What Happened In Prison – Part IV: The Queen

„I will remember, because a queen can never forget.” - Juana of Castile, in The Last Queen, by: C.W. Gortner

By the time I arrived at WSP (Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla, Washington) in early 1990, I was a full-fledged and completely weaned prison queen. All my nervousness about being seen as queer had left me, and was replaced by the more normal social nervousness over meeting new people and adapting to a new environment.

As strange as it may seem, I was actually looking forward to Walla Walla, even though it was reputedly one of the most violent prisons in the country. I was fed up with all the petty games and attitudes from the wannabe prison (MICC), and hope WSP would be better. I had no concern at all for my safety because I was, after all, Big Al's girl and nobody messed with a fully represented queen in a real prison.

Right away as soon as I stepped off the chain-bus I knew things were going to be different. The guards actually treated me with politeness and respect. They even took me into a private area in order to strip search me out of view of the other inmates. And I could have sworn the guards themselves were looking at me lasciviously, though that was possibly just my own devious imagination at work.

From the intake processing area all the inmates from the chain-bus were taken to a temporary housing unit for a few days of observation before we would be classified for regular housing in the prison.

As we were being dressed out in the temporary unit (given clothes to replace the orange transport coveralls) an inmate I'd never met before covertly gave a full pack of cigarettes along with a message from Big Al that he would see me at mainline (in the chow hall).

I passed some of the cigarettes out to other inmates who I had befriended on the bus and they in turn passed them out to their friends. Suddenly I was very popular and it felt strange.

As a queen I had to get used to people I'd never met before talking to me as if they knew all about me. I was a celebrity of sorts since people talked about almost everything I did. For example, almost everyone I met had heard about how I „dumped” Kato, the kung fu expert and asian gang leader at MICC and „lived to tell about it”. They also knew that I had broken into the furniture factory offices at McNeil Island and „planted a computer virus” in order to avenge Big Al.

Usually it was the things people „knew” about me that I didn't even know about myself that were the most interesting. Things like:

„Hey, Jazzi! I heard you turn tricks with the turn keys!”

Oh, I didn't know that.

„Hey, Jazz! I heard you got AIDS...”

Oh, really?

That AIDS rumor actually followed me all the way to Kootenai county jail in Idaho in 2005. The FBI asked my attorneys to get an HIV test for me because they „heard” that I was HIV positive from a former cellmate of mine. Ya, right. (That particular inmate used to sit on his bunk and masturbate while he watched me exercising in the cell. He was not my cellmate for very long – after I told Big Al what he was doing)

All this attention was a bit disconcerting for me at first, especially considering my so-called „antisocial” propensities. But I ultimately learned to relish it as much as anyone would, revelling in all the positive attention while ignoring the negative; usually.

I got almost no harrassment at all from the other inmates. The worst insult I got came from a prison guard who waved a hot dog at me as I was going through the serving line in the chow hall to get my food one day.

„Do you like weaners?” He asked, apparently to get a laugh from the other inmates around because there weren't any other guards within earshot.

If an inmate had been stupid enough to attempt to insult me like that I probably would have picked up one of the hot dogs off my own tray and thrown it at him while saying something like, „sure, but I like to share!”

Something like that might have been what flashed through my mind as I stopped and just glarred at him. The guard must have seen something in my eyes at that moment that frightened him, because I remember seeing the fear flash just for a moment on his face before he covered it up with a nervous laugh and a sudden order to, „keep moving!”

The fear on his face, even if just for a moment, told me he was a coward. So I dismissed him and the entire incident. By the time I got to my table, in the „blacks only” area of the chow hall, I had forgotten all about him. But he unfortunately didn't forget about me.

Later that night I was called out of the unit six dayroom and escorted by a group of three guards down into the counselor's office area; a secluded area after hours with all the lights turned off. I didn't understand why I was there until one of the guards turned on me suddenly and glowered in my face.

He said menacingly, „If you ever look at me like that again I'll find a way to mess you up!” (an exact quote by the way)

It took me a full second or two to realize that I was being threatened. And then another second or two to figure out who the guard was and why he was threatening me.

„Oh!” I said „You're that guard from the kitchen!” I was smiling at my own realization.

Yes, smiling. I thought the threat was funny because it was so pathetically childish. I actually chuckled, as I said, „Is that all you want?”

The guard said, „Yah, just remember what I said”. Then he ordered me to return to the unit dayroom unescorted. So, I turned and started to leave.

