Ralo

“Are those two motherfuckers going at it again?” Ralo, my agitated cellmate asked of the growing snickers coming from the neighboring cell. He was up, bare ass and all, performing his late-night ritual of pissing directly into the chrome toilet. His liquid serenade ended with a loud snort that always stirred me out of sleep.

I rolled over onto my side catching the lonely light coming from the open-air corridor watching him pump away at his burgeoning erection. He should’ve derived pleasure from the act, but it soon became apparent that his body longed for another, our neighbor Ahmad. Ralo had once been a third to their twosome, when Fatback, an enraged Buddha-like character, thought it would be best to keep his prize Arabian to himself. And it didn’t help matters there was only a thin wall the separated the lovers and the spare.

Catcalls began to congregate as Ahmad and Fatback turned their foreplay of laughter into heaving grunts and exaggerated yelps. Ralo, still detached from pleasure, began pumping violently to their rhythm when I startled him from mid-stroke by saying, “Let it go.”

Ralo didn’t spat his usual smug response of “fuck off” as his hand simply moved from his crotch over to his trimmed red Irish beard, slowly making his footsteps towards me and the cots. “Just pissing proud, my friend. Piss proud and prosper!” Ralo startled gravely.

He drove his foot into my cock and kicked up to get to his. His coarse Irish brew followed. “I’m starting to think you like waking up just to get a look at my ding-a-ling.”

“If only you had one.” I taunted.

Ralo was only an inch or two shy of my bull hung, which by any standards in and out of prison was still pretty huge. Because of so many years living in the same cell, we were almost one in the same except for the every few edges I boasted over my dear friend and the few he held over me. Where I was blessed with length, Ralo made up for it in girth. This is how we were able to obtain the nickname “Bottles” and “Beer Can.”

“It’s bigger than that damn Buddha over there.”

I thumped the back of his slender bed. Ralo could’ve easily thought I was being playful with him that time of night. But I meant it as a warning to lower his voice. He may’ve been right about Fatback. I was never able to confirm or deny the allegation. Besides, that wasn’t the point. The last thing I wanted to do was to pull Ralo from under an infuriated Fatback like I did in the canteen the week before when the Buddha claimed Ahmad as his sole property. Thought I was confident that Fatback was too busy honeymooning with his new wife to hear a word or to even care for that matter.

“Hadn’t you heard, Ralo? It’s the motion in the ocean, not the size of it.”

“As many waves in that fucking ocean, Alistair, Ahmad should be swimming well!”

Ralo and I cackled.

Ralo and I got along with no trouble. That wasn’t always the case, though. The very thing that kept us at odds for so long was the very thing that pulled us together. We were both misfits within a wall of misfits. He was a generation removed from immigration raised in the roughest part of New York, and I was a mulatto bred in a lily-white town in New England. Other than great scores and fast money, we really didn’t have much in common. Despite the paths that landed us behind bars, we grew to respect and eventually love one another during our tenure.

“Who told you that?” Ralo asked me.

“Bert, over there,” I said speaking of our third cellmate. “He told me the very first night I wanted to give him a proper meat injection. I taught the boy he could have the best of both words.”

Beer Can interrupted. “And the poor kid has been a-dick-ed ever since!”

We roared with laughter at the expense of our junior.

Other than being a young nineteen-year-old cellmate consecrated with a very plump derriere, Bert was also green-eyed when it came to Ralo and me. Bert was slow–not quite mature enough to appreciate our bond. Even though I never used the term in lockup, everybody–even the warden–knew Ralo and I were an item. We just never confined our connection to monogamy. Albeit, we had a stronger tie than most who claim there were strapped at the hip. While Bert had a problem not being the one and only in my life, Ralo was just the opposite failing to understand why the rest of the prison system didn’t heed to our deal.

“Oh, baby, don’t be like that.” I called out to Bert, turning his back on us facing the adjacent wall.

I skinned the covers from my unclothed frame unveiling my long, juicy hard-on that was probably offset by the noise next door or my nude partner.

“I guess you should make nice with Young Bertie.”

My bare feet agreed with Ralo moving across the cold cement floor. I said to Bert, “I guess I have to make with you, huh?”

Bert turned back onto his side and nodded his gorgeous face in my shadow. He began to inhale deep around my acrid pubes before sticking his tongue inside my elongated piss slit and continued down the shaft, licking my balls and came back up to suck on my mushroom head with his puckered mouth forcefully. Bert even went further licking the underside of my dick using slow strokes along the big vein. Finding myself getting highly aroused, I grabbed the back of his neck and guided my link down his gagging throat.

“Deep throat, motherfucker,” I egged on.

Bert obliged. By the time I finally coax his throat with my sweet jizz, my feet were nicely warm to the contrasting floor.

“Want some?” I asked Ralo, letting my limp deck rest in the cocksucker’s orifice.

