I Should've Stuck With Books
- Jun 9
- 7 min read
Chapter Three
June 9th, 2026
Courtesy of "Maddie" came a container of base makeup. Honey Beige is my jam, apparently. Reapplication was a necessary nuisance ten times daily with Ms. Madeleine herself handling my cosmetology. Maddie is my top yard chick-pick. She's here for murder, that of their rapist. Fresh from high school was their trans-sition. Sexuality wasn't the impetus, gender was. Within that skin beat a heart that felt female to them, an engine for a different car, so the body got remodeled. Not to get laid, entice payment, or garner protection, but feel right. This individual has ambitions, talents, and focus none of which appears as rabid narcissism. Also Mattie isn't a trend or a 2020's stereotype designed by activists who ruined things for smart capable people like her.
She's had a court battle over access to hormones and removal imminent alongside all things gender-affirming. Maddie's been a recipient for decades, and subtraction destroys them. People are blaming our president and the conservative crowd. Outside I look at penis-bearing idiots in nun habits entering elementary classrooms grooming with disturbing self-indulgence. Massive over-built people designated female a 20th of their existence destroying the careers of their biologically female competition. Fools in clown-woman-drag hawking beer sold stratospherically to brand-building blue-collar Bible-belters for appeasing a vocal minority. The moderate country never cared for or against Mattie or anybody like them until an asshole version got crammed down their throat then shoved into their ideological orbit. They got labeled intolerant murders supporters over not reading a sheet of silly rules that changed daily only certified losers could accommodate because they have nothing better to do. The Presidential base reaction wasn't disproportionate to the action.
Internally, I blame child-rapists like Sadie. Gigi's here, bragging about the lawsuit she won to wear a skirt. Hideous, ill-fitting, ankle-length nightmare this person looks ridiculous in, but got it as a Pentecostal poser wasting tax money to show out and brighten a bad spotlight. Princess throws star-fits incessantly, one day cutting their nut out to toss at a guard over not being allowed a set of booty shorts. Squads of sex criminals in sports bras stop beatings by making jailhouse justice that inhibits child rapist repetition a hate crime. Molesters like Ass-ley come to places like No-Point to reward their bad behavior. Survivors setting the bar meritoriously like Mattie got mauled.
Conversely we met Maisie. Fixate-able as all get out, another genuine genius trans inmate but flip-side to our Madeleine altogether. David was born with this thing many a dude would kill for - a monster pecker. Seriously when they hung out in silky grey shorts the pendulum effect was hypnotic. Maisie once assaulted another inmate with their rod, a fragile sex offender named Amos who stupidly talked fresh to them so they smacked his noggin with it from inside shorts. Some adult terrorized Davy Mays as a youth to what extent I'm in the dark, but it made him despise the piece. He turned on his whole male form in fact. Eventually beating off became unbearable.
Waking with an unsquelchable aching boner, Maisie couldn't fit the sensitive near-ect hulk into their khakis. A medical knockoff was issued until the swelling abated. Not to sound like some old schoolmarm but incredibly it wasn't funny. Misery molded Maisie's miserable mug with the elephantine third arm proudly presenting the whole time. Realizing you have numerous questions, I wish I had answers, Sweet Things. Never have I seen such. I relayed the story to Big Blind John. Obviously optics were lost so he was overcome with hysterical laughter over the knockoff and Maisie was convinced of my status as a butthole. Telling her I didn't cosign as audience here was impossible. I coulda smacked BBJ.
Tip of the iceberg, Maisie was a freak. Prostitution was a go. Paying table debt from poker with lip-services - check. Unashamedly until her partner Tray arrived from another place. Then the Ho to housewife transition was underway. Too late though as the staff of NPTC despised this character. From inside a one-man shitter (sorry, it's how the syntax rolls, Sensitive Simon) Maisie put on a show for some outside passersby involving dem tiddies and the camera-watchers panned the performance by shutting it down permanent-like. Predicting she'd be lucky to last a year I didn't bet anybody with eight months in a pool thankfully.
Back at my first black eye, the makeup worked for the better part of a week but unfortunately not enough. A tattletale coughed up my tale to the law. Into Ms. Es office with the door closed Fuggit sat. Sarge Griffin interrogated him with the lady-boss for over an hour as I sat in the Corrections Office, door wide-open. Griffith entered expressing sympathy for my 'recent fall'. Requesting I sign a P.C. Refusal (Protective Custody), off to Medical we went for facial shots, then I was dismissed. All was unmentionable as that season of "Dallas" all dreamed by Bobby Ewing.