But, as I walked away I couldn't resist a parting shot, I said over my shoulder, „You don't know who you're messing with; I'm not some duck...”

...that you can intimidate, is what I'd meant to say. But, before I could finish the guard cut me off by yelling at me – he had just gotten exactly what he wanted from me all along; a „threat”. In that „authoritative command” voice, that cowards like him love, he screamed, „Lock up! Now!”

I had fallen for the same kind of trap that got Big Al shipped out of MICC. It's an easy trap to fall into, even if you know about it. Fortunately I was already in a maximum security prison so I couldn't be shipped out. But I could go to the hole, and that's exactly what happened. I returned to my cell and after a few minutes the goon-squad arrived, and cuffed me up to take me to segregation. The guard from the kitchen was with them and kept making comments that were intended to get me to „resist”. But I knew better than to give him a chance to „goon” me also. (Getting „gooned” is prison slang for getting beat up by the guards. All they need is the smallest excuse in order to make the paperwork look good and then they can beat you up all they want. But they need that excuse, however small, before they can get away with it. And don't think for a moment that it's just a few „corrupt” guards that do this. It's part of how „the system” works, and just one of the hypocritical aspects that made me hate it so much. Rodney King knows what I'm talking about!)

At the disciplinary hearing the guard from the kitchen denied waving the hot dog at me and threatening me, of course. And so, more evidence of my „antisocial” behavior in prison was added to my official record.

And that was the story of the worst insult I received. But the greatest compliment came from a young inmate in the unit six shower room.

The showers were only open for a couple of hours each evening after mainline (chow). It is a single large tiled room with about 25 or 30, or so, shower heads spraying water from the walls. No stalls, of course, and a guard booth right there in the shower so there'd be no funny business. There was always a crowd in the showers.

I used to usually go with Big Al as my „escort”, more for symbolism than because there was any real danger from other inmates. Sometimes I'd even go by myself, but I liked having my „man” with me.

I'd always be sure to prepare ahead of time by putting on a pair of jocky underpants in a way that allowed me to keep my „embarrassment” tucked up between my legs in the shower, with my testicles actually held up inside the abdomen.

I wore these „panties”, as I called them, for the whole time that I was in the shower, and would discretely wash under them to get myself clean.

So, anyway, one day, as I was drying off and getting ready to leave the shower room, a young inmate standing next to me who was also just getting out of the shower, suddenly asked me a question completely out of the blue.

Shyly, he asked, „Do they let you take female hormones here?”

I answered in my girliest voice, „I wish!”

Then I wondered why he would ask a question like that. I didn't know him and have never spoken to him before. And I thought it was obvious, by how flat chested I was, that I'd never used female hormones. So, out of curiosity I asked him, in turn, „Why do you ask?”

Without hesitation he answered, „Because you look so much like a real woman with no clothes on”. And then he quickly moved away, apparently embarrassed by his own comment.

It was obvious that he did not intend to flatter me. I could have kissed him right there in the shower, if he hadn't run away so quick. To this day I can think of no time that I was ever more proud of how my body looked.

I just realized that I forgot to tell about how I got moved into the same unit, and even the same cell, with Big Al.

At first they put me in a special unit that was still in general population but had only one-man cells. It was in that unit that I got to meet and know a legendary prison queen named Star.

There's really not much to tell about my meeting Star, except that she was past her girly prime and no longer bothered to even try to appear effeminate, though everyone still called her Star and refered to her in the feminine.

In her day Star was a legend. Not for her good looks (she was too big and muscular to ever pass for a real girl) but because of her principles – you couldn't be a more „solid” convict than Star was – and her exploits.

Once Star grabbed a guard and put a shank to his throat and paraded him around the prison demanding „justice” for some violation of her principles. (Perhaps he made the mistake of waving a hot dog at her provocatively!)

Needless to say, Star was one of those people who was never going to get out of prison. But I loved and respected her as a human being all the same. She never once ever tried to disrespect me and she taught me a lot about what it was like to be a queen in the „old days”.

She befriended me more out of love and respect for Big Al than for me, I suppose. But that was because she knew that if Big Al respected me (and he did) then that meant she should too. So she did.

Well, as much as I appreciated being in the same unit with a legend (I'd heard a lot about Star long before I ever got to Walla Walla) the only unit I wanted to be in was the one Big Al was in. So, the first chance I got I requested to be moved to Six Wing.

That chance came at my first „unit team” hearing about one month after arriving at WSP. They asked me about how I intended to protect myself from other inmates and I told them that I had „a friend” who would make sure nobody messed with me.

