by KL Myers
“Name it, and it's yours,” Gunner replies.
“My parents don’t know. I cut ties with them to protect them years ago when I took on the Devils. I need you to set them straight, please.”
“Consider it done,” Gunner states.
“And Gunner, my kid brother is to know nothing. The conversation you have with my parents is on the down low. I don’t want him to know what a piece of shit I am. You feel me?”
Those are the last words I have. The cold metal of the cuffs close on my wrists, bringing the final dose of reality to my existence. The irony being the bitch she is doesn’t get lost on me. How many times have I done this to so many others, all the while thinking I was above the law?
Five years, five fucking years, is going to be a long time, but I’m Gauge fucking Ellington, and I got this shit. This will be a walk in the park. I’ll do my time, pay my dues, and be out in no time.
On The Inside
MY BODY WAKES just like clockwork every morning. I’m a light sleeper. I have to be, or I’ll end up dead. I owe my life to Gunner; without his skills I would have looked at ten years. Now, I’m sixty-one days away from freedom. Five years, that’s what the judge said it would take to repay for my sins, and I’ve spent the last 1,765 of them just trying to stay alive.
It doesn’t matter that I was a cop; I got no special treatment at all. When everything was said and done, I was just another criminal paying the system for his bad choices.
The day I walked into this madhouse, I wasn’t scared. I should have been, but I wasn’t. I was delusional thinking it was going to be a walk in the park. Forty-eight hours was all it took for me to see the light. I woke up in the middle of the night to find my cell mate standing beside me, ready to end my life. That was when I became a light sleeper; I feared for my life every day from that day forward. Never sit with your back to anyone, and always keep yourself on high alert were tasks I soon mastered.
Prison isn’t like you see on TV. It’s dark, violent, and non-nurturing, and if you don’t know the rules, they are taught to you right away. Inmates are quick to spot the weak, and if you are weak, you don’t survive. If you forget your place, you are quickly taught exactly what it is.
Guards are babysitters when you get right down to it. They like to think they hold all the power but honestly, they don’t. If the news ever shared what really goes down behind these concrete walls, the public would realize the inmates run the asylum. Guards play favorites, turn their backs when shit goes down, and just bide the time throughout the day waiting to get home and sink their dicks into their significant other just to prove they have the power that really alludes them. Their only concern is keeping the scum of the earth within the walls they call a prison. They couldn’t care less what the prisoners do to each other as long as it doesn’t disrupt their daily lives. Once that happens, you are shit out of luck, and all bets are off.
Just to give you an idea of how fucked up our system is. A prisoner can kill another prisoner and just end up in solitary for several months, but attack a guard, and you get five extra years to your sentence. I say it is our government's way of weeding out the population. Why let someone out early on good behavior just to avoid population issues if you can let the lifers end the life of someone just doing a short stint? Lifers have nothing to lose, so adding additional years to their sentence doesn’t affect them one way or the other.
Here’s the thing, prisoners have nothing but time on their hands. It’s not like they are out having a social hour every day, drinking and eating with friends. They are listening, assessing, and watching for moments when no one is paying attention and they can strike. They gather tidbits of conversation and gain knowledge of your weaknesses. They watch for routines and habits and store that shit to memory.
Information is the currency inside these walls. You got good information that would benefit someone, and you are a rich man. You overhear the guards talking about something that could benefit a fellow inmate, and you’ve got leverage to make it through another day with your life.
For me, I was doubly screwed. Inmates hated the fact that I was once a cop. They didn’t care that I did something illegal; all they cared was that I sent people to this place. The guards hated me because I stood for everything they wanted and couldn’t obtain and then threw it all away. See, guards want to be cops. They want to be on the force but obviously didn’t make it for some shit reason, hence their reason for being in this hell. I’ve come to the conclusion that they either weren't smart enough to pass the test, weren’t strong enough to physically excel, or had some sort of emotional issue that kept them from passing the psychological portion. Any of these things individually is an issue, but combine all three of them together, and you have one fucked-up guard watching or not watching your back.
What I miss the most is the warmth of a pussy wrapped around my cock. My hand has become my best friend, that and abstinence. Some guys are good with slipping it up the ass of another guy or even having another dude's lips wrapped around their cock, but not me. I don’t care how long a dude’s hair is; there is no way I could make believe he’s a woman. I’d rather die than substitute the few memories I have of pussy with Billy’s half-assed attempt at being a woman. I’m not going to say rape doesn’t happen behind these walls, but it is not as often as the real world would make you think it does. If you are in here for any length of time, you have to make the decision of whether you want to have consensual sex with a member of the same sex or do without. Some guys are good with that, just not me.
The Sweet Smell Of Freedom
I’M FREE TODAY. I’m leaving behind the bars and chain link fences that held me captive for the last 1,826 days. Yes, that’s five years. Five years of being alone, no contact with my family, and very little contact with Gunner, my attorney. I was alone, and that’s how I wanted it, my penance. I’m actually more terrified of leaving this place than the day I came in.
