Smugg-a-lin' Baby

Mark put out his hand.

"Um, there's a problem-"

Mark's shoulders slumped. "What?"

"The guard-"

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't Swallow-"

"It wasn't supposed to be. It was supposed to be Lickies-"

"Oh-"

"Oh nothing. Where is it?"

"I...I swallowed it-"

"What the fuck did you do that for, you little piece of shit?"

Jack's eyes welled, the tears glinting with the lone light of the cell overhead. He placed one chubby hand over his chest. "I'm sorry, Mark, I thought Swallow was supposed to be there, and when I saw Lickies, I panicked and just...swallowed all of it-"

Mark snorted a few heavy breaths through his nostrils. "Well, fucking throw it up then-"

"I, I can't-"

"Jesus Christ, dude, you're fucked-" Mark's breathing began to slow and he unzipped his pants, pushed them to his ankles, and sat on the toilet. With a grunt that was audible only to himself, he forced out the turd that had been tickling his rectum all morning.

"Do I still get to suck it?" said Jack.

Mark wiped quickly, then stood up and pulled up his pants. "No, bitch, you get to eat it-" And he braided his wiry fingers through the wet, matted hair on the back of Jack's head, and with more strength than he needed, slammed the man's face into the stainless steel oval that contained his sleek turd. "Fucking eat it, bitch. And throw my shit fucking up!"

He straddled Jack's massive back and pushed down with both hands until the toes of the man's scuffed shoes stopped tap-dancing behind him. He pulled Jack's head out of the toilet and looked at his wet, gasping, browned face. "You're fucking disgusting, dude. Now, where's my shit? Did you get it out?"

Jack barely shook his head. So Mark grabbed him around the waist as best he could and dragged him to the lower bunk, on which rested the man's upper body. With a forceful tug, he ripped Jack's pants from him, then tore them into pieces, which he stuffed in the man's whimpering mouth. He grabbed the shampoo bottle from the table and squeezed every last drop of it into the crack of Jack's red-haired, pimpled ass. "There's only one way to do this," he said as he coated his hand with a few dollops of the shampoo. "Send a fucking pedo to do a man's job and...shit happens."

And he plopped one bony finger into Jack's asshole. Then another. And another. And then the fourth. And twisted them until the knuckles of his hand were flush with Jack's anus. He slipped his thumb inside his palm. Then punched his fist into the man's rectum to his wrist, Jack's head rearing up, his screams muted by the cotton of his pants. Mark slapped him on the back of his head with his free hand, then pushed his face into the mattress as he clawed his hand through Jack's rectum, giving it small punches here and there to get past sticking points on his forearm, gobs of shit licking at his arm hairs, his fingers searching with all their dexterity for antyhing that didn't feel like a turd or tissue. Until finally his elbow slipped through Jack's anus and his middle finger detected a mass unlike anything else it had encountered. He grabbed at it quickly and pulled his hand back as fast as he could, a flood of feces, blood, shampoo, and what must have been rectum falling in a pool between Jack's knees, just under his gaping, murdered hole.

"Got it!" Mark giggled. He pulled Jack's head up and turned him over, wiping his hand and forearm on Jack's face. Then he made his way to the sink and washed up, soaping his arms to the shoulders, his semi-erection shrinking further. After he dried off, he made his way back over to the bunk and sat down, draping the towel over Jack's barely breathing face. "Clean yourself up, you sick fuck. You smell like shit."

In Da Yard

They clasped hands, pulled each other closer, embraced, then stepped back, their hands in their pockets.

"Look at you, Marky, you been hittin' da iron?"

"A little. So what the fuck charge y'all catch man?"

"Same one-"

"Yeah?"

"Man, it all a set up. They just wanna lock two more niggers away, dat's all-"

"True dat-"

"So what they charge y'all with?"

"Assaultin' a po po-"

"Really?"

"And attempted murder of a po po-"

"Fuck-"

"Man, it ain't like dat at all-"

"Dat's da truth-"

"Remember dat cop lock you up?"

