belly. The cum had barely ceased before he was atop Joey, pressing their bodies together as his mouth worked against Joey’s chest, throat, lips.
“Joey.” Gabriel’s mouth was beside his ear as Joey, flinching, turned his face away. “Will you not kiss the man who saved you from Paulie?”
Joey tried. Giving in would be so much safer than resisting. But he found he couldn’t part his lips or open his eyes. He was frozen, unable to fight, unable to submit.
Gabriel let out a furious exhalation. Rolling off Joey, he clanged down the ladder to his own bunk.
“I – I’m sorry,” Joey said, afraid of what retribution the next day might bring.
“Fuck you.” The bottom bunk springs gave a vicious squeak as Gabriel flopped toward the wall.
* * *
The next day, Joey got the silent treatment from Gabriel. He wasn’t even offered any cigarettes, though when he finally struck up the courage to ask, the box was pushed wordlessly toward him. Gabriel put aside his current book and started reading his Bible. According to Lonnie, who noted the change with widened eyes, it signified a very bad mood.
The second night, Joey had no sooner settled himself on the top bunk than Gabriel was up the steel ladder and on the mattress beside him, battery-powered torch in hand. Gabriel dropped it between them so the beam illuminated their faces.
“It’s down to this. Kiss me like you mean it – mouth open, using your tongue – for as long as I fancy,” Gabriel said. “Or suck my cock and swallow my cum. Your choice.”
Joey sat up. He was relieved to find he wasn’t trembling. In the torch’s muted glow, he saw Gabriel wasn’t erect yet, wasn’t intimidating.
I can do this, Joey told himself. At least I’ll be in control.
“Lie back,” Joey said, putting all his strength in his voice – the authoritative manner he’d learned in medical school.
Gabriel blinked. For a split second, his disappointment showed through. Then he smiled, stretching out and lacing his fingers together beneath his head. “Grand. But mind you. Don’t spit or I’ll take it personal.”
Servicing Gabriel wasn’t difficult. Joey started by curling his fingers around the other man’s shaft. It was both familiar and shockingly foreign, sending a ripple of unease through his belly. Once, as a boy, he’d touched a playmate there, permitting his own penis to be examined in turn. But that had been innocent exploration. Holding Gabriel’s stiffening cock was strange, frightening, even exhilarating. When Joey used his thumb to stroke it, squeezing slowly, Gabriel sighed, affirming that for the moment, Joey truly was in control.
Joey brought his lips down to the thick, bulbous head. It was surprisingly soft against his tongue, velvety and warm. Taking the huge thing in his mouth, Joey remembered the one and only time he’d received such attention, from a Parisian prostitute called Monique. It was the warmth and wetness that had captivated him – that, and the view of her pink lips sliding up and down.
Imitating the action, Joey looked up. As he expected, Gabriel was watching him. Yes. It was easy, surprisingly easy. If Joey kept a good rhythm and managed not to gag himself, he would do fine. He could use his tongue to vary the action, keep it hot and slick. Maybe he wasn’t practiced like Lonnie, but eventually Gabriel would have to—
The other man grunted as if stabbed. A gush of fluid flooded the back of Joey’s throat, thick, salty and erotic. Shocked by the stiffness in his balls, the faint clench deeper inside, Joey swallowed reflexively, telling himself he was lucky he didn’t vomit. But he didn’t feel nauseated. And usually that ripple in his lower belly signaled anything but disgust.
After that first time, Gabriel lasted longer and longer, climbing the ladder every night after lights out. Stretching out on his back, he kept his eyes open until the final moment, watching Joey’s mouth work by the torch’s soft glow.
“What do you think about while you do it?” Gabriel asked one night in his drowsy, post-orgasm tone.
“Nothing special.” Joey kept his pajamas on during each session. When he finished, he curled near Gabriel’s feet, knees drawn up to his chin, waiting for the other man to return to his own bed. “Gardening, mostly.”
Gabriel made a startled noise. “Are you serious?”
Joey nodded, uncertain how to interpret the other man’s look.
“I figured you thought about tits and pussies. Fucking a girl.”
Joey felt himself grinning for what felt like the first time in years. “I have a pretty good imagination. But there’s no way I could think about a woman with that piece of meat in my mouth.”
Grinning back at him, Gabriel sat up. He stretched out a hand to Joey’s face, then stopped. “Must you always flinch?”
Joey’s grin faded.
“Your smile is lovely. Wish I saw it more often.” Sighing, Gabriel climbed back down to his bunk.
* * *
Four days later, Joey was removed from the B-block renovation and assigned to Wentworth’s vegetable garden. McCrory, the guard who’d delivered the news, had a lit Pall Mall in his hand and a fresh box in his top left pocket. Joey wondered how much of Gabriel’s personal stash, maintained by his skill at cards, had gone toward arranging this transfer.
Working the gardens was wonderful. Joey had fresh air, sunlight, the scent of cut grass and crumbled earth beneath his fingernails. When he returned to his cell after that first day, his back ached and his arms were sore, but he couldn’t stop smiling. Several times he’d forgotten Joey Cooper’s special misery, forgotten the existence of Joey Cooper altogether, and merely assisted the gardener, Mr. Cranston, as directed. Best of all, he would work in gardens Monday through Saturday. Work detail had become a treat.
When Gabriel settled in his bunk, Joey eagerly put his mouth on the other man’s cock, intent on making him come harder than ever before. He’d been at it for only a minute or two before Gabriel said, “That mu
st be one hell of a shrub you’re thinking about.”
Joey stopped, lifting his head and cracking up helplessly. For a long time he and Gabriel could only look at each other. As soon as one managed to quiet, the other started chuckling, beginning the laughter all over again.
“Right,” Gabriel said at last. “Let’s try something new. Strip. Lie down and let me gaze on you. I’ll do the rest.”
Unbuttoning his pajama top, Joey cast it away. He wasn’t afraid, not really, even as his nipples hardened with the chill. His pajama bottoms and shorts came off with surprising ease. As he stretched out beside Gabriel, the other man placed the torch between them so Joey’s full length was illuminated.
“You’re beautiful,” Gabriel said softly. His hand curled around his cock. “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want.”
Joey closed his eyes, then opened them again. He was stirred, half-erect. He watched for a while as Gabriel’s hand worked, eyes open and fixed on Joey’s. Then Joey’s hand crept down and they were both doing it, eyes locked together, pulling harder as their breath came faster. Joey came first, moaning, and then Gabriel followed with a gasp.
“You didn’t go away that time,” Gabriel said as Joey panted, dazed.
“No.”
Gabriel’s fingers touched Joey’s cheek. He moved nearer, incrementally closer, as Joey waited, eyes still open. Finally their faces were together. Stroking Joey’s hair, Gabriel kissed Joey, first on closed lips, then on the forehead. Joey trembled at the contact, but not with fear. The brush of those long fingers, that hard mouth, was erotic. Then Gabriel released him.
“Best – best get some sleep.” Suddenly, Gabriel couldn’t look at Joey or get back to his own bunk fast enough. “Cranston will ship you back to unskilled labor if you can’t match his pace.” With that, he disappeared below, leaving Joey alone in the top bunk, pondering the moment deep into the night.
