by Alexis Angel
“I want some grandchildren,” my mother tells me over the phone one day. “Do you think that’s going to happen anytime soon?”
“Besides, if he’s serving a life sentence, how is he ever going to be able to be there for you?” my friend asks over coffee one weekend. “I mean, sure you see him every day, but an hour a day isn’t a relationship, Kerri. It’s more like sex buddies.”
Deep in my heart, I know that what they say is absolutely true. I am in love with a man who has been placed in jail by society for breaking with its social contract. With a man who will never be getting out from that jail. Who is caged up like a beast, his freedoms denied.
What is it exactly that I see in this relationship? Am I going to move in with him? I can’t. Unless it’s in his cell. Are we going to have a wedding? It would have to be in the jail. And then what about my life? Am I really that selfless to be able to give up waking up next to a man, to give up sharing how my day went with a man, and to constantly wonder if he’s safe? Am I content being along for the rest of my life for the sake of love?
One.
That’s how many times I do go out with guys after my friends beg and plead me to keep an open mind.
I hated that time.
The first and only time it’s with an accountant named Barry. He meets me at a restaurant and proceeds to spend the whole evening telling me about how much money he makes in his recent business. It would be great to celebrate in his success except the man spends so much time talking about himself that I doubt he ever stopped to wonder anything about me. The most he knew about me was my name. I politely declined a second date as we exited the restaurant and I made sure we walked in opposite directions.
That night, as Barry left, I realized the mistake I made and I showed up to work at the jail. The people looked at me strange, but I told them how I had some unfinished paperwork and inmate evaluations to conclude and they just shrugged it off.
It was evening and the prisoners were given some free time after dinner. I put on my scrubs after changing out of my dress to avoid any unwanted attention and waited until I saw Lucien walking back from the canteen. He immediately saw me, and his eyes flashed. I gave him a smile and our code was exchanged.
Ten minutes later, he came to the Alcove where I was waiting for him.
“Surprised to see me?” I asked, turning toward him, taking off my scrubs in front of him so I could pose for him in my sexy lingerie.
“I don’t fucking care why you’re here,” he said, his eyes hungrily devouring me. “I just want to fuck you so bad right now.”
His cock was as thick as a lead pipe and I knew he wasn’t lying. I don’t know if I tore his clothes off or he took them off in a heartbeat, but the next thing I knew he was biting my neck, priming my body. And all of a sudden, he was inside of me. I closed my eyes and felt his entire length going into me as my pussy walls stretched out to accommodate his girth inside my canal. I shuddered in pleasure as he bit my skin between my neck and my shoulder blade as he thrust into and out of me. My skin was on fire and I began to moan uncontrollably as I shucked myself on him, grunting with every thrust onto him. I didn’t care what I sounded like. Or even what I looked like. I needed to come. And I needed it to be on him.
And I did. I came like nothing else that evening. My vision exploded in stars before going dark. My skin arced with electric currents of pure ecstasy as I threw my head back and moaned one of the lewdest sounds I’ve ever made in my life. I lost control of my limbs as they seized up and when I finally came out of my sex coma and into a haze of euphoria, I saw Lucien holding me, looking at me. And I realized that all my doubts were nothing compared to this moment. With this man.
That night, I went home in a daze, my heart aflutter with happiness. I didn't care if Lucien was in jail. I didn't care if I only got to see him for an hour or so a day. Somehow, we would figure it out. We were young. We would let our love fuel our actions. Not our brains.
In a cocoon of happiness, I fell asleep.
And woke up the next morning feeling ill. I rushed to the bathroom, where I barely had time to get to the toiled and bend over before I began heaving and vomiting.
I felt terrible. And I began to cough and wretch as my body tried to empty out the contents of my stomach.
Thinking it was food poisoning, I went to bed. Where I promptly fell asleep until noon, and then I woke up and realized I had been passed out for half the day. What had happened to me? In a way it was good that it was my day off. Lucien wouldn't worry if I missed our normal liaison.
