The Jailhouse Blues Ch. 03

"Well, as long as it's not Table Service -- I hate that! Anything but that!" I said feelingly.

"You've never really gotten over that, have you, Len? It still haunts you, doesn't it? That day, in the Staff Canteen, the first time you provided Table Service? For prison officers Melanie and Natalie? When, on only your second day here, after you'd provided Table Service for them during their lunch break, they told you they'd arranged with the Governor to leave you there. To leave you there, standing on that top step, providing Table Service at Table Six, right through until after the prison officers' evening-meal break period was over? To straighten you out?"

"Oh, don't remind me, mate! Yes, it still haunts me. And I—"

"And prison officers Julie and Nicolette -- who I'd provided Table Service for -- had asked prison officers Avril and Siobhan, who were on Door Duty, to let me return to our cell straight afterwards? Even though they were undermanned, that day, on the Table Service front? Just to help rub in prison officers Melanie and Natalie's punishment all the more?"

"Yes! That day!" I said, in increasing agitation. Agitation, resultant of being reminded of a day I dearly wished I could forget.

It was a disturbing, grievous agitation of mind, that I always underwent when remembering with such incredible lucidity the day of my introduction to the heinous requirements, unspeakable traumas, and humiliating impositions of Table Service: under-the-table Foot Service.

Thanks to my photographic-like memory, it was with vivid, crystal-clear clarity of recall that I could remember each and every one of the diabolical subjugations I'd been forced to endure on that awful, unforgettable day ...

That long, long day in the Staff Canteen, providing 'Table Service' at Table 6, at the terribly tormenting, awfully abusing feet of the lunch, staggered afternoon tea-break, and evening-meal partaking jailhouse blue prison officers ... Starting with prison officers Melanie and Natalie, who had bagsed firsts, and pre-booked me for lunch.

"And punishment for what, Ross? They told me I had an attitude problem. But to this day, I still don't know what I'd said to get into prison officers Melanie and Natalie's bad books -- the reason why they wanted to 'straighten me out'."

"Ah, Len, mate!" said Ross, in tones of pained exasperation, as though I was missing the glaringly obvious.

"What?" I said.

"You must know by now, mate: the blues don't need a reason!"

"But, I—"

"Do you think you were the first prisoner, who prison officers' Melanie and Natalie have 'straightened out'? Do you think you'll be the last ...? The moment we enter Greystone Prison, Len, is the moment we enter their bad books. Simply for the reasons we've been sent to this so-called correctional and rehabilitation facility: failing to demonstrate 'due propriety', where females are concerned."

"Yes, but—"

"But if you want to know the real, true reason, Len, for the blues' dyed-in-the-wool downer against you ...?"

"Ha! Okay ... I'm listening."

"If you want to know the main, actual reason, behind their open hostility ...?"

"Go on, then. Tell me."

"All right, Len. I'll tell you. If you want to know the Number One reason, for the prison officers' displaying such antipathy towards you; if you want to know the hair-trigger, for their constant bullying, victimisation, and over-the-top subjugation of you -- I'll tell you."

"This'll be interesting."

"The simple reason why you, Len, tend to spark off seemingly unwarranted displays of the blues' meanest and nastiest and cruelest character traits ... is because of your appeal to women. There -- that's why."

"Ha ha ha! So that's why the blues are always showering me with kisses, whispering sweet nothings, and giving me come-to-bed eyes!" I said sardonically.

"I'm serious!" said Ross. "That's the simple reason."

"Because of my ... Oh, come on, Ross. I've never heard, such a—"

"Wait, Len -- hear me out. Don't you see, mate? That's why so many of the prison officers here have really got it in for you -- they are the ones with the attitude! They are the ones who need straightening out.

"See, Len ... for one reason or another, the blues are all male averse. They have all got a bee in their bonnet, about men."

"No kidding! Ross, I think I've cottoned on, to—"

"Len -- listen!"

"Okay, okay ..."

"Some of the blues, Len, have got some sort of ... I don't know, some kind of anti-male gene hardwired into their psychological makeup. See, Len? It's just the way they are -- right from birth. It's in their psyche.

"And some of the blues, well, they are the way they are, because of their ... life experiences, with some total slimeball man, or men. For those blues, it's all about payback.

"After all, that's their main and most important qualification for working here: whether instinctively, or vengefully motivated, they all have the unquenchable desire to control, dominate, subjugate, and hurt men -- to bring us to heel.

"And to them, Len, you are a prime, red-rag-to-a-bull specimen, who must be singled out for their special attentions ...

