Prison Rape

Before I ever arrived at the Washington Corrections Center in Shelton, Washington (W.C.C. state prison) I had been told by just about everyone I spoke to that I would be “targetted for sex” by other inmates, and probably beat-up, or maybe even killed, just because of the way I looked. I was only 19 years old, six feet tall and 138 pounds soaking wet. I had no body hair to speak of, and no facial hair at all. According to my psych-evals, I was also very immature and effeminate (though I had no idea at the time what being “effeminate” meant). They say the three things that will get you killed in prison are sex, drugs and gambling. But the one thing that will get you killed or hurt the fastest is fear. Fear draws predators like death draws flies. With my age, my looks, and my fear, I was a walking rape just waiting to happen. The first men to rape me were two “sexual psychopaths” who were from the same sex offender program at Western State Hospital that I had been expelled from in order to be sent to prison. I don't remember their names (they were not in the same “treatment group” that I was in at the program), so I'll just call them Big John and Kevin. Big John was a huge youngster (but still several years older than me). In fact, he was the “biggest white guy” in the whole prison. But he was also soft spoken and easy going. He was the one who first came to my cell and told me that because we were both “from the program”, we should be friends. He asked me if I wanted to get high, and invited me to come down to his cell with Kevin, at the very end of the tier, away from the guard station, to smoke a pinner (a small marijuana joint, common in prison). I knew enough at least to avoid a set up like this, but Big John and Kevin were x-program members, so I thought I could trust them. Yes, I was that naïve. Big John was a pedophile. So, he resorted to trying to manipulate me with conversation in order to get me to do what he and Kevin wanted, after he got me into his cell with the door closed. He promised me that no one else would find out and that it would be “mutual”. But, I said I wasn't interested and tried to leave. That prompted Kevin to grab me from behind. He was a little shorter than me, but heavier and much stronger. Kevin was a stone-cold rapist, and seemed to enjoy the prospect of violence. He forced me down onto the end of the bunk, then told Big John to grab my hands (since I was trying to fight him) so he could pull down my pants. But, Big John still prefered manipulation over psysical force, so he told me, “We're gonna do it one way or the other. You may as well just go along so we won't hurt you” (which, incidentally is the same logic that police proffer when subduing a “suspect”). I agreed, and stopped resisting. I let Kevin pull down my pants while I was still bent over the end of the bunk. He penitrated me from behind while Big John put his erect penis in my mouth as he layed on the bunk and told me how to pleasure him. This was the very first time I had ever had anal sex (top or bottom), and it was also the first time anyone ever told me how to “suck dick”. (All my previous experiences with oral sex had never consisted of more than placing the penis in the mouth while masterbating, including the oral “rape” that I was in prison for.) After Kevin ejaculated inside of me, they switched places. And, with more threats of violence, Kevin persuaded me to pleasure him orally too, even after he had just had anal sex with me. The entire experience was revolting, but I was too frightened to not do what I was told. Luckily there was only a little pain (other times that I was raped in prison were much more painful during the act of penitration, I learned the hard way why “bending over” is always a good idea when you are getting anally raped). There was nothing “mutual” about any of it, at least not until a few days later (after other inmates had found out that I was “easy”, and started pressuring me with threats of violence to have “one-way” sex with them). Big John told me to come down to his cell again, so we could talk. I went, expecting to be raped again, but this time he was alone (not that he couldn't have raped me all by himself if he wanted to), and instead of demanding sex from me, he offered himself to me! He told me not to tell anyone, not even Kevin. He gave me oral sex until I was half erect, then he layed back on his bunk and put his legs in the air and told me to “put it in!” Well, the sight of his giant hairy ass was more than my poor little fellow could bear. I lost what little stiffness I had, and told him I wasn't really interested in the “mutual” thing anyway. He was kind enough to let me go, with a few further, admonishments to not tell anyone, of course. But I did tell, my friend and fellow “punk”, Junior. And Junior told a black man who was pressuring him for information about me. And the black man told his friends, who told their friends, until, of course someone finally told Big John, “what Duncan was saying”. By this time I was living on a different tier, from a futile attempt to get away from being “pressured for sex”. But Big John came onto my tier and a huge crowd followed him to my cell to witness the confrontation that it seemed everyone but me knew was about to happen. He came into my cell and pretty much accused me of lying about him, then punched me in the face. There was no way I could even hurt this guy if he gave me ten free shots, so I fell to the ground, and confessed profusely that I had lied about him. He pretended to be satisfied, and left. The show was over. I should actually credit him for not doing much worse. By all “rights” he should have put me in the hospital (and at the same time I thought he was going to). But his true nature was not violent, he only did the bare minimum of what he had to do to protect his “reputation”. He let me off easy, and I learned to keep my mouth even more “shut” than before. Now I knew that I couldn't tell the guards, or even other inmates, about what was happening to me. I never felt more scared and alone in all my life. By not at least trying to fight back against Big John, I unwittingly “announced” to the whole tier that I was “fair game”. Anyone who wanted to have sex with me from then on didn't even have to threaten me themselves. All they had to do was threaten to tell Big John that I was “talking about him” again, and they could make me do anything they wanted. Especially since before Big John left my cell, after punching me in the face, he threatened to do “a lot worse” if he ever heard of me talking about him again. And all the “vultures”, “wolves” and “big cats”, were no doubt salivating at his words (these are the different kinds of prison sex predators, each with their own tactics and tastes). Once again, I was the last one to realize what was going to happen next. The wolves ganged up (six of them attacking me at once), the big cats pounded in turn, and the vultures moved in for the left overs. If I hadn't been transferred when I was, I probably would have been killed; if not by someone jealous “daddy's” shank, then for sure by the even more gruesome, Mr HIV (which was in it's heyday at the time). I eventually began getting aroused while I was being used for sex. At first it confused me, I wasn't trying to be aroused at all. I remember the first time it happened, as I lay on my stomach on a black man's bunk with my pants down around my ankles, and the man himself laying on top of me kissing the back of my neck while he had anal sex with me. I felt myself getting an erection, and thought it was just more evidence that something was “wrong” with me. I got transferred to another prison soon after that, and had learned how to “act tough” (i.e. not show fear) so I didn't draw so much unwanted attention, and the rapes stopped. But then the fantasies of getting used began. It gave me a way to take control back from the men who had taken so much control away from me. At least, in my mind, at first. But eventually I started “letting” men use me for sex, but only if they treated me with respect. And hense, I became a prison queen. But that's a different story.