22.95
That’s how many dollars I spent on the pregnancy kit a few hours later when I finally felt good enough to get out of bed. I bought it from the local drugstore when I realized that I was at least two weeks late on my period.
Zero.
That’s how many hours I slept that night as I finally went to bed, my mind still consumed with thoughts about what I was going to do after finding out earlier in the day that I was pregnant.
Lucien
I feel her body clench and I place both of my hands on her hips. I'm gripping her as if she's the last thing on earth, and I hear a growl escape my throat. Being near her brings out everything animalistic in me. She's bent over the exam table, grabbing the edges and trying to muffle her heavy breathing and gasps by biting down on her bottom lip. When that's not working, I watch as she bites her hand, muffling a moan. Her hair is hanging down over her face and I gather it up with one hand and yank it back in a fist. Her legs are trembling and I know we're running out of time—it was a miracle that we even snuck this fuck session in without anyone around, but I can feel that window of opportunity fading fast.
I'm thrusting my cock into her, my jumpsuit and underwear pooled around my ankles, and her elbow bumps into the canister of tongue depressors and it crashes to the floor, along with her clipboard. We stay still for a moment, making sure no one noticed—we are trying to play it safe, but even that noise can't stop us as I continue my rapid thrusts, penetrating her wet and pulsing body with my cock. "We have to…. Be quiet," she says between breaths. But honestly, the more I fuck her the less I care about anything around us. I even tell myself that the rest of the world be damned—let the guards see us.
Right now, this woman is everything. She's the real deal and if I could fuck her every minute of the day I would. "Fuck, you're a goddess," I say, and she seems to like that because she's purring and her whole body is bucking wildly, threatening to swallow me whole.
Then my body tenses and I feel my cock suddenly spasm, spewing thick ropes of cum deep inside of her. Kerri's gyrating her hips and milking my cock even when I think I have nothing left. Then I pull away from her and she turns to me and gets down on her knees, keeping her gaze locked on mine. Without hesitation she takes my cock in her mouth, sucking the remaining cum from my shaft until I'm dry. I exhale deeply—satisfied but spent.
"I've gotten my protein for the day," she purrs, looking up at me with lusty eyes. But before I can even respond to that we hear what sounds like footsteps just outside the door and we quickly jump up—the trance broken—trying to pull ourselves together and I'm pulling my jumpsuit back up and over my hips, and up even further over my shoulders. I give her one last look and kiss the tips of my fingers and then press them to her own lips in one final gesture. She looks at me as if she wants to say something but doesn't. Is she holding something back?
"Until next time," I whisper, and just like that, I'm leaving the infirmary and rounding the corner, walking down the long, narrow hallway—and not a moment too soon because sure enough, here's Gerry rounding the corner with his huge belly and keys jangling in his pockets. I merely tip him a nod hello and keep moving. And besides having to leave the woman of my dreams and being locked up in this place, I'm fucking happy—like really happy. It's as if nothing can bring me down—not even this fucking place, because today I just banged a goddess and if I'm honest with myself, I really like this woman.
I'm rounding t
he corner practically whistling to myself when something doesn't feel right. It starts to feel like I'm walking under a perfectly clear and cloudless sky yet there's a shadow. I look up and my gut instincts are right. Standing in front of me are Grinder and four other guys. They are pissed and looking at me like they're shooting daggers from their eyes and I know they aren't here to ask me to a friendly game of Scrabble or some shit—they're here to kick my ass and they're out for blood.
"Well, well… look who just joined the party. I don't know if you've realized this yet, but today, we're gonna make you our bitch," Grinder growls. He's smiling now, and it's the most sinister grin I've ever fucking seen in my life. "This'll be the last time you ever think about fucking around and cashing checks you can't keep."
"Look, Spider wasn't straight with you. I never promised I could pull off that transfer to St. Smith's. Like I said, the bitch in the infirmary wasn't budging."