"That's why the catty, bitchy blues have really got it in for you. They want to get their claws into you, bring you down, trample you underfoot -- and then victory-pose. See, Len? The blues' bringing-to-heel, trampling-underfoot, victory-posing superior posturings are the outward signs of their instinctively or vengefully motivated raison d'etre."

"So the blues' overriding, hardwired or payback ambition, is to bring all males to heel? But especially the good-looking ones ... such as my good self?" I said.

"Yes, it is ... See, Len, in Greystone Prison your animal-magnetism attraction to women works against you. It's a handicap, not an advantage. That's the sad fact of the matter. Your Adonis-like handsomeness is a negative, not a positive. Your God's-gift-to-women good looks are a minus, not a plus. In short: your Golden-Boy sex-appeal is not a blessing -- it's a curse."

"Oh, listen to Sigmund Freud! And anyway, Ross, don't be daft -- I'm not that good looking!"

"Well, a lot of the prison officers here think you are, and it's their opinion that counts.

"And the blues know exactly what you are missing, don't they, Len, here in Greystone? Eh ...? A bit of slap and tickle. A spot of rompy pompy. Getting your leg over. Dipping your wick ...

"As prison officer Billie Jo told you: your days of gallivanting are over. No more notches on your bedpost. No more casual sex. No more thrills of the chase. Your girl hunting, skirt-chasing escapades are a thing of the past. Your carefree days of sowing wild oats are no more ... All of the above: consigned to history."

"Ross, mate, can we talk about something else?"

"And the blues love to remind you of it! Don't they ...? They get off, don't they, on teasing you, on titillating you -- on arousing you? On letting you see -- but never touch! They love to make you want them, to make you desire them -- to make you lust after them.

"You are perfect prey for them, Len. And why? Because they know your Achilles' heel. You made it too obvious to them.

"And the blues certainly exploit it, don't they? They know the best way to taunt you. The best way to goad you. The best way to make you crave them. Don't they ...?"

"Oh, come off it, Ross. You are talking a load of—"

"No, I'm not -- and you know it. The prison officers here love bringing the good-looking prisoners down a peg or three. It's what they're like -- it's in their psyche. Or on their vengeance-agenda. And they certainly make no secret of it!

"Take prison officer Siobhan, for instance. She wanted you for her own bitch, remember? So maybe it's lucky for you that you were already taken."

"Lucky!" I exclaimed incredulously. "That I was already taken -- by Poison Ivy?"

"Yes, yes, I know, Len, I know ... But prison officer Siobhan? I don't know who is worse: that angel-faced ballkicker, prison officer Victoria, aka The Ruinator, who wants your balls -- and I'll make a prediction now: one day she'll have them! Or prison officer Siobhan, who wants you to keep them -- just so that you can carry on, well ... worshiping her."

"Ross, mate, prison officer Siobhan? She's—"

"She's got a thing about you -- and you know it! How can you not? It's like she's obsessed with you. She can't leave you alone ... especially when she's patrolling the Levels, on Night Duty."

"Ross, mate—"

"Honestly, she must be as mad as a hatter ... Telling you that she knows you love her; and repeatedly ordering you out of your bunk, summoning you to assume the position for Foot Service, cuffing your wrists to the cell's bars -- and letting you see her pussy. Telling you: 'Hi, dreamboat!' And: 'Take a good look up my skirt -- man of the world!' And: 'Get a good eyeful of my pussy -- ladies' man!'

"And then afterwards, when she uncuffs your wrists to let you get back in your bunk, and says: 'Now, prisoner Lightwood -- go and worship me!', you do exactly that, don't you? Eh ...? Straight away, you're ... at it. Doing prison officer Siobhan's bidding. Worshiping her. Paying your ... devotions. Aren't you? You can't leave it alone -- doing exactly what she wants."

"Ross, mate—"

"You know what I think? I think it's reciprocal. It must be! I think you've got a thing for her, too. You must have! I think you are just as crazy about prison officer Siobhan, as she is about you -- you have to be! That's why you let her win, every time."

"Th-that's why, I let her ... Ross, mate, you can take it from me: she's a looker, yes. A real doll, for sure. A glamour babe -- you bet! But I'm not crazy about prison officer Siobhan. I haven't got 'a thing' for her. Far from it!"

"You can't fool me, Len."

"How could I? How could I, have 'a thing' for her? I mean, given what she puts me through: her upskirt-view teasing; her pussy-flaunting taunting; her you-can-look-but-never-touch goading -- how could I?"

