‘Not too bad. The day before I got a visit from Jade, which gave me a boost. We got a little kissing action in and she said she’s coming back soon. How was your Christmas?’
‘Good ’cause I ain’t got no beefs,’ Two Tonys says. ‘Let me ask you something, Shaun. You ever heard of Chad or Somalia or Sudan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, how nice a fucking Christmas do you think those poor motherfuckers had?’ he asks, raising his chin.
‘I see what you’re saying,’ I reply, nodding.
‘Do you know how many pieces of apple pie I got?’
‘No.’
‘Three, and two issues of roast beef. It might have looked like shoe leather and tasted like shoe leather, but that’s OK ’cause guess what? Ivan Denisovich would have snorted those motherfuckers up with his left nostril and been as happy as if he were having supper with Mikhail fucking Gorbachev.’
We laugh.
‘That’s my barometer now: how rough Ivan had it,’ Two Tonys says. ‘Imagine being happy to lick some carrot gruel off a spoon. Or having to ride the cook’s leg to come upon some extra gills and tails in your fish-eyeball soup. Or Slingblade grabbing your bowl of oat mush, and you’ve got to go toe to toe with the fucking Neanderthal or starve to fucking death. My point is this: how the fuck can I complain when there’s always someone worse off? Of course I’d like to be chowing down on a Caesar salad, some escargot, a little bowl of scungilli and some ravioli stuffed with spinach, but I ain’t gonna let those thoughts get me down.’
‘What did you do on Christmas Day?’ I ask, smiling.
‘Played a little casino card game with Frankie. Watched a little TV. Sang some fucking Christmas carols to myself: “Silent Night”, “Jingle Bells” and all that shit. How the fuck can I get depressed in here? This is my retirement home. Not just any motherfucker qualifies to be in here, you know. You don’t just hop on a bus and say, “Driver, take me to the big house.” This is an exclusive club. You’ve got to put in some serious work to get here. And what’s good about it is they can’t ever kick me out ’cause I’m doing life. If things get shitty in here, I just tell myself, Get a grip, man. What would Ivan Denisovich be thinking? Would he be raising hell about his waffles being cold in the morning? Would he fuck! Like I’ve said before, that’s PMA, bro. That’s my positive mental attitude.’
61
The visits from Jade and a heightened sense of my release make me wonder whether incarceration has affected my sexual ability – a common fear in here, stoked by older prisoners circulating myths of men freed after long sentences who suffer erectile dysfunction and premature ejaculation. They say, ‘If you don’t use it, you lose it.’ Making matters worse, Max lends me How to Give Her Absolute Pleasure: Totally Explicit Techniques Every Woman Wants Her Man to Know by Lou Paget. Reading that masturbation establishes nerve pathways that condition men to ejaculate quickly, a hard habit to break when making love, I almost choke on a cheese cracker. Later in the book, Lou offers hope. She quotes Barbara Keesling: ‘Once you take control of your [pubococcygeal] muscle, however, you can voluntarily delay or prevent ejaculation.’ I learn the ‘love muscle’ runs from the front to the back of the pelvic girdle in both sexes, and men have two holes through it: the anus and the urethra. It can be strengthened by stopping and starting the flow of urine. According to Lou, ‘A good male exercise is placing a washcloth on your erect penis and doing penis lift-ups.’ Ah ha. There it is! Dick-lifts. I can try them in the shower. A lot worse than dick-lifts goes on in there. Maybe I ought to speak to someone about this first. Someone wise and worldly. Setting myself up to be the target of the wit I enjoy so much from Weird Al, I insist he reads the book and returns a week later.
Sitting on his chair, Weird Al furrows his brow, as if gearing up to impart lofty knowledge. ‘Given your proclivity for masturbation, and in light of the thesis put forth in this book, it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever get past hello the first time you meet a woman, let alone get your zipper down. Simply put: your sex life is over. I’d get myself a good chin dildo, if I were you.’
‘Forget about the chapter on chin dildos,’ I say, leaning against his bunk. ‘Did you read how dick-lifts increase your stamina and control?’
‘I take it you’re unfamiliar with the love muscle?’ he says, raising his brows.