Sitting in my cell awaiting my release, I’m wearing the clothes that were provided to me and holding the free phone, compliments of the Federal Government Tax Program in my hand. I was told that phone allows me to receive calls from my parole officer any time of the day or night.
I look to my left and see the welcome-back-to-reality packet I was provided. Upon opening it, I’ve been provided with the name and number of my parole officer along with instructions on what is required of me while on parole. I read that I have ninety days in which to secure employment or I’m headed back in. No fucking way that is going to happen. There is also a list of halfway houses I can stay at, but thanks to my parents, I won’t need.
When I called them to ask if they would pick me up and give me a place to live, I got the lecture of a lifetime from my dad. He was still disappointed in me, but my mom being the saint that she is graciously opened up their home to me without hesitation. My mom was always the softer of the two, more willing to forgive and forget. She was the best, telling me I could stay as long as needed, but I needed my independence, so I wouldn’t be staying too long.
“Let’s go,” I hear the guard tell me.
Rising, I walk to the door, look back over my shoulder, and say good-bye to the 6x8 cell that used to be my home. As I exit the prison, I’m provided a prison ID and a First National debit card with fifty bucks on it, compliments of the prison system as payment for the wages I earned while in the system.
I hear the closing of the metal behind me and see nothing but open air in front of me and realize just how lucky I am that I am going to see my family. Against the odds, I survived five fucking years of hell.
As I walk toward my parents, I can see the tears falling from my mom's eyes. I made Gunner ensure that my parents didn’t come visit me. I couldn’t risk their safety. So this homecoming is bittersweet.
I don’t made it five feet outside the gate when my mom breaks out into a run to me, wrapping her arms around me, squeezing the life out of me. At least it feels that way.
“Gauge, I'm so happy to
day,” Mom says through the sobbing tears that run down her face as she holds me and rocks me like I’m that teenage boy all over again.
“Son, it’s good to have you a free man again,” Dad says as he squeezes and pats my shoulder.
“Thanks, Mom and Dad. Can’t tell you how much this means to have you here for me. I don’t deserve it, but man, am I thankful.”
“Let’s get you home,” my dad says. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and get you up to speed on.”
For the next forty-five minutes of our drive, my dad brings me up to speed on exactly what has gone on while I was away. Braedyn, my little brother, became a firefighter, got married to his high school sweetheart, and had started living his happily ever after, only to have it taken away from him when his wife died two years into their marriage. Now, he is finally back in the dating game and seeing an “amazing woman,” per my mom.
“Gauge, Rylee is super sweet. You are going to love her. And the best thing of all is she makes your brother happy, and he deserves happy.” I know I will like Rylee if she makes my brother happy.
“Can’t wait to meet her, Mom,” I reply.
Mom proceeds to fill me in on Rylee’s past, causing my gut to roll over with anger. Rylee had been in an abusive relationship for several years. Once she finally got out, her ex wasn't too hip on letting her go and ran her off the road. That is how she met my brother.
Seems her ex, Colt, just so happens to be doing time in the same place I called home for so many years. I silently wish to myself that I had known that was the case while I was in there. I’d have searched Colt out and beat the shit out of him myself, not caring if it added more time to my sentence. Of course, that doesn’t mean it might not still happen. I have friends I’ve made on the inside, and with one request, I can get one of the lifers to do me a favor and show that douche what it is like to be a punching bag for a change.
I’m quietly contemplating how to make that happen when my mom gets the call that brings more terror to my heart than I’ve felt in years. It’s the call that no parents want to get, but apparently, Braedyn was injured today while on call and has been taken to the hospital, and it could be serious. Putting the pedal to the metal, my dad speeds off in the direction of the hospital. Looks like getting settled at home is going to have to wait.
I’M PROUD OF my little brother for becoming a firefighter, and according to Mom, a damn good one. I’ve missed so much time with him because of my choices, and now it appears that I might not be able to make up for it.
My gut tightens just thinking of the time I’ve lost and won’t be able to get back. So, I silently say a prayer, begging for time. Time to get to know my brother again, and time to become a part of his life that I’ve missed out on.
I didn’t expect the response we receive upon our arrival at the hospital. “Get out,” I hear Braedyn tell my mom. He isn’t happy to see me, that is for sure. My heart breaks just a bit, because I’m not sure what I was expecting. Open arms wasn’t it, but I didn’t expect him to despise me so much that he would throw me out of his hospital room.
“Wow, I didn’t know he hated me that much,” I say out loud.
“He doesn’t hate you,” my mom replies.
“He does, Mom. I saw the anger in his eyes. He thinks I’m bad news, doesn’t he? He isn’t going to just leave the past in the past. I can tell.”
“Just give him time, Gauge; he’ll come around, I know it. He just needs to get to know you again,” Mom says with sadness in her voice I didn’t expect.
Good thing I’ve got nothing but time on my hands; now, all I have to do is wait for the opportunity to get to know my brother again. Just how much time that is going to take I’m not sure.
Starting Over Again – My Fresh Start
IT ISN’T GOING to be easy, that I know. No respectable employer wants to hire a former felon. No matter how much time you did or didn’t do, the minute you mark ‘yes’ to having a criminal record, you may as well have not wasted your time.