Then they asked, „What if someone bigger than your friend comes along?”

And I looked them straight in the eye, and said, „There is no one bigger than my friend”. And I meant it, though I was thinking more about Big Al's reputation than the size of his arms.

The move was not only approved, but they actually moved me directly into Big Al's cell, even though I never once told them who „my friend” was. Like I said, everyone knew I was Big Al's girl!

So, sans the first month, the entire time I was in WSP I lived with Big Al. We had a four-man cell all to ourselves for almost the entire time, with only a few brief interruptions – one of which I've already mentioned (the masturbator who thought I had AIDS).

Our cell was in the middle if a bottom tier and directly in front of a guard both. But the guard both was empty and locked up every night after lock down at nine o'clock. So, the guard both never seriously interfered with our love making at all.

And we certainly made love. Almost every night after lockdown, I would start by giving Big Al a therapeutic back rub (his huge muscles almost demanded to be massaged) that would always end up being a sensual back rub. I'd rub his back before we had sex, and he'd rub mine afterwards, if I wanted him too. But usually I'd be so wore out that all I wanted to do was climb into my own bunk and go to sleep (or masturbate alone, see below).

In case you're wondering how two people with male „equipment” can make love as a man and a woman, then let me tell you. After Big Al was good and relaxed from me rubbing his back (actually, shoulders and arms mostly) he would roll over onto his back and I'd spend some time working on his chest and arms from the front.

I'd usually be either naked with my penis out of site between my legs or wearing a sexy pair of women's panties (I had several pair that were more or less homage gifts from another inmates, who were lucky if they ever even got to see me wearing them). So Big Al would be at full attention in anticipation of what was coming by this time.

After working his front muscles for a while I'd begin massaging his legs and groin area, then bend over and begin giving him a dick massage with my tongue and lips. This was more for his pleasure than mine though. I got my pleasure soon enough.

Then after we were both so hot with anticipation that we could hardly contain ourselves, I would lay down next to him with my back to his front, „spoon” style and we'd entangle our legs together in a special way that we both agreed was „the best way”, then I'd reach back and guide his manhood into my „pussy”.

And he would fuck the hell out of me. But not violently, just passionately. All the time kissing on my neck, my shoulders and even my ear. I would also frequently twist my upper body around, while he was still buried deep up inside of me, so we could kiss, deep and wet, on the mouth.

We'd fuck like this for up to a half an hour, sometimes even more and then Big Al would release inside of me, usually in the midst of a deep passionate kiss, which was how I liked it. And then we'd sometimes just lay together while he went semi-soft with his dick still inside my ass, enjoying the profound intimacy of it. This was the human intimacy that the „system” had tried to rob from both of us, but which we difiantly stole back every night we could.

As for my own orgasm; I would usually wait until after I'd climbed into my own bunk then slowly stroke myself to an orgasm while I could still „feel” Big Al inside of me. This bothered Big Al because he wanted to be sure that I was being satisfied too, and he always would assure me that he didn't mind if I masturbated while we were together. But, he himself would never touch me „down there”.I think it was because he wouldn't touch me there that I prefered to wait to pleasure myself alone. I wanted to be his woman, and jacking off in front of a man just didn't „feel right”. So, I prefered to do it alone.

These were my happiest days in prison, easily. Big Al and I shared a special status in WSP that most staff and inmates seemed to respect. It was as though everyone knew what it was we were „stealing back” from the system and honored our courage for doing so.

It took courage because the one thing the „system” tries to destroy more than any other is the human spirit. So Big Al and I were making ourselves targets by simply daring to express our love for each other out in the open.

We were together as much as we could be, on the yard, in the gym, in the chow hall. And most people seemed to appreciate what we represented. Even the guards (usually) and especially the higher ranking guards (sgts. and lts.) who had been around in the „old days”, seemed to really understand the value of what Big Al and I stood for. Which is why I was moved directly into Big Al's cell, and why, unlike at MICC, we were seldom harassed as a couple.

Big Al would go to work during the day out in the Industries administration offices (they'd hired him right away because of his experience – and connections no doubt – in Industries at MICC). So we'd always have money to keep extra food and cigarettes in our cell (I didn't quit smoking until I got out to WWCC about a year later). I even kept track of big Al's money (or „finances” if you can call an inmate account that) since I had so little „money” of my own.