"Because you are her dream man, Len -- the one and only exception, I've noticed, to her man-hating rule ... And she is your dream girl. Do you know what I think, Len? Eh ...? I think prison officer Siobhan is right. I think she's bang on the money: I think it's love."

"Ah ... I have a healthy respect for prison officer Siobhan, that's all. Just as I have a healthy respect for any other prison officer -- and yes: even including Poison Ivy and BJ -- who also drive me nuts with lust and frustration.

"And ... and I don't let prison officer Siobhan win. I just ... can't help it. With legs like hers ..."

"See, Len? You just admitted it! You've got a thing for her -- for prison officer Siobhan. An unhealthy respect."

"Ross, I admitted no such thing. All I said, was that I—"

"You know what prison officer Billie Jo told me, Len? That I'm lucky. Lucky I'm a virgin. Because I don't know what I'm missing. And that, for as long as I'm her bitch, she'll make sure I remain a virgin."

"Ross, mate, don't go there. It won't do any good, to dwell on your—"

"Know what else prison officer Billie Jo told me? Why I'm so lucky? She said I'm lucky I'm not like you, Len. You are the real deal, she said. A real hunk, who's incredibly attractive to women. See? Even she thinks so -- her!

"According to her, you ooze sex-appeal. You're a heartthrob. A genuine ladykiller. A real heartbreaker, who's really been around. She said it's a million times worse for you, in Greystone, because of the sheer, intolerable frustration you must go through, every single day ... because unlike me, you know what you are missing."

"Ross, mate, don't let her get to you. It's a transparent tactic. Don't you see? She's just saying that, to try and crush your spirit. To lower your self-esteem. To make you feel unmanly. To make you feel inadequate. To—"

"But guess what, Len? I think prison officer Billie Jo might be right. Maybe I am lucky ...

"Lucky, that I'm not a heartthrob. Lucky, that I'm not an incredibly attractive, sex-appeal oozing ladykiller who's really been around, breaking women's hearts -- if it means I won't feel such irresistible need to pull and tug and yank away at myself, every single night. I mean, who needs that?"

"Ross, mate—"

"Len, have you ... have you thought about applying to the Governor, for the ... chemical castration option, mate?"

"No! I couldn't! And don't exaggerate -- it's not every night, Ross! Well ... not every single night."

"Len, don't deny it! It is every night! I'm in the bunk above you -- in case you've forgotten!"

"Ross, mate—"

"Keeping me awake, half the night, with your pull pull pulling, and your tug tug tugging, and your yank yank yanking! And you know what they say, don't you, Len? If you keep on ... doing it? Night, after night, after night ...? Eventually, you'll go—"

"Blind ...?" said prison officer Billie Jo, accompanied by prison officer Bella Donna.

Like a pair of blood-freezing apparitions, our 'mistresses' had suddenly materialised in front of our cell, revealing their lurking, maltentful presence to us.

Oh-oh, I thought worriedly. This was always the danger we faced, whenever we lowered our guard for a moment and risked talking openly: you never knew who might be listening.

The $64,000 question was: How long had prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo been listening? Ross and I could be in big trouble here, depending on just how much they'd overheard during their sly, sneaky eavesdropping.

"Up! Get up out of those chairs, prisoners Lightwood and Chapman -- now!" shrilled prison officer Bella Donna. "You will stand, in the presence of prison officers! You will demonstrate due propriety, where females are concerned!"

Ross and I got up out of our tubular framed, dark-grey canvas folding chairs, folded them up and leaned them against the wall. "Yes, Miss Bella Donna," we said respectfully.

Ross and I then stayed where we were, maintaining as best we could our distance from the sinister duo's baleful glares. Standing passively with our arms down by our sides, and staring respectfully down at prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's feet, we waited in dread to learn the worst.

"Blind? Is that what you were going to say -- Gummy? You ignorant, cretinous fool," sniped prison officer Billie Jo derisively.

"That is just one of those ridiculous urban myths. Circulated by idiots -- and believed only by the most imbecilic and credulous of fools. So it's just the sort of puerile nonsense I'd expect to hear from you. So now, I will tell you this once, and once only: it is the prerogative of every Greystone Prison inmate to jack off. Got that -- Gummy? If we wanted to keep you all quiet, we'd put something in your tea. Wouldn't we?"