"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Grinder asks. "You think I'm falling for any of that bullshit." And as he says this, he advances closer to me and points a finger at my shoulder, and that's it. I've been around enough violence in my life to know that it's a hostile cue. If I stand around any longer I'm gonna be assed out, so I pull my arm back and deliver an uppercut to Grinder's square jaw. Despite him being as thick as a truck, I watch as his knees buckle and he crumples to the ground. This takes everyone by surprise—even me, but within a second, another guy steps in.
He's all business, his eyes wide and flashing hate. He steps in and swings his arm at me, but I'm ready and I block it. I throw my elbow into his nose and I hear a sickening crack—I know it's broken and gushing and I slam my knee into his ribs, also cracking them. He's doubled over now, clutching his side and struggling to breath.
"Do the rest of you have a fucking death wish or what?" I spit, breathing heavy but my entire body on fire—my muscles tense and ready to spring like a lion getting ready to bring down a herd of weaker animals—I'm egging them on and daring them to step forward. My fists are still clenched. My nostrils are flared in anticipation. One guy gets close and I leap forward, boxing the shit out of him—throwing every combo I know, moves I haven't used since my days hustling on the streets and it's obvious he's had enough because he's slumped against the wall and struggling to get away. I watch as he spits blood and a tooth tumbles to the floor. The man looks stunned, like he can't believe what's happened, and I begin to think that maybe I've got this—that I can fucking take on the world.
And just as I think the whole fucking group has had enough, the remaining two lunge at me, one from each side. I'm landing a few solid punches, knocking one guy in the eye, but it's not enough. These guys are nearly seven feet tall and look as if they belong to some sort of fucked up circus show, and I feel a fist crash into my temple and I'm dazed. I'm not seeing stars but pretty damn close.
"Take that, bitch!" one of the tanks growls, and I see his lip turn up in a curl that exposes a series of missing teeth. I feel myself going down—sinking with the weight of the blows, and the heaviness of being overpowered. The only thing left for me to do is to protect my face. My entire body crashes to the hard floor, blood smears creating streaks like warning signs everywhere I look. Instinctively, I raise my arms and curl them around my face as a shield. I'm in a ball now—practically in the fucking fetal position, and I see and feel their feet like hammers, whacking my body. Blow after blow—the violence of it all seems to excite them. Thwack, I hear what sounds like a rib breaking. I try to edge my body away, but it doesn't work. They continue to kick me, and when one shoe lands in the middle of my gut with so much force that I can't breath, my vision goes dark. I can't see anything now, but I can still hear and one man says, "We know you're fucking Kerri." He says it like he's spitting venom. I can't speak; I can't breath. I try to tilt my head and say no, that they've got it all wrong, that she's got nothing to do with any of this, but nothing comes out.
I stay conscience long enough to hear the words that make my blood run cold, "Next time, she's going to die."
And with that, my world fades to black.
Kerri
The pregnancy has caused me to get a second wind in exploring Lucien’s incarceration.
Actually, I've spent the last few days obsessing over Lucien’s case. Pouring over newspaper reports and court transcripts, and Googling every possible search term I can think of to dig up even obscure details. I honestly can't believe what I've been reading. The findings are shocking. There are a number of discrepancies that even to an untrained eye like mine stand out as glaringly obvious.
Lucien is sitting next to me. I can't wait to tell him everything I've learned in the last 24 hours. Does he even realize what a shitty job his lawyer did representing him?
I set everything up so that we could meet in the infirmary today, and now here he is. But I'm nervous because I know there's another reason why I wanted to meet with him today, and I don't know how he's going to handle it. But I have to say it. Holding it in is driving me crazy and clouding my thoughts.
When I told him I had something to share with him, I figured he'd be in a better mood, but he's acting sullen and withdrawn, as if he's preoccupied. But I know this could be the break he needs—all of these discrepancies—and honestly this is a break I need too. Maybe he'll snap out of whatever mood he's in when I tell him what I've found.