I thought I would cheer up Ralo with Bert, even if I knew perfectly well that my cock server didn’t want anything to do with our other cellmate. But since it was an unwritten rule that Bert would do as he was told, I didn’t fret. On top of his raging jealously, Bert was very superficial when it came to looks. Despite the fact that Ralo had an incredible body, he wasn’t handsome in the least. His utterly ugliness grew attractive the more you understood his coarse nature; handsome in a doggish way, an old inmate once called it. Unlike me, who took years to finally see it, Ahmad saw it right away. Ahmad was queer and queerly beautiful to the streets, so his value only increased behind bars. Ralo wasn’t anything of a kind, leaving more than an intense attraction mixed with a mutual envy. Bert, unable to see this rough splendor in his own cell, left himself open for Ralo to seize his at any given opportunity.

“Sure. Why the fuck not?” Ralo swung his feet over the bunk.

His feet pounded the cold cement etching his way over to the third cot.

“Then, come get some, motherfucker!” I said easing my still-sensitive one-eyed monster out of Bert’s mouth.

Without waiting for a proper invite, Ralo reached over and poked Bert’s asshole through the thin prison sheets to find it already greased. Bert let out a roar of protest while Ralo demanded that he “get on your stomach.” Bert obliged. Ralo peeled back the covers and mounted Bert, shoving his dick against his tight, fine-haired buttonhole. Bert quivered as Ralo slowly fed him his inches to the hilt.

“Shiiit!” Bert screamed into the pillow.

I was already reclining on my cot massaging my newest hard-on when our neighbors in the next cell were just finishing up. Looking over at Ralo, I could tell he found his inspiration to give Bert a long deserving deep fuck amongst the catcallers and dog barkers.

Bert tried to ease the pleasure pain churning in his ass by squirming forward in his cot. He was fully impaled and locked under the strength of his top to move anywhere. Once Bert accepted that Ralo was drilling him for the long haul, pumping harder and deeper than the last, Bert began to grind back, trying to get him to ejaculate sooner. By the look of it, Ralo was closed, but stopped shy, and then flipped the teenager on his back. With his feet on his shoulders, Ralo fucked him, sadistically plowing his reddening ass, reddening his thighs. His balls slapping the hole with Bert conceding to the assault by spraying his salty load over his stomach causing Ralo to pull out and spray his over Bert’s already dry-cummed face.

A week and a half later, Ralo and I had been using Bert simultaneously for our carnal pleasures. It was becoming painfully obvious that Bert and his bunghole were becoming quite loose from the frequent pounding we were tag teaming on him. Because, as most would say, Ralo and I were lovers, I couldn’t very well ask him to leave my cumdumpster alone. Ralo was already hurt by the Ahmad and diligently trying to make both Ahmad and Fatback jealous with his feverish humping.

My cellmates along with a host of other inmates were scattered about the commissary line, buying things with our book money when I paid attention to who was standing in front of us. Fatback. He was standing behind Ahmad, who was shamelessly pressing his backend against his “husband” causing inmates and guards alike judging by the tents in their pants. When they got to the front of the line, Fatback took his place next to his wife and ordered necessities and other items for the both of them. The casher tallied it up and told him his account were several bucks short of the items he wanted.

“Shit!” Fatback rattled.

It was well known Fatback had connections on the outside that always put money on his books. It was even said by one of the cashiers many years ago that he could live quite comfortably for five years on the money he had on the books. That was more than ten years ago. I naturally assumed that it was the same today.

I asked, “Out of coins, Fat?”

Fatback went onto explain he hadn’t converted his prison credit of cigarettes–gold behind bars–into solid cash through behind the wall deals with guards and hustlers. If I had been any other inmate, he wouldn’t have given me that kind of intel. But he did because he thought he had an equal, a confidante in me. Other than Fatback, it was also well known that my father and his wealthy suburbanite family members frequently kept money on my books since I took my bid for them.

“Can you help me out, Alistair?”

“Sure,” I paused, watching his face light up. His brightened face fell when my mind went to work. I uttered, “Pawn over Ahmad for a few tricks.”

Fatback sat on it for a moment. And even though he did this, his reaction was still abrupt when he smiled in agreement, particularly for someone who didn’t believe in sharing. We shook hands on the deal. I purchased their items on top of mine that I had set to purchase for Bert for his sportsmanship with Ralo.

As soon as we got out of line, Fatback asked, “When do you want to collect, Alistair?”

“Right now is fine with me.” I gleamed.

After dropping off my things, I escorted Ahmad into my office in the faraway stairwell as Fatback made his way back to his cell with their things. Contrary to popular belief, most sex behind bars is consensual. Most inmates, those who were doing serious time, adopted the mentality that rape is necessary when the very art of persuasion wasn’t doable. Meanwhile, if a man couldn’t be persuaded or “flipped” as we called it, it was much easier to obtain a soul through hustling services than taking the risk of getting fingered and thrown in the hole for several days.

As I walked down the stairwell behind Ahmad, I was short of playfully smacking his bubble bottom. I guess he felt this vibe, too, as he playfully made sudden stops along the stairwell urging my stiffened dick against his mounds.