"Ye-yes, Miss Billie Jo," said Ross respectfully, sounding a little nervous. "I suppose you would. I'm sorry, Miss Billie Jo. I-I was just—"

"If your cellmate wants to take things in hand, and jerk off to us prison officers -- leave him to it! If he wants to wank himself stupid, pulling and tugging and yanking away at himself, in his miserable bunk every night -- let him get on with it! If he wishes to express his reverence, adulation and adoration of us prison officers, by performing a nightly devotional sacrificial ritual -- that is a matter for him! Who are you, to interfere?"

Oh-oh, I thought again. It sounded as though prison officer Billie Jo had got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.

Prison officer Billie Jo was permanently on the warpath ... looking for a skirmish.

And by the sound of things, she'd overheard plenty ... this could only go badly.

"I'm -- I'm sorry, Miss Billie Jo," said Ross respectfully. "I'm sure I ... I'm sure I didn't mean, to—"

"Your cell mate's masturbation habits do not concern you!"

"No, Miss Billie Jo," said Ross respectfully, now starting to look and sound decidedly rattled. "I ... I can see that now. I'm sorry. I'm very—"

"If, as a result of his daily stimulations at the feet of us prison officers -- for whom I was pleased to hear just now he confesses a healthy respect -- prisoner Lightwood finds himself at the end of his tether, and for the sake of his own sanity he needs to capitulate and succumb to the inevitable -- that is his business!"

"Yes, Miss Billie Jo," said Ross respectfully. "Absolutely. I'm ... I -- I didn't mean, to—"

"If, resultant of his enforced removal from the happy hunting grounds of his usual sexual intercourse outlets, prisoner Lightwood now finds himself so intolerably frustrated by his prison-officer instigated sexual urges that he feels his only recourse is to literally take things into his own hands, and to solemnly self-relieve -- that is his affair!"

"Ye-yes, Miss Billie Jo," said Ross respectfully. "I'm ... I'm very sorry. I stand corrected. I ... I wasn't ... I didn't mean, to—"

"Prisoner Chapman! Your cellmate must be allowed to attend to his devotional ejaculations -- exactly as he sees fit! And without any interference from you! If prisoner Lightwood is so fervently driven by his worshipful impulses -- leave him be!"

"Ye-yes, Miss Billie Jo," said Ross respectfully. "Of course."

"If prisoner Lightwood wishes to bestow upon us prison officers, the ultimate accolade: to worshipfully donate a precious token of the very essence of himself, while thinking adoringly of the highly desirable female charms of officer Siobhan -- or while thinking with such sexual intensity about me, or officer Bella Donna, or any other prison officer -- that is his choice! It is no concern of yours! It is not for you, to propound the advisability of chemical castration. Understand ...? Do not make me repeat myself! I said: Do you understand?"

"Ye-yes, Miss Billy Jo. I ... I understand," said Ross respectfully, bright red in the face now, and looking almost completely unnerved.

"Or perhaps, prisoner Chapman, you would rather wish prisoner Lightwood rendered impotent ...? Wish him physically incapable of adoring us, in the only way that we have left open to him? Hmm ...?

"Perhaps, prisoner Chapman, you would like us to take the lead out of your cell mate's pencil? Perhaps you would prefer your cellmate divested, of his one remaining outlet? Deprived, of the one and only method we permit him, of sexually expressing his indisputably true feelings towards us? Perhaps you would like us to dispossess him of the necessary wherewithal, for bestowing upon myself, or officer Bella Donna, or officer Siobhan -- or any other prison officer -- the ultimate accolade?"

"Um ... no, Miss Billie Jo," said Ross respectfully. "I ... I wouldn't want that."

Prison officer Billie Jo was really getting to Ross. There was no question about it.

When she put her mind to it, prison officer Billie Jo could crush Ross. When she was in the mood, she could turn him into a tottering pile of human rubble. Reduce him to a trembling, coming-apart-at-the-seams, blubbering wreck.

And she was in the mood now ... and putting her mind to it.

Over the past fifteen months of his incarceration, too many times Ross had found himself in this dreadful situation. Bearing the brunt, whenever prison officer Billie Jo got out of the wrong side of the bed.

Ross had borne the brunt often enough by now, to know that his sense of self-esteem, his self-respect -- his very sense of self-worth -- could not hold up to the terrible unleashing of prison officer Billie Jo's true and unrestrained personality and presence.

As I had witnessed on numerous occasions, this past year, Ross (who put a brave face on things, but actually was very easily hurt) simply could not stand up to the beautiful but terrible young woman who had so diabolically imposed herself on him.

And in truth, I was no better off: I was right under the cruelly subjugating heel of prison officer Bella Donna -- Poison Ivy!