I did not have to work because I have a „bad back” (I have a very slight curve in my spine, a.k.a. scoliosis, that can only be seen by measuring an x-ray. It never really bothers me, but it makes a great excuse for getting out of work in prison). So, I'd stay in the cell and read, or watch TV. Or, I'd go to the library or big yard for something to do. I also attended weekly Yoga classes and an occasional college course if I saw one that interested me on the school schedule.

It was a stress free existence and with my „man” always by the side it was as close to freedom as anyone will ever get in prison. Maybe even freer in a way than what many people have outside of prison.

But I was only inside WSP (the actual penitentiary) for a little more than a year before I'd gotten enough security points back to be transfered to a „medium security” prison again. Big Al took longer to get his security points back for some reason, but I don't remember why.

So, I got transfered by myself to WWCC, which is literally right next door to WSP, though in a completely seperate compound. Big Al and I decided to accept this temporary seperation because we knew it would only be for a few months.

Because WWCC was medium security instead of max, I had a few more privileges and a little more freedom (not much) than inside WSP. But, without Big Al around, I also had more time on my hands (alone time), so my deviant fantasies came back (which had all but left me while I was with Big Al, that is unless you consider transexuality to be „deviant”). I had no real interest in having sex with other inmates, since none could approach what I had with Big Al. So my fantasies turned once more to children, only this time I didn't even try to resist them. I had no reason to.

And since I couldn't just stay in my cell and masturbate all day, I ended up enrolling in school fulltime (at WWCC I was required to „program” in one was or another, „bad back” or not). They had much better college level course offerings from the local community college. So I started work on an AA in general studies and got straight 'A's” and on the Dean's list frequently.

The only thing interesting that happened during this alone time (without Big Al) was that I managed to catch a mouse in my cell with a homemade „humane” mouse trap, that actually worked. I had made it out of two one-pint icecream containers, a rubber band and a paperclip. I was proud of this feat, though the mouse soon escaped to be never seen again. Apparently some mice at least can learn quicker than most humans.

Oh, I also saw a full grown tomcat attempting to mount a very young kitten just outside my cell window once. I thought that was interesting; a child molesting cat, in prison! Hmmm, go figure that one out!

Westly Allen Dodd, a man convicted for raping and murdering young boys, was hanged inside WSP while I was at WWCC. The execution was meant to send a „message” to other would be child-killers; like me. I got the message all right, loud and clear. But I don't think it was the one I was supposed to get. The execution only strenghtened my resolve to get even with the "System".

After about six months Big Al got moved out to WWCC and directly into my cell. I'd been living alone with no cellmate until Big Al came... and came... and came... (joke).

While I was still inside WSP I had taken out a free personal ad in the SGN (Seattle Gay News) and started writing and occasionally calling the men who answered my ad. That's how I met Dave.

Dave drove across the state (from Seattle) to visit me for the first time while I was at WWCC. We became fast friends.

Dave ended up hiring an attorney to „look into my case”. The attorney began reviewing my prison records and basically learned what I already knew; I was being shafted by the system.

So the attorney started writing some letters to the ISRB, to basically let them know that he was representing me and that they had better start obeying their own directives (i. e. the law).

With the help of letters written to the ISRB by the attorney that my new friend, Dave, hired, I was finally found parolable again in the Summer of '93. But, this time there was a catch. I had to "map out" before my parole. That meant that there was a list of supposedly progressive steps to more freedom, and programs to prepare my for the streets, that I had to take before actually being paroled.

Needless to say, it was years yet before I get paroled. And even then it took many more letters and actual litigation (to procure an order from a judge) before the ISRB consented to my release. In the mean time I was being transported (i.e. shipped) all over the state from one institution to another, supposedly to fulfill my "map" requirements.

This "merry-go-round" ride (a tactic they use to try to keep inmates from being able to file litigation) kept me from completing the one program that would have really helped after I got out. I was on my last semester of classes needed to complete an A.A. degree in General Studies when the merry-go-round ride started. So, it didn't keep me from filing litigation (Dave's lawyer was doing that for me), but it did keep me from finishing the three-credit English class I needed to get my degree. And, it also interrupted the Spanish II class I was taking, which would have been directly transferable toward a university degree years later. With those Spanish credits I would have a B.A. in Computer Science today. But, instead I had to go for a B.S. degree instead which took more time (and money, of course). Apparently their "map" program - slash,merry-go-round - was more important.

And so began the next chapter of my prison adventure, where I managed to fight my way out at last, with the help of a friend on the outside, a lawyer, and no small deception.

To be continued in... Part V: The Merry-go-round