The bullpen was alive with questions. How did we avert arrest? Simply said, Fuggit went in Ms.E's office and told. Blabbed about any and everything the little creep knew. Proving he could show that Meryl Streep a couple of things about acting, Donny gave several raging sermonettes regarding going into the woman's room and squealing (like he'd done about me months prior unbeknownst to us all then).
All's well that ends well, and this did not really. In the pill line another cop named Savage, an insecure and very weird man who looking all of 12 who got his ass handled by tranny legend Jessica Flame, inquired about the eye. I told him Griffith handled it. From there the Captain who became a Unit Administrator recently moving me from 6 to 5, and had me wrongly investigated for swapping chicken wings for blow-jobs (done in #20, "WhoCares? Whores Do." Chapter 2), DeBord, reviewed the cameras and to the hole I headed. Investigation saw me released for not throwing punches, due a lack of options from the lightning attack. Back to 6 soon after, Donny colluded with a former hitman named Jackson to have me robbed and nearly shipped over a delinquent food pack. Everything bagels drive peckish Italians to do the craziest crap, Kids. Off to A I ended up temporarily, returning about 6 months later. The favor here was Fuggit clearly ratting with me working overtime to protect all parties with my trap shut. Respect for me all around vibrated higher the following months. Bitch did SOMETHING useful for once.
Rewinding to the #2 shiner, the nonstop camo job stressed me to distraction. Finally I was summoned to the Dorm One's C.O. Office where Captain Estes grilled me about my raccoon look. Dropped the tablet on my face, natch. Fell asleep watching a TV show. Could happen to anybody. Say Otis the town drunk, f'rinstance. He promised me a camera review that had me sweating bullets and pistols but my freedom grew daily and each passing milestone I gave myself room to celebrate cautiously. By the weekend I sighed a long breath from my toes hitting every port from knees to anus out the cave of my face. Home-free and hard-earned.
A couple months later Big Blind John's Aide - Peanut, the sex offender who smacked Ali from earlier - went to the hole for smooching a boy and I seized the opportunity. Back to the fold finally. From there came a rider on that August bus I waited for. He's another huge story, Guppies.
As for the unnamed, he's around and I love him to this day. Yeah he did me serious wrong. Terrified, and I can empathize with the fearfulness and newness involved. Queerleader loves me, too, but was in a situation he had no idea how to handle. I guess when your ex gives you a black eye, it makes a person see things different.
Here in Dorm 5 before my trip to the hole for swigging coffee laced with old man-dope-spit (a substance, not a person) in February, a boob called Ron Jeremy two days running wrapped an ear-bud extension to my TV around his girthy stem knocking it to the floor. Second time successful, my set was smashed. Luckily under warranty from Black (Eye) Friday, I took the machine to Commissary with the necessary paperwork. Turning everything in, Ms. Rogers who runs the hub on which Commissary stands told me three weeks was customary for replacement.
A month plus change after without a set, eerily reminiscent of the previous year and a half of screen absence, I submitted the Staff Contact Form required for such. Days awaiting its return with response, I headed over. Ms. Rogers was told "on it's way". Three weeks later, lather, rinse, repeat. Ditto on the message. Another near month passed when about in tears I approached Rogers while I was going through a rotten day I could dull out with a boob-tube.
What happened? What you should expect by now. Like I showed already, that the woman CARES and does not view the body politic she works with as an inconvenience. She earns her paycheck, not getting one despite a crap approach and attitude. My TV was supposedly refunded weeks ago and could've been ordered and replaced back in February, now being near May. The person saying " on its way was a liar. Too lazy to click a key and check. Unaccountable yet paid, and should have their cans marched as so many yard-wide out to the parking lot with their details in a cardboard box told never to return. Any service sector job outside that fence would deem them inadequate. Slobs like that aren't real-world qualified to run Tilt-A-Whirls.
USG? Never did they ever refund the money. My power of attorney has had to produce bank statements. They disregarded the protocol for replacement. Then they falsely claimed a refund to STEAL. This is what this monopolistic group making millions does. Permitted by agencies like the D.O.C., fully empowered for the extortion and robbery of innocent people connected to prisoners. ICare has a retail service branch who should be allowed to sell here like other prisons. Competition should exist where it can to eliminate criminal practices.
If you see this and care about prison affairs, drop a line to our DOC Commissioner Cookie Crews. Tell her to end the monopolization of incarceration commerce and the abuses levied on the orbital public. Union Supplys choke-hold deserves competition. There's plenty we've not even discussed yet, Sugar. I'll be back soon.
Comments