“You think you’re slick, don’t you, Arab?”

“I could be, Mr. Bottles,” he beamed.

“Bottles. I haven’t heard that in a while. Alistair works just the same.”

We made our way to a secluded landing. Ahmad turned around, and in the instant his mouth sought mine the lights went out and our ears were flooded with the sounds of sex. Before I could tell him my intent, my jumpsuit was open and his warm breath was over my privates. If I wasn’t hard before, I was then.

“Look, Ahmad, you don’t have to do that.”

I felt his darted tongue flick the tip of my dick. “I want to,” he said thinly with his accent.

He engulfed me without another word. I was too in awe of his oral skills to push him away. It had finally registered to me what the fuss was all about. Ahmad wasn’t just sex for Ralo. He was an experience. It was quite understandable why the fat man wanted this boy all to himself. It also deepened the reason Fatback willed Ahmad to me with a glorious smile, too, because he was just too powerful for one man.

When the sensation became overwhelming, I followed my instincts. I stood Ahmad up and faced him against the wall, pulling his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. I kissed the back of his neck as my sodden dick pressed against his hungry hole. We both felt good as I eased into him. He drew me all the way in, giving me the go-ahead to use him strictly for my pleasure.

Our jackhammering grunts and groans interweaved with those around us as we unloaded our semen.

“And to think you didn’t want any of this, Mr. Bottles.” Ahmad heaved.

“It wasn’t that,” I breathed, feeling a little flushed myself. I felt him turn between me and the wall. “It was just that….”

“I know you asked for me for Ralo.” Ahmad read my mind.

That was my intent, my only intent for asking for Ahmad.

“But that’s no reason for you not to try out the merchandise for yourself, now is it?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I tried not to inflate his ego.

“I know you wouldn’t, Alistair. But I would–-so I’ve heard. Besides, he

wouldn’t mind the way he’s been pounding away at your boy.”

“Lights out!” The guard yelled.

Every light except for the primary lights in the open-air corridor went off. Once I knew the guards had made their rounds, I slid open our cell door. Being most of the inmates on our block were well-established, civilized prisoners, if there is such a thing, the guards never locked our cell doors. They only made sure that they were closed before they left, giving us free range to move from one cell to the other, a privilege we never abused due to the fear of the hole looming over our heads.

Ralo and Bert stuck close behind me as I quietly slid open the cell door belonging to Fatback and Ahmad, who were sound asleep in their cots. I directed Bert to wake Fatback up with a blowjob, in which he did, bringing a silly smirk to the overweight man. Ahmad sleeping on his stomach on the bottom bunk received a hard swift smack on the butt I wanted to deliver to him earlier in the evening. He turned to face Ralo and me with a grin, mouthing, “It’s time to collect already?”

I nodded.

Ahmad dragged himself down from the cot to the floor where we were, wearing nothing more than some tight-fitting pink briefs that showed his excitement. When he fully awoke, he smiled at the blossoming Ralo. Ralo held Ahmad in his arms for a moment. They eventually kissed with Ahmad announcing “threesome.”

“Awesome!” Ralo smiled.

“All-some!” I corrected, being ignored for my corny, ill-timed joke.

Ralo and I undressed as Ahmad stripped his pink briefs. Fatback was already nude along with Bert, but they came to stand around us anyway. Taking the lead, I stood Ahmad in the center of us facing me. I ordered Bert to grab one leg while Fatback grabbed the other. I held his underarms for support, burying my dick deep down his throat.

“You know what to do.” I said to Ralo.

Ralo positioned himself right between Ahmad’s legs, reading to ram his dick into that tight ass. He looked at Fatback and asked if he had any grease.

“Vaseline’s in the usual place.”

It seemed from that line alone that whatever tore the two of them apart was being sown back together.

Ralo inserted a greasy finger into Ahmad. He whimpered, complaining it was cold. Ralo laughed, saying he could fix that, sliding two and three fingers out of Ahmad’s hole. Once the Vaseline was warmed, Ralo pressed in Ahmad’s crack the thick lubrication sliding further into him. With Ahmad bouncing off our dicks, he seemed pretty satisfied with his midair flight. Everybody had their turn with each of his openings, including Bert, leaving ropes and ropes of thick cum down and across Ahmad’s body.

We placed Ahmad on the top bunk, the one belonging to Fatback, wiping his body clean of cum. After relaying how much fun we had, Fatback ordered we “leave the two lovebirds alone.”

Ahmad climbed down from his bunk.

Bert, Fatback, and I made it back over to our cell where I spooned Bert on Ralo’s cot just above our snoring guest.

In the coming days, Fatback couldn’t deny the genuine love that Ralo and Ahmad had. So rather than give up his stake in him, he allowed for the three of them to have a relationship together. This caused Bert and me to exchange cells with Fatback and Ahmad.

In the long-needed rest, Bert’s hole snapped back into its tight form, firmly gripping me with each stroke he and I shared in our new private cell.