‘I’ve just never thought about it before. Have you?’
‘Unlike you, I don’t need dick-lifts. At my age, I’m lucky if I masturbate 16 times a year. These days, I only get my rocks off on major holidays, such as Christmas and Easter, and I’m even contemplating skipping those. I know this, though: you’d look awfully cute in a chin dildo.’
‘Al! Can we please stick to dick-lifts?’
‘OK. All right. The thing about flexing that muscle has been known since ancient times. Socrates flexed his dick, for God’s sake. It’s the same exercise as trying to stop peeing in the middle of peeing. It was described to me when I was young.’
‘Any advice on it?’
‘My advice to you is to never give advice to an insane person. It’s like pissing in the wind.’
‘Not that kind of advice! On dick-lifts!’
‘My advice is this: do them when I’m not around. You’re here. You’re queer. Get used to it. Come out of the closet and move on.’
‘Thanks, Al. That’s just great.’
‘Knowing your tendency to broadcast your sexual perversions through the known universe—’
‘It’s called the blogosphere,’ I say, interrupting
‘—I find it highly unlikely that any woman who reads about your distasteful proclivities will come within a nautical mile of you. You probably will get laid, but not by someone of the opposite sex or in any way you presently imagine. I see chin dildos in your future. Dick-lifts will lose all relevance. It’s my humble opinion that even mentally ill women who have no access to electricity – provided they’re not too ill to read – will shun you like the devil avoids holy water. You should forget about dick-lifts and become more proficient at masturbation, if humanly possible. Take pride in the fact that if quantity supersedes quality, you’ll be one of the ‘Top 10 Jack-off Artists in the Northern Hemisphere’. You should hook up with a woman who shares your masturbatory skills. It’ll save you time and money, and can be done in the comfort of your own home or by phone. Besides, attempting to do dick-lifts with that pencil-like penis of yours would be the equivalent of a piss ant getting into a bodybuilding contest. And while you’re at it, why don’t you write a book titled Spanking Your Monkey: Memoirs of a Masturbator. If you like, I’ll pay to have a chin dildo put together, as long as you agree to at least wear it in the chow hall. We have a saying here in Arizona that I suggest you apply to your dilemma: you dance with the girl who brought you here.’
Bent over, I laugh so hard I snort. I gasp until I can speak again. ‘So basically, you hold out no hope for me with or without dick-lifts?’
‘Your only hope is that somewhere in the world there’s a female masturbating in a cell at the same twisted frequency as you. If you’re lucky, she’ll have developed the same demented need to manipulate her body parts. Perhaps one of your readers will commence a google search to locate said woman, otherwise all hope is lost.’
‘Great, Al. You leave me no choice but to consult She-Ra.’ I snatch the book and leave.
Figuring I need to try dick-lifts before consulting She-Ra, I grab soap, a towel and a washcloth. I avoid the lengthy queue for the most popular showers because the prisoners are harassing those inside for staying too long – not conducive to what I have in mind. I enter a damp, mouldy shower, disused because the water runs hot and cold. When prisoners abandon a shower, insects move in. Big, black shiny beetles like globs of oil are plodding across the walls. I turn the water on, hoping to avoid its temperature extremes by angling my body to one side. Feeling my back touch a beetle, I shiver and adjust myself slightly forward. Soaping my man parts, I close my eyes and replay previous sexual enc
ounters. When my penis is hard, I grab and soak the washcloth. Feeling pleasant against my skin, the hot wet material weighs down the angle of my erection. Drawing on weight lifting, I try sets of ten. One, two … ten. That was easy. Keep going. Eleven, twelve … twenty. Keep going. Twenty-one, twenty-two … Every so often – usually when I’m absorbed in a sexual highlight from my past and my prostate is pulsing with a ticklish sensation – water scalds my penis, breaking my concentration. At 60 reps, my erection wilts, but I still feel my love muscle contracting and expanding. I keep counting, but the contribution from my penis dwindles. I call it quits, satisfied.
A few days later, Weird Al and I greet She-Ra at the fence. I tell her about Lou’s book, dick-lifts and Weird Al’s fixation on chin dildos.
