Call me Mike. I was 30, and it was my first night in prison, minimum-security in southern California. The charges that sent me there were minor, and it was a relatively brief yearlong sentence. I was assigned my cell, had chow, and settled into my bunk for the night.
My cellmate, Eduardo, was a hunky 25-year-old Latino, in for burglary. He introduced himself and assigned me the upper bunk of our small quarters. Our first night together passed without incident. After dreading my sentence, it was almost a relief to finally be facing my time, and I slept soundly. Thankfully Eduardo did not snore.
The next morning, he offered to give me a tour of the facility. Because of the nature of the prison, inmates did not require constant supervision as they moved around, and were given a bit of leeway as long as they did not go off prison grounds. A red spray-painted line was the boundary beyond which they would be considered escapees and face harsh punishment, perhaps a transfer to medium security upstate.
After conducting me around the place, my cellie told me, "This is the last room I'll show you. We call it the Sugar Shack." Eduardo led me to the end of a long hallway, down a flight of concrete stairs and past two heavy metal doors, into a large basement. Various recreational items were scattered throughout the area: pool tables, a ping pong table, weights and punching bags. Several bean bag chairs were there also. We walked around the Sugar Shack while Eduardo explained, "This is where we go for recreation and exercise. Open 24 hours. Guards supervise us during the day, but things get really interesting late at night!"
I was about to ask him what he meant when we came upon half a dozen mattresses, flopped in the far corner of the room, no sheets, no frames, just bare mattresses.
“What are these for? Do inmates sleep down here? “
Eduardo laughed. “Sleep? That's the last thing we do in the Sugar Shack!”
The quizzical look on my face prompted him to add, “Wait until Saturday night. Then you'll see.”
I had been admitted on a Monday. I was given a job in the wood shop, dispensing tools to the other inmates and making sure they were turned in after use, striking up conversations and initiating friendships with other inmates. All week I wondered what I would find in the Sugar Shack on the weekend. Finally, Saturday night arrived. The sun set, the inmates settled into their cells, and the guards suddenly seemed to disappear. The prison grew silent.
After about an hour, Eduardo jumped off his bunk and motioned for me to follow him out of the cell.
“Shhh, keep quiet and follow me.”
We made our way along the line of cells, through a couple of corridors and down the steps into the Sugar Shack. Oddly, we encountered no guards.
The basement was almost completely dark. I could see various figures shuffling around, but not their faces.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked Eduardo.
“We don't just play with pool balls down here!” he laughed. He motioned me to follow him deeper into the Sugar Shack.
Once my eyes adjusted to the almost total darkness, I saw that inmates had paired up and taken their places against the concrete wall. The men standing had their pants unzipped and their dicks hanging out, being serviced by others on their knees!
I'd been married for five years, though that ended in divorce two years ago. I'd had some bi experiences and even during my marriage, I'd occasionally stop by the local bookstore for a quick blowjob when my wife was out of town. Even so, I was nervous. “Eduardo, what if the guards catch us?”
Eduardo grinned and led me to a man who was standing nearby, his dick hanging out. My cellie pushed me onto my knees in front of the dude, and I saw he was wearing a guard's uniform!
“This is how we earn time off for good behavior, Mike. So have at it!”
I couldn't see the guard's face, so I had no idea who he was, but his thick cock grew stiff when I knelt down, and I felt myself getting hard too. I tried to remember the skills I had learned in the bookstore back home and took his cock into my mouth. The guard groaned in pleasure and I could taste precum.
Cocksucking is like riding a bike: once you learn you never forget. Soon I was licking, sucking and slurping all over his tool. I used my hands as well, stroking his shaft and rubbing his balls, which pulled up against his body. I knew what that meant and prepared to take his load. He shot his salty-sweet jism down my throat, and I recalled how good it tasted! The guard, whose name I never knew, zipped up and exited the basement.
