Many lengthy conversations were held between inmates and staff via intercom. After all, there was not much else to do. Control station officers were posted in a control station (bubble) that was roughly half the size of a child’s bedroom. Much to the chagrin of our chimo population, the primary difference between the control stations and children’s bedrooms was the transparency. The bubbles were aptly named due to the plexi-glass shields that made up the vast majority of the walls separating the control station officers from the inmates. Control stations get boring. Directly in front of your post are two dayrooms, viewed split-level, top and bottom, where you can monitor inmates on both floors of the housing unit watching television.
You could watch the television yourself, but the angle is bad, and the volume is not loud enough. For some reason the intercom-system acoustics do not match up well with the volume projected from the television set.
Inmates often start conversations with new staff; particularly if they are female. Females often respond. There is just something about a taboo screw. If they wanted laid that bad, all they would have to do is walk out into the parking lot at 2 p.m., and say,
“Would somebody please take me home and fuck me?” It would not be easier for a female if she lived on a Marine Corps base.
“What’s for breakfast?” “Matted meat particles.” “No, really.”
“The same thing you have every morning punk. All the dicks you can fit in your mouth.”
“Why you so mean? Did you have a big bowl of Bitch for breakfast? I used to like women. But then they just sit around growing yeast between their legs, stinkin’ up the place.”
“Shut the fuck up, pussy, or you’ll be locking down in your cell.”
“Pussy, did you just say pussy? You just said dick and pussy in your last two sentences. What would make you say things like that? Are you hinting that you might be wanting to have show-and-tell or something?”
“You ain’t had pussy since pussy had you. If you licked it on your way out, consider yourself lucky.”
“Don’t you want some dick?”
“We are not having this conversation. Besides, I’m batting for the other team.”
“You wrong for that, ya know.”
“My self-worth is in no way tied-up in your opinion.” “Whatchu mean by that?”
“That means, I don’t care what you think of me.” “You dance on tables?”
“Not occasionally. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I bet if you saw a penis, you would throw up.”
“I’ve seen ’em before, and I did not feel the urge to do anything because of it, or to it. So incorporate that in your next therapy session.”
“I think you would like to see this one. Ain’t no way you’ve seen one this big before.”
“No. I do not wish to see your penis.”
“But baby, I graduated Magna Cum Loudly!” “I don’t care if you graduated.”
“Hypothetically, would I get a write-up if I showed it to you anyway?”
Nervously looking around for other staff and inmate eavesdroppers, “…probably wouldn’t get a write-up.”
The cock of majesty was out and semi-chubbing before she could finish the sentence. “I bet you ain’t never seen one that big before,” claimed the inmate as he began to stroke the remaining hardness into his pecker.
The female control station officer stood up in her chair to get a better look. “Not sure if I have or not; I don’t think so,” nervously looking around, “I’d need a closer look.”
“They call me the Bone-Crusher.”
“Why do they call you that?” in a much sweeter tone than before.
“When I start stroking this in my ladies, it’s hard to stop. It’s like a fuckin’ freight train.”
“Oh God, that sounds nice.” “You want some of this?” “Fuck yes, but there is no way.” “Where there’s a will…” “When do you get out?”
“I’m parole eligible in three years. I don’t think either of us can wait that long.”
“Look on the bright side. I just bought furniture from Ernie’s in Ceresco. You’ll get out before I start paying interest!”
“Could he have misinterpreted his lawyer’s words? Hell, we misinterpret conversations all the time, and we are mostly lucid.”
You could watch the television yourself, but the angle is bad, and the volume is not loud enough. For some reason the intercom-system acoustics do not match up well with the volume projected from the television set.
Inmates often start conversations with new staff; particularly if they are female. Females often respond. There is just something about a taboo screw. If they wanted laid that bad, all they would have to do is walk out into the parking lot at 2 p.m., and say,
“Would somebody please take me home and fuck me?” It would not be easier for a female if she lived on a Marine Corps base.
“What’s for breakfast?” “Matted meat particles.” “No, really.”
“The same thing you have every morning punk. All the dicks you can fit in your mouth.”
“Why you so mean? Did you have a big bowl of Bitch for breakfast? I used to like women. But then they just sit around growing yeast between their legs, stinkin’ up the place.”
“Shut the fuck up, pussy, or you’ll be locking down in your cell.”
“Pussy, did you just say pussy? You just said dick and pussy in your last two sentences. What would make you say things like that? Are you hinting that you might be wanting to have show-and-tell or something?”
“You ain’t had pussy since pussy had you. If you licked it on your way out, consider yourself lucky.”
“Don’t you want some dick?”
“We are not having this conversation. Besides, I’m batting for the other team.”
“You wrong for that, ya know.”
“My self-worth is in no way tied-up in your opinion.” “Whatchu mean by that?”
“That means, I don’t care what you think of me.” “You dance on tables?”
“Not occasionally. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I bet if you saw a penis, you would throw up.”
“I’ve seen ’em before, and I did not feel the urge to do anything because of it, or to it. So incorporate that in your next therapy session.”
“I think you would like to see this one. Ain’t no way you’ve seen one this big before.”
“No. I do not wish to see your penis.”
“But baby, I graduated Magna Cum Loudly!” “I don’t care if you graduated.”
“Hypothetically, would I get a write-up if I showed it to you anyway?”
Nervously looking around for other staff and inmate eavesdroppers, “…probably wouldn’t get a write-up.”
The cock of majesty was out and semi-chubbing before she could finish the sentence. “I bet you ain’t never seen one that big before,” claimed the inmate as he began to stroke the remaining hardness into his pecker.
The female control station officer stood up in her chair to get a better look. “Not sure if I have or not; I don’t think so,” nervously looking around, “I’d need a closer look.”
“They call me the Bone-Crusher.”
“Why do they call you that?” in a much sweeter tone than before.
“When I start stroking this in my ladies, it’s hard to stop. It’s like a fuckin’ freight train.”
“Oh God, that sounds nice.” “You want some of this?” “Fuck yes, but there is no way.” “Where there’s a will…” “When do you get out?”
“I’m parole eligible in three years. I don’t think either of us can wait that long.”
“Look on the bright side. I just bought furniture from Ernie’s in Ceresco. You’ll get out before I start paying interest!”
“Could he have misinterpreted his lawyer’s words? Hell, we misinterpret conversations all the time, and we are mostly lucid.”
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