Day 2. Tuesday, September 17
Itīs me again, writing The Story of T. J.
I had my yesterday paper back this morning, with red marks and a comment at the end. It turned out I was to be awarded with 47 strokes on account of what I had written. When I asked the screw why the odd number, he immediately raised it to 50. Iīm getting 25 the day after tomorrow and the rest on Saturday. Canīt say Iīm looking forward to it.
10 lashes were for the car theft I told about, the one that wasnīt even pinned on me. Then I got one lash for each "foul" word and a couple of extras for "bragging and lack of respect". I honestly think Iīve landed in the S & M Matrix.
My ass is worse today, and I have to do my writing standing up. Thereīs a high desk opposite the door, apparently for that reason. I canīt imagine what it will be like to get another fifty on top of the forty-five. Iīve always had a soft spot for juicy, protruding behinds, not on myself, though.
_s_h_i_t_, shouldnīt have thought about juicy behinds, Iīm getting certain feelings behind the rubber armour. Even though Iīm in pain. Good to know itīs working allright. Wouldnīt risk having a hardon in this outfit, though, if I can help it.
Think Iīm beginning to get the hang of this place. Iīll try to follow the rules, no matter how freaky they are, and also try to take the whippings with more dignity than I did yesterday. Iīll also work on how to get rid of the rubber pants. As soon as I get hold of a phone Iīll call Al Clarke and make him get me a transfer to reform school or jail or whatever.
I was told to make a list of my crimes, from the first to the latest, as accurately as possible dates, places, what occurred, if I was apprehended or not and so on. Mister, Iīm not that stupid. I wouldnīt survive 10 lashes a crime, and I doubt there are enough screws to effectuate them. So I refuse. Even if Iīll get whipped for that, roo, it canīt be as bad. You didnt think of that, did you? If you want an honest confession, you canīt punish honesty. Iīve learned THAT lesson for sure. Suppose that wasnīt your original intention?
Iīm compelled to write at least four pages, and I donīt know what to write about. On the other hand I did nearly 19 yesterday, but Iīm pretty certain I canīt put that to my credit today. I could describe the room ("if you donīt know where to begin, start by describing where you are", my English teacher used to preach) but that wonīt fill much space an almost square room, each side approx four yards long, no window but a huge clock on the wall above the door. The furniture consists of a bunk fixed to the wall, a ditto bench, a table and this desk. A small steel washstand for drinking and brushing teeth. Thereīs an empty shelf on the wall for no reason at all, I donīt have anything to put there. Thatīs it. No wastepaper basket, since everything I write is collected every night. No books, since Iīm not supposed to enjoy myself. No loo for the same reason, I guess. A bleak light beside the door is left on day and night so I wonīt get lost when lights go out. The door is opened at least three times a day, at meals. In the morning I get my paper back and is given my new assignment for the day.
You see, this didnīt get me very far.
I could write about Jenni, though. I miss her very much right now. We were together for seven months, I never got to say goodbye to her. I asked mom to, but I wouldnīt count on her remembering it. Jenni is the sun in my life. Sheīs as tall as I am, she dyes her hair spakling red and sheīs been pierced 16 times, ten times in her ears only. She has a tattoo on the small of her back, I wonīt tell more about it. _s_h_i_t_, Iīm getting all aroused again. Iīll save Jenni for the future.
I have to take a leak soon. I really hate it. First I have to pull the knob by the door to call for attention, then I have to kneel in front of the door and wait. If Iīm standing when the screw comes around, he just turns down the flag and leaves, and I have to start all over again. This morning I kneeled for an hour before I was released to the toilet. You need a lot of patience and a strong bladder to enjoy your stay in this hotel.
Iīm always handcuffed when Iīm taken ouside my cell, like Iīm a real threat to the world. Some screws puts the cuffs on in front, others behind my back, there doesnīt seem to be a rule for that. I feel a lot better with my hands in front of me. Squatting with my hands behind my back makes me feel foolish. I hate having my penis and ass wiped, and I hate it when the screw puts the fu sorry, sir the rubber pants back on. This morning he had to use a lubricant to get the plug home, I was so tense and sore. I pleaded with him not to have to sit down and used "sir" as every second word, risking an extra spanking, but he denied my request. He didnīt whip me, though, for speaking without permission.
Sir, I canīt fill my four pages today, and I really need to go to the toilet. Iīm sorry. Iīll make up for it tomorrow.
Day 3, Wednesday, September 18
Tomorrow Iīm getting 25 lashes. Iīm not easily frightened, but this scares me. I have no idea whether Iīll be whipped in my cell or in public or what, Iīm trying not to think too much about it but it wonīt leave me alone. Iīm still standing when I write. Sitting down on the toilet seat is a horror, and then itīs only my thighs that make contact with it.
The woolen longies itches like hell, I donīt care if I use that word, itīs true. I canīt sleep for the itch, itīs worse than the pain in my butt. Iīve got a good idea of what hell is like since I got here.
I got another 26 lashes for the previous paper. Iīm having them on Wednesday next week. Pretty tight schedule, I think. I got them for being rude, using the word "screw" instead of "warder", failing to do my task properly, having _s_e_x_ual fantasies and for sloppy handwriting. In a ten day period I will have had 126 lashes, if my maths are correct. And Iīve only just got here. God, Iīm scared _s_h_i_t_less. I hope there are rules against beating someone to death. I wouldnīt want to die on the rack.
Since I didnīt list my crimes yesterday as I was ordered to, Iīm getting a second chance today. I donīt want to do it. It will take hours and hours, and I donīt like to think about them anyway. Itīs all in the past and whatīs done is done, I canīt change anything by putting it on paper, can I? Iīd rather focus on the future, except for next week.
I wonder if Iīll get rid of the rubbers and woolies soon. Will I ever? The itching is killing me. My ass and thighs ache and itch, my crotch itches, last night I nearly went mad with it. Usually when I canīt sleep, I jack off. It makes me warm and relaxed and very tired. Now all I can do is to lie on my belly or my left side, plagued with black thoughts, and sleep wonīt come.
I honestly donīt think this treatment is legal.
Everything around here is designed to humiliate you and break you down. The food, for instance, consists mainly of beans, vegetables, bananas and cereals. I havenīt had meat or fish since I got here. You have to drink at least half a gallon of water every day, a third of it with each meal. If youīre caught pouring it out you get a round on your ass. This diet gives uneasy bowels and frequent need of a toilet. Have you ever tried farting with a plug up your butt? Itīs nearly impossible. Instead, you have to fart on the warder when he pulls it out. Iīm almost past the shame by now, instead I have a constant feeling of humiliation.
Canīt seem to fill my pages today either. I donīt care. There has to be an upper limit for the number of lashes youīre getting, they canīt go on flogging me as much as this for ever. I donīt know what time tomorrow Iīm getting the next round. I would feel better if I knew.
I need to go to the toilet again, sir, and itīs very late, the lights will go out in half an hour. Please donīt give me an additional punishment for this, I canīt take any more, I promise Iīll write down my crimes tomorrow. Please, sir, Iīm really not a bad guy.
Have to go kneel now before I have an accident.