1005-1977

"Next group!"

Mark slid his feet along the wet tiles, the mold between the tiles squishing between his toes, until he was under a shower head. As the rest of the line behind him settled into place, water pounded onto his head, its cold turning hot and relaxing the goosebumps on his skin. He finally removed his hand from his tiny dick and balls and soaked them with soap.

"Close your eyes and don't open 'em till you rinse this shit completely off!"

And a chubby guard in a rain slick twisted his wrists over Mark's head, an ammonia syrup spilling out of the bucket and coating his lean physique with a false sense of cleanliness. He rubbed the last of the solution from his body and blinked his eyes open just in time to catch the towel thrown at him from another guard in a matching rain slick. Quickly, he dried off, knotting the towel around his waist, his semi-erection a normal-sized bulge through the stiff white cotton.

"This way!"

Mark and the 9 other inmates, all black and twice his size, followed another guard down a short hallway and through a thick, steel door into a small, bright room, the halogen lights overhead bouncing in erratic waves off the yellow, concrete walls. As the large door shut behind them, two heavily armed guards - helmets, kevlar vests, M-16s, 9mm's, tear gas canisters, several sets of handcuffs, night-stick - approached and took up posts at each end of the line. Behind the guards followed four men in lab coats shoving their hands into latex gloves and pulling out small flashlights.

"Drop your towel!"

"Open your mouth! Wide!"

"Lift up your scrotum!"

"Turn around and bend over! Spread your buttocks!"

"All clear!"

"Attention!"

Mark turned around, his hand over his stiff cock and shrunken balls, and watched as the first two in line were escorted naked by one of the machine-gunned guards over to the small table on the other side of the room, at which sat two more guards. On each side of the table were several stacks of garments and bedsheets and small plastic bags filled with an indeterminate amount of supplies that would cost ten cents apiece at a dollar store. After a series of muffled questions and nodded and shaken-headed answers, the two black dudes quickly clothed themselves, accepted their bedding and toiletries, and walked out the steel door on the other side of the room to two more waiting guards.

Mark followed the armed guard up to the table with the black guy on his left, his dick shriveling in his hand, and stopped in front of the white-haired guard on the right side of the table.

"Number?"

"One zero zero five dash one nine seven seven-"

"Dennison, Mark?"

Nod.

"Do you have any allergies?"

Head shake.

"Are you taking any medication?"

Head shake.

"Are you addicted to drugs and/or alcohol?"

Head shake.

"Do you have any medical condition that the state or Cedarville Prison should be aware of?"

Head shake.

"Do you plan to make use of Cedarville Prison's psychological counseling services?"

Head shake.

"What size are you?" Nod to the piles of clothes.

"Medium?"

"Yeah, that's about right." The guard looked Mark up and down, his bloodshot eyes lingering on his covered crotch. "Well, small for your underwear." And he nudged the guard on his right, the two of them giggling together as they watched Mark's hand tighten on his tiny dick.

Mark took in a deep, silent breath. "It's all in how you use it-"

"You won't be using that side in here, young'un-" And the guards laughed again.

"We'll see-"

"So we will." The guard reached down, grabbed a pile of clothes, and threw them at Mark. "Get dressed, boy."

He dressed so quickly he couldn't feel the rough cotton scratching his skin, the boxers creeping us his ass, or the zipper breaking on his pants. He collected his blanket, sheets, pillow, disposable razor, soap, shaving cream, and toothpaste, and stepped through the door to the guards and a short stroll of hoots and whistles until he was stopped abruptly in front of a cell not much smaller than his room at home.

Climpkt! Clampkt!

He laid his necessities on the bare top bunk, then sat with a slow plop onto the lower bunk, which was already covered with a scruffy blanket and flat, hard pillow. The toilet was stainless steel and rusted and sat inches from him; above it was a plastic mirror smeared with humidity and stains of soap. In the corner just beyond was a small, plywood table, on top of which sat a few dog-eared books, pictures of strange children, and two composition notebooks. The concrete walls were gray and dusty, the cement floor rougher and dustier. Mark laid back on the bed and closed his eyes, his breath soft in his ears under the clatter outside the cell. How would he be able to jerk off and not get caught?

Climpkt! Clampkt!

His eyes popped open and looked at the opening door, the bars goose-stepping across his line of sight and revealing a short, fat, red-haired man dressed exactly as he was.

"You're in my bunk, roomie," said the man, smiling.