"Uh huh-"

"Dude was fuckin' harassin' me and Delonte, man. Followin' us all over da place. Pullin' us over for no reason, searchin' our shit. But he couldn't get nothin' on us-"

"True dat-"

"So we sittin' at my joint one night, just watchin' TV and shit and I see these eyes in da window. I get up and then I hear shit outside-"

"Fuck-"

"I thought it was somebody tryin' ta rob me and shit. We got our gats and went to da front door and there's dis muthafucka runnin' down da driveway-"

"No fucking way-"

"Well, he ain't runnin' no more-"

"Jesus-"

"One of us caught his spine. Right in da neck-"

"Wow. And they arrested y'all? They shoulda arrested him-"

"True dat, homes-"

"Fucker said he comin' by to question us 'bout a shootin' on da otha side a Cedaraville. You know me, I don't even go over there with dem whack niggers-"

"Yeah-"

"Anyway, dude said he there to ask us questions. At two in the fuckin' mornin'. Creepin' round my fuckin' yard, peepin' in my window. Man, I coulda been playin' wid ma dick or somethin'-"

"Ha-"

"They catch y'all with any shit?"

"Fuck no. Just dis bum charge-"

"Man, I'm so fucking sorry, dude. That's bullshit. I almost shit my pants when I saw y'all walk by my cell. But that fuckin' creep I'm in there with woulda liked it-"

"Dude, let me tell you 'bout dat muthafucka. He was here when I here last time. He been here foreva-"

"For inviting an 8 year-old to his house?"

"For molestin' a 8 year-old. He like da biggest fuckin' pedophile in da state-"

"Really?"

"Fuckin' guard told me he like molested hundreds of kids but dey could only get him on da one-"

"That's fucked up-"

"Yeah, I'm surprised he alive dis long. Every cell mate he ever have beat da shit outta him-"

"I'm surprised he ain't in solitary-"

"Well, there's a reason for dat-"

"Ah-"

"Yep-"

"Hmm. We need to do something about that dude-"

"Uh huh-"

"But we need some drugs. There some cool guards here?"

"Fuckin' bunch of 'em. Get anything you like-"

"All right. We'll be able to take care of two things at one time then-"

They clasped hands, pulled each other closer, embraced, then stepped back, their hands in their pockets.

Back

A small, hairy, freckled hand crept over the side of his bunk and across his left hip, stopping at his crotch, where its fingers began tugging at his zipper. Mark blinked his eyes twice, then sat up, swung his legs over the bunk, and jumped to the floor all in one motion. His feet didn't stop moving till Jack Anderson's back was against the far cement-blocked wall, Mark's slight 5'9" frame towering over the diminutive, portly man. He glared down into Jack's eyes, which were wide with fear or lust - or both.

"What the fuck is your problem, dude?" said Mark.

"Um, I lost something, roomie-"

"Stop calling me roomie-"

"Okay-"

"You're so fucking stupid. I wasn't even asleep or anything. Dude, do you lack self-control that much?"

A buzzer sounded loudly through the prison, echoing in every cell. Jack blinked over at the tiny clock on the table. "The parade's starting," he said. And slipped out from under Mark and made his way to the barred door of their cell.

Mark followed, inching away from Jack as he took up his post next to him. Another line of black men carrying bed linens and toiletries made its way past, a conga line of the defeated and entrapped, like a scene from Roots. Mark watched, sighing, till his heart stopped beating with the sickening force of recognition as the last two black men approached. "Donte," he yelled, "Delonte."

Both men looked at him at the same time and grinned, throwing back their heads.

"What the fuck, dudes?"

"We get up witch you in the yard, a'ight?" Donte nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, man," said Mark. He looked to his shoe tops and could've sworn that his body was as empty as their soles.

"Who are those niggers?" came a voice from behind him.

Mark spun around, his eyes narrowing to where Jack had quietly backed up to pull out his cock - the head swollen and red - and masturbate, sweat coating his forehead. "Don't call my friends niggers again or I'll fucking gut you," said Mark. He pointed to Jack's short, fat cock in his short, fat fingers. "And if I see your dick one more time, I'm gonna cut it off. Got that?"