Eduardo found a vacant spot, backed his butt against the wall, and unzipped his orange prison uniform, pulling out a thick uncut Latino cock, and another prisoner, John, whose acquaintance I'd made, knelt down and took the Latin tool into his mouth. Young and horny as Eduardo was, it didn't take long for him to shoot. It must have been weeks since John had sex, because he shot his wad onto the concrete floor. I needed release, too, so I found one of the mattresses, lay down and stroked myself off. Who knows how many loads had been shot onto that mattress, but it had been three weeks since I got off and I didn't care how or where I came!
That was my introduction to the Sugar Shack. Eduardo and I made our way back to our cell as the sun came up and the guards resumed their rounds.
The year I spent at the prison settled into a routine. The week was spent working, attending rehabilitation courses, and hanging out with other inmates. Saturday nights were spent at the Sugar Shack, dusk to dawn, sucking as much cock as I could. Although Eduardo and I never hooked up, he was a great companion, teaching me which guys to trust and which to avoid. About six months into my sentence, I was given the additional duty of helping inmate Xander, a hunky 6’ 2” black guy, get the basement ready each Friday morning. Despite all the sex that went on there, little sign remained after each weekend party. Perhaps the guards didn't want evidence left behind so they cleaned the area each Sunday. I never saw the guards' faces in the Sugar Shack; they kept it too dark, and some wore ski masks to disguise their identity. The anonymity of the sex turned me on.
For the first few weeks, my Saturday night experiences included only oral sex, usually with me on the giving end. A few times I got sucked off, which was a wonderful release of the stress built up during my incarceration. But I had never explored anal sex. The guards fucked the inmates on the mattresses in the Sugar Shack (never the other way around) and I began to wonder what it would be like to receive a stiff dick up my ass.
Pavel, an Eastern European inmate with whom I'd struck up a friendship, was the prison fixer. He could arrange to meet anyone's needs ---- for a price. One Thursday afternoon on the exercise yard, I approached Pavel, explaining my curiosity to experience anal sex.
“Ja,” he said. “I help you. It will cost you, but not dollars!”
I was simultaneously intrigued and apprehensive as that weekend approached. Saturday night rolled around. Eduardo and I made our way down the long hall to the basement and took our places along the wall. I knew Pavel was as good as his word but was surprised when he appeared and led me to one of the mattresses, stripped me naked, and ordered me down on all fours.
Word had it that Pavel was hung like a horse, and when he pulled out an uncut eight incher, stiff as a steel pipe, I grew concerned.
“Don't worry”, he reassured me. “I'm gentle. The gentle giant!” He laughed.
What happened next was one of the most pleasurable sexual experiences of my life. Pavel used a condom and plenty of lube to ease his cock down my virgin hole, then pumped slowly in and out until my anus relaxed. The pain gave way to an exquisite combination of tightness and relaxation that only heightened as Pavel went faster, massaging my prostate with the thick pipe between his legs.
“Oh...fuck!” I moaned as he popped my gay cherry; it felt so good to spread ass for him!
I'd seen Pavel with other inmates. They always seemed delighted with his anal attentions, and it was no different for me.
Pavel and I both shot big loads that night. I thanked him profusely and even kissed him, giving him a taste of his own semen, a rare show of tenderness in that tough environment. Six weeks later, he was released, returned to Slovakia, and I lost all contact with him.
I earned some time off for “good behavior” and after 10 months, my sentence came to an end. As luck would have it, John and Eduardo were released within two months. As part of the prison's work-release program, all three of us got jobs in the LA area and still keep in touch. John married, had a couple kids, and put the experiences of the Sugar Shack behind him. Eduardo and I often get together on weekends for dinner, drinks, and cruising the gay bars of southern California. Xander joins us from time to time, often going home with a twenty-something otter. I have a good life now. I've not re-offended, and in a strange way I'm glad I spent time in jail, especially the Sugar Shack: it helped me get to know myself better. I consider myself bisexual, at least for now. Who knows what the future has in store for me?