There are only a couple things I’m good at in life, and protection is at the forefront of my mind. I need a job that will give me a semblance of belonging again. Belonging to something bigger than myself. What I need is an employer who doesn’t care who I am, and then it hits me.
Bob Peterson. I haven’t talked to him in years, but Paisley and I remained friends all the way up to my incarceration. I’m sure Gunner has kept in touch with her as well. I always thought there was something going on between the two of them, and if there is, then that could work to my advantage. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my government-provided phone, thank you very much, and dial up Gunner.
“Hey, brother, I heard you got out already. Sorry I haven’t called. I’m in the middle of something big, and I’m walking into the courthouse, so make it quick,” Gunner barks into the phone.
“Got time for lunch, dinner, drinks, anything? I need your help.”
“Dinner. Six p.m. Delvecio’s on 32nd Street. Be there. Gotta go. Oh, and Gauge, glad you’re home safe.” And with that, Gunner hangs up.
Strolling into Delvecio’s is like walking down memory lane. Gunner and I would come here from time to time when we were in college. Loved the food, and it didn’t hurt that it’s owned by Gunner’s cousin.
“Table for one?” a cute pixy with red hair asks as I walk through the door.
“Two, please. Meeting Gunner, um sorry, Harvey for dinner,” I tell her.
“Of course, he’s already waiting for you. Follow me.”
I watch her cute little ass sway as I walk behind her. She has just a little extra swing in her hips, and I’m not sure if that is the way she walks normally or if she does it for my benefit. Either way, my dick is definitely aware of it. Her skirt is short, barely reaching below her ass cheeks and leaving nothing but my imagination to ponder what it would look and feel like. This has my dick twitching, which is probably not the best thing to happen right now.
When we reach the table, she reaches for my arm, running her hand up my bicep. “Have a wonderful dinner. If you need anything, I’m Amber. Just ask for me.”
“Well, Amber, I could use your lips wrapped around my cock, but since those are not the services you provide here, I’m good for now, but thank you,” I tell her.
Gunner stands from his chair and reaches out to shake my hand. “Still an arrogant dick, I see,” he says with a smile while shaking his head back and forth.
“Some things never change, brother, and me being a dick is one of them. Is she always so helpful?” I ask.
“Not usually. She must see something she likes,” he contorts.
“I’ll have to keep that in mind for later,” I tell him. “I need your help. You still keep in touch with Paisley?”
“Sure, what’s she got to do with anything?” Gunner asks with a disapproving tone.
“Relax, I just want to see if she can get me in touch with her dad. I need a job and thought he might need a bouncer at Club Desire.”
The apprehension on Gunner’s face washes away with my request. I knew it, there is something between the two of them, but that will be a topic for later.
“Why didn’t you say so?” Gunner laughs. “I can hook you up with that. You don’t need to bother Paisley. Bob and I are friends. Let me call him.”
Bob. Well, I guess there is more to Paisley and Gunner than I thought. Mr. Peterson never let me call him by his first name.
“So, Bob, huh? When did you become on a first name basis with Paisley’s dad?”
“About the same time he became my father-in-law. Look, I think we need to catch you up on a few things,” he tells me. “But let me place this call first.”
Over dinner, I come to find that Paisley and Gunner started dating regularly after college. They kept it from me in the beginning because it was just casual and they weren’t sure how I would react to it. By the time it got to be serious, I was doing time, and it didn’t seem to be that important in the big scheme of things. They both g
et off on group sex, so it is a match made in heaven, or so he says.
Bob now owns not only Club Desire, but he also owns a place called Sweet Spot, which is a local strip club/fetish club downtown. I now have a place of employment, no questions asked. All Gunner had to do was call Bob, remind him of who I was, and the job was all mine. And just like that, a huge weight is taken off my shoulders.
I slip my phone number to Amber as I walk toward the door. “Call me when you get off.”
“Oh, I won’t have to call you. You’ll be right there getting off with me,” she says.
“Looks like I’ll be picking you up at eleven then.”
“Looks like it.” She smiles back at me.
The Sweet Spot – It’s Not Just A Place Of Employment
WHEN I FIRST start working the door at The Sweet Spot, I soon learn there is more to the club than what I expected. Enter to the left, and it is a full-on strip club with the sweetest dancers you can imagine. Three stages, four bars, and several VIP rooms for private parties and private dances.
Enter to the right, and all your fantasies will come true. Fetishes is exactly what it sounds like. Similar to Club Desire, Fetishes caters to the extremely bizarre tastes. If you want to get your freak on, this is the place to do it. No alcohol is served here, and you can’t just pop next door to The Sweet Spot for a drink and then come back over. There are strict rules, and breaking them costs you your membership.
Fetishes isn’t advertised, and it is by membership only, so if you pay to belong, you follow the rules. No one wants to drop several grand a month on a membership and then lose it all because of stupidity.
I’ve become close with two of the other bouncers, Walrus and Rusty. Walrus got his name because he swore he had the largest dick of anyone, and Rusty, well, let's just say that the name fits his ability to get a girl off.