Jack nodded, popped his dick back in his pants without zipping them, and made his way to his bunk.

"Uh uh," said Mark, as he reached in front of Jack, tore the sheets, blanket, and pillow from the bottom bunk with both hands, and threw them to one of the dusty corners of the cell. "I got the bottom bunk now. You lost that privilege, bitch."

Simile

Like a rotting kitten carcass under the bed? Or like a scabbed-over pussy? Or shit-filled entrails? A baggie of testicles, scrotum, penis, fingers, and eyeballs? A turkey-and-cabbage fart?

Mark's eyes opened from sleep, his nostrils twitching, and looked down at the odor assaulting his brain through his nose. Jack sat bare-chested on the toilet, his government-issued pants around his ankles, his short, fat cock like a dog's red rocket in his cum-covered hand. He looked up at Mark and smiled, the freckles on his face disappearing in a bevy of lines around his eyes and on his bloated cheeks.

"Good morning, roomie!"

"What the fuck, dude?" Mark sat up, letting his legs dangle over the side of his bunk. "You got fucking issues." He shook his head and laughed to keep from gagging. "Something crawled up in you and died-"

"What do you mean?"

"The smell-"

"Oh, this is mild compared to-"

"Compared to what? An Auschwitz oven?" Mark pointed to the man's crotch. "I don't need to be seeing that again-"

"Sorry." Jack's cock dropped from his hand, which he wiped on the side of his leg, and drooped, shrinking, between his gelatinous thighs. "I just come better when I'm shitting-"

"Whatever-"

"Who's Danny?"

"Huh?"

"Your sleep is very, um, boisterous-"

"Really? How do you mean?"

"You toss and turn all night-"

"What the fuck? Did you watch me sleep all fucking night?"

"No. You were right above me, you know." Jack shook his head with a laugh, then continued in his forced casual tone, as if he were discussing a new college course with a professor, his pinky held out from his teacup as he sipped his Earl Grey: "You kept saying the name Danny. And you pop your elbows - or maybe it's your knees - every five minutes or so. It's really very disturbing-"

"That's really very disturbing." Mark again pointed to the man's crotch. And was disturbed himself that he'd gotten so used to the smell of the man's bowel movement so quickly.

Jack stood up, pulled up his pants, and buttoned and zipped them.

"Aren't you gonna wipe?"

"Don't have to; I shit clean-"

"Yeah, right-"

"Ah, it doesn't matter, roomie, we shower every day any way-"

Mark yawned, then 1-2 snapped his fists forward, his elbows' crackling echoing in the cell. "What the fuck are you in here for anyway?"

Jack cleared his throat. Then looked Mark straight in the eyes without blinking, like a cat on patrol for a mouse. "I had the audacity to invite an 8 year-old boy to my house for lunch."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Mark narrowed his eyes and stared into Jack's widened eyes until the latter's slowly closed to a blink, like a coffin closing on a hated corpse. "Bullshit," he finally said. "There ain't no fucking way you got put in jail for inviting a kid to your house for lunch. What was he, a friend of your son's?"

"I don't have any children."

"A nephew-"

"No." Jack turned around to the small table in the corner and fingered the closed pages of one of the books lying there. "He was just a boy I met-"

"Where?"

"On the playground." Jack sighed. "He was a beautiful boy, who looked not much unlike yourself. A really sweet, innocent boy. I could tell right away that he needed someone older who could-"

"You were gonna fuck him, weren't you?"

"I don't fuck, roomie, I love, I guide, I teach, I instruct, I turn boys into the men the world needs. I make boys feel as special as every boy should feel-"

Mark looked at the toilet and espied the skinny black turd circling the bowl. If he looked long enough, it seemed to move, like a venomous, hungry snake raising its head to strike. He could smell its stench once more. "Dude," he said, "you're fucking sick-"

Jack turned around, smiling. "Roomie, you aren't so different from me."

"I ain't nothing like you-"

Jack shrugged. "We'll see."