‘Hey, Al,’ She-Ra says, staring through the chain-link, ‘if you take one of those little balls they use as gags that vibrate and strap it on a chin dildo, you can make love to your old lady with the chin dildo while the ball vibrates in her ass.’
‘Thank you for the useful information. If I ever—’ Weird Al begins.
‘Or,’ She-Ra butts in, ‘you can flip your old lady over, work her poontang with the chin dildo, stick your tongue in her ass and sing a little tune – it’s almost the same as a vibrator except it’s your tongue.’
‘What tune do you recommend?’ I ask, smiling.
‘“Yankee Doodle Dandy”,’ She-Ra says.
‘I have the libido of an 80-year-old eunuch,’ Weird Al says. ‘So I’m going to file your advice under the category of Useless.’
‘Or,’ She-Ra says, ‘if she has hems, you can hold onto the hems with your lips and hum.’
‘You guys are sick! I’m leaving you to it.’ Weird Al puckers and jogs off.
‘Al!’ She-Ra yells, attracting attention from inmates and guards. ‘It doesn’t have to be your old lady! It could be your boyfriend, if you ever get one! I could find a good man for you, if you want! One that will want to use a chin dildo!’
Two young guards approach She-Ra, Officer Rivero and a stern-faced cowboy.
‘I’m gonna explain dick-lifts to these COs, as it’s important to get a full spectrum of opinion on the subject, not just what prisoners think.’
‘Let’s not do that, She-Ra,’ I say, reluctant to provoke the guards.
‘Guards jack off, too, silly.’ As She-Ra explains dick-lifts, the guards stare incredulously. When it dawns She-Ra’s serious, they contribute in good faith.
‘If it works, I’ll try that,’ Officer Rivero says, smiling encouragingly.
‘That’s so not true, dude,’ the cowboy says, shaking his head.
‘Before dick-lifts,’ She-Ra says, ‘I could only go a couple of hours. Now I can go all day!’ She-Ra throws her hands up.
‘Without Viagra?’ Officer Rivero asks.
‘Without Viagra,’ She-Ra says, ‘but with dick-lifts. And I could never last that long when I was doing oestrogen. Now it’s all day long!’ She throws her hands up again.
‘It sounds to me like bull crap,’ the cowboy says.
I’m reluctant to get entangled in the conversation with the guards but compelled to back She-Ra up. ‘It may be true. We have a, er, health book on the yard that says dick-lifts give you better control of your love muscle, which enables you to postpone your orgasms.’
‘There’s a lot of bull crap in health books,’ the cowboy says.
‘I do tongue lifts!’ She-Ra yells so loud dozens of prisoners stop what they’re doing – working out, walking laps, sweeping, mopping – and turn around.
‘So you have stamina when you go down on people?’ Officer Rivero asks, his smile expanding.
‘It works,’ She-Ra says. ‘You ought to try it.’
‘I’m gonna try dick-lifts,’ Officer Rivero says.
‘What about you?’ She-Ra asks the cowboy.
‘It’s bull crap. ’Cause to make it stronger down there, you’d have to tear that muscle.’
‘The book never mentioned tearing it,’ I say. ‘It says reps strengthen it, give you more control, and eventually you can become a multi-orgasmic man.’
When the prisoners have all resumed their activity, She-Ra yells at full volume, ‘I’m so homosexual!’ freezing all movement on the yard.
The guards hurry away.
She-Ra yells at them, ‘Now you know why us convicts can stay up longer! ’Cause we practise dick-lifts! Does anyone want to apply to join the Cult of She-Ra?’ In a quiet voice, She-Ra asks me, ‘If I cut my nuts off, do you think that’ll send inspiration to the rest of me? Do you know anyone who knows the best methods to remove the testicles?’
‘Have you talked to Gina about it?’
‘I really don’t want anybody else knowing. I really must do it on my own. But I’d like to get some info on it, so I can learn about it.’
62
Dr Owen reads my homework: my awareness of who I was and who I’m going to be.