I touch his hand with mine. They are big and calloused—working-man hands—and sit in stark contrast to my own. He may feel that there's no hope, but I'm not buying that. I think he's wrong. Not wanting to waste anymore time, I start to tell him about what I've dug up.
"I've been researching your case and I've found some factors that haven't—"
He cuts me off. "You've what? Are you fucking serious?" The look on his face is pure anger.
"What do you mean?" I ask, taken aback. That wasn't the response I was expecting.
"Stop. Just stop, okay? You have no business digging through my case. I've been convicted, remember? That means a judge and jury have found me guilty. It's the beginning and the end of my story."
"Don't say that. Your story is just beginning," I contest, trying to keep him optimistic. He shakes his head. "Do you even hear yourself? You shouldn't be sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
I can't believe what he's saying. "Sticking my nose where it doesn't belong? Oh I see. Sure, you can stick your dick in me, but the minute I want to help… Lucien, look at me. What are you even talking about?"
"What don't you understand exactly?" he asks. "You need me to spell it all out for you? I thought you were smarter than that."
"I don't understand any of it. Why are you so mad? I thought you'd be happy about the info I dug up. This info could get you out here. I thought that's what you wanted."
"Looks like you don't know me at all," he says with such finality that I have a sinking feeling in my stomach.
"I refuse to believe that. I'm trying to help you—us. We have something between us, and excuse me if I don't want to see you rot in here. You don't deserve to be doing time for a crime you didn't commit!"
He refuses to look at me, and instead is slumped forward, his eyes focusing on the linoleum floor. "I want to end this—us," he says at just above a whisper. "You should quit this job, and find something new."
What? It feels as if I've been punched in the gut. I can hardly breath. How could he be saying these things? How could he do this to me? And more importantly, how could I be such a fool to fall for any of it. My pain is turning to anger. I can hear my friend Brie's words ringing in my head: This man is serving a life sentence for murder and you're willing to overlook that just because he's hot?
"Why are you doing this?" I ask. I feel the disbelief in my eyes as I look at him.
"Look, fucking you was fun, but let's be honest—this isn't real. None of it is." His voice takes a mocking tone and hearing these words pour of out of his mouth makes me want to slap him. It feels like the ultimate betrayal and I hear something in
the deep caverns of my body break. I'm fighting the urge to hurt him. I don't want to stoop to that level and I'm holding back hot tears that are threatening to spill down my face. They're sloshing behind my eyelids like water in a too-full cup, and I am trying to keep still because I know that any movement at this point will cause them to overflow. And I'll be damned if I allow myself to shed a tear in front of him.
"I'm happy here—despite you coming in here today and talking to me like I'm a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of your shoe—I'm doing well. The inmates trust me and I'll be up for a pay increase soon. I'm not going to throw this job away because of you—just because you say so. I thought I knew you. But looking at you right now, I guess I don't, and maybe I never did."
With that, Lucien raises his head, no longer slumped, and looks me in the eyes. For the first time, I see that he has fresh bruises on his face. His bottom lip is split open on one side, and one of his eyes is swollen. There's a purple lump on his left cheekbone that looks pretty bad and I wonder who did this to him.
"Oh my god—what happened to you?" I ask. I can't believe I didn't notice until this moment. I reach out to touch his cheek with my fingers and he grabs my arm sharply.
"Don't touch me."
"Lucien, I—"
"It's nothing."
"Let me fix you. I can grab an ice pack and make a compress and—"
"Don't you see? You can't fucking fix me! This is what's real. This prison—these four concrete walls—the fact that you and I will never have a future. All of it."
"I—I need to tell you something," I begin to say. I feel like it's now or never. I need to get something off my chest. "I'm—"
But before I can finish my sentence, with one hard kick, Lucien pushes his chair back and the four metal legs make a shrill scratching sound. When he stands up, he pushes the chair back against the table, and I feel the vibration of it in my arms. It's clear to me that he's over this conversation and isn't willing to hear any more. I'm still trying to talk as I watch him turn around.
