Waiting

Waiting

A Short Story

By Maryanne Peters

Prison was tough for me. I was always a girly boy, you see. The moment that I walked into that hell hole I could see everybody staring at me, and I knew what they were thinking.

I was not gay. Not then anyway. It is just that survival is more important than pride. Survival is everything. There is no such thing as a proud corpse.

I had to take it. I just needed to make sure that I was not the jailhouse slut who could be taken by anybody. I stuck with Carlos and few of his boys. They fucked me, but they made sure nobody else did.

Most guys like Carlos like their jailhouse bitches "femmy". That was not me either, but you have to adapt. I grew my hair so that Carlos could have something to run his fingers through as I sucked his cock. He smuggled in some female hormones and some makeup too, so that he could fuck me face to face, and think of me as a woman, with my dick hidden with my hand, and him deep in my butt.

To be honest, in those days I preferred it doggy-style so I did not have to look at the man fucking me. But things change. People change. And Carlos was good to me. I made him happy. When he fucked me lying on my back with a pillow under my ass to help with the angle of entry, I could see how happy I made him. There is something about giving somebody else that much pleasure that makes a person feel good about themselves, and in prison that is worth a lot, because prison is designed to make you feel like shit.

I owed him for the protection he gave me and he would not let me forget it. I was going to get out before him, but he asked me to wait on the outside. It seemed crazy. He would not be interested in me when there were real girls to be fucked. But of course, mainly for that reason, I said yes. I wanted to see if it might be true. Does that make me a romantic? There was nothing romantic about prison and sodomy.

"Go and see Marianna," he said. "You can stay with her. She will get you work. She will look after and keep you safe until I get out."

I suppose the option was for me to run, but I had no family when I got out. My parents and my brother would not take me in. My parole officer asked me where I would be staying, and I had the address in my pocket. The Parole Officer had no idea about any criminal connection, or didn't care

"Carlos has asked for some improvements," Marianna explained. I thought that the soft smooth body and the long blonde hair was enough for him, but he had booked me in for breast implants and lips surgery to give me a permanent blow-job pout.

Marianna did not approve of me. I am sure that she felt that I had turned Carlos gay somehow, but how could she understand what it was like for somebody like Carlos? He needed to fuck somebody, and he liked girls. I was as close to that as he could get to that in the joint.

She had me call her "Mistress", but I hoped that when Carlos got out, he would put her in her place. Until that day she would torment me with the effect of the continuing the hormone shots that she administered. My balls had turned into the size of hazelnuts and I seemed to be always flaccid.

She said that she had "reprogrammed" me, in refusing to let me refer any part of my body as being male, or behave in any way like a man, but in truth the maleness was fucked out of me in prison. I am not the enemy of women that I once was. I am one of them now. One of us, just with a little bit of something extra - with emphasis on the word little.

So I make up for it by trying to be extra pretty. You'll never see me without my hair looking nice and my makeup perfect. I like to be attractive you see, not just to men. But I kept thinking about how happy I could make Carlos. It seems like some super power, and it is a source of pride in myself that I can honestly say I never enjoyed as a man.

But Marianna thinks I am a slut, and she might be right. I want sex, meaning I want to receive it because that is all I can do. I want it all the time. Now I am pale and soft and weak ... and pretty in the kind of way most real men like. What got me locked up - a woman beneath me fighting to get away, is no longer my interest. I need a man on top of me, giving me what I deserve. Please, please, give me that. Call it justice if you like, but I love it, so can it be that?

I'll wait for Carlos. I won't be another's trophy whore. If Marianna is worried about that then she can forget it. I long to see his face as he spurts his load up my ass. But what is a girl to do while she waits? I don't want to get on the wrong side of a man who I owe and I genuinely respect, but there are so many other men walking around with cocks I need, and they are available.

Now, this is tough.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2024

A Note for my Readers:

My PC went down for a while just before Christmas, but I have returned with more sexy short stories, some of them like this one -- more short than others. I truly appreciate comments and suggestions so please get in touch.