Who I was
Immature. Hedonistic. Materialistic. Spiritually devoid. A thrill-seeker. Sometimes selfish. Sometimes naive. I worked and played hard. Overgenerous to the wrong people. Experienced mood swings from depression to euphoria. Goal-orientated, albeit grandiose. Sometimes extremely focused, other times devil-may-care. A sexaholic party animal. Mellow and reserved when sober, and generally happy-go-lucky.
Who I’m going to be
Mature. A sober reasoner. Goal- and success-orientated without ostentation. Spiritually fulfilled via yoga, philosophy, healthy relationships, music, etc. Less naive and more knowledgeable. Generous to the right people. Able to cope with and manage mood extremes. Stoic like Epictetus. Highly motivated and driven but not in an unhealthy fashion. Hard-working. Optimistic. More skilful and more able to apply myself without messing up.
‘From what you’ve written, you’ve identified the vast fluctuations between your emotional extremes. A hard worker versus devil-may-care. Depression versus euphoria. The way you over-respond into grandiosity. The way you under-respond into depression. You need to remain mindful of your polar opposites. As you tend toward one pole, pressure builds and you explode. Toward the other pole, pressure builds and you get depressed. Consider a water bottle at 5,000 feet. You empty the bottle and seal the cap. At 14,000 feet pressure on the inside will expand the bottle and make a violent explosion. At sea level, with atmospheric pressure of 101,325 pascals, the bottle is fine, but plunge the bottle deep into the ocean and it is crushed flat.’
‘Good analogy,’ I say. ‘But when I get excited about something, it’s hard to rein me in.’
‘You need a constant awareness of how you interact with the environment. It’s the same as what you do during yoga. There’s an expansion into your environment, into the universe. If your alignment and breathing are right, you’re having a good experience that’s not for the glory of you. Don’t get caught up in ambition. Constantly remind yourself of this. Don’t be too front-focused. In yoga, the front is you and your back is the universal. That’s what the back-orientated Friend of the Universe Pose is about. Lean back into things, and your universe will open and expand.’
‘Are ambition and success compatible with yoga?’
‘Yes, when awareness goes with it. Look at B.K.S. Iyengar, author of Light on Life.’
‘The smiley yoga master with the massive eyebrows?’
‘Yes. When he goes on tour, he’s expansive. He has a happy presence, but it’s not him.’
‘What do you mean, it’s not him? Who is it, then?’
‘It represents energy. Compare Iyengar’s behaviour to the actions of a politician. A politician’s actions are about the person’s ego. If you don’t recognise the politician, he or she ceases to exist. Compare a politician with the Dalai Lama, a person who represents universal consciousness. What’s contained within the Dalai Lama isn’t ego and the individual. It’s energy much larger than the person. It dwarfs the average politician.’
‘The politician’s aura is sleazy and shallow.’
‘Yes, but other people project something real. Cultivate that.’
‘Isn’t that a goal in itself?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Should there be a goal on the path you are designating for yourself? The only thing that matters is to keep doing it. A goal implies potential failure. It’s better to break the task into little pieces. Alignment. Breathing. Awareness of now. Sense of contentment. Think in terms of what’s going on here and now, right at this moment. Not in terms of: In four hours, I’m hosting a meeting where VIPs are going to recognise me and pat me on the back. Don’t be seduced by thinking you are bigger than you are.’
‘What if I have big goals to make positive changes in the world?’ I ask, hoping my writing contributes to ending the human-rights violations in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s jail.
‘Mother Teresa had to be hard-nosed to help the poor of Calcutta. She didn’t do it to win the Nobel Peace Prize. Her goal was to help others. Having big goals to help others is a good way to direct your energy. By all means keep working toward that form of dedication. For your homework, I’d like you to select some quotes from your studies of philosophy and describe them in the context of your character development and aspirations.’
The review of my life makes me realise how much I’ve changed. When I was first arrested, I pined for my old lifestyle – but I no longer identify with that person. Having rushed through life without a care in the world, I never considered the consequences of my actions. I’m grateful to Dr Owen for breaking down my personality and giving me the tools to deal with the parts that lead to excess. After each session, I feel better prepared to face the world.
A week later, I’m called to Medical, which is strange, as I haven’t submitted a request to see Dr Owen. I present my homework:
‘There is no wealth but life’ – John Ruskin
Prison Time Page 26
