SPH Experiences: Jail Time
By suckingspouses.
[google-translator]
A little over a decade ago, I was arrested for substance abuse-related problems. I had to do a relatively short stint at a county detention center, followed by a couple of months of house arrest. It was my first and (hopefully) only time in anything more than a drunk tank or holding cell.
My sentence started about 8 months after my arrest. In the time between arrest and jail, I went to a 28-day treatment program, followed by 6 months of extended treatment, then a month in a sober living apartment. Despite my issues, after seeing the progress I made in treatment, my lifelong teetotaler of a wife decided to stay with me.
A few of the friends I made in treatment ended up moving from the extended treatment to the sober living apartments around the same time I did. As my wife and I rekindled our relationship, she started hanging out at the apartment more, so she got to know my new friends. One of them was a black guy (a detail that becomes relevant—I promise) who’d already been to prison a few times. We’ll call him Trae.
Because I was young, naive, and had never been locked up before, I was nervous about what it would be like. Trae was one of the guys who’d tell me about his experience and what I could expect. Mostly, he just reassured me that it wasn’t as big a deal as I was making it out to be, I wouldn’t be there long, and it would be over in no time.
And he was right. It wasn’t that bad. I got bored a lot, but it had a great library with a surprisingly efficient book-lending system, so I just read.
The only thing I found truly awful was taking communal showers. They were in a decently large room. There was a row of shower heads on one wall. On the opposite wall, a shelf was piled with towels, next to a large bin for old clothes. A guard sat at a desk next to the new clothes we were supposed to grab after showering. So, you had to undress and walk to the showers about 20 yards away, then shower and walk back, with your dick just out there swinging for everyone to see.
The only problem was that mine never swung. It just sits on my balls like a turtle or an acorn. To be honest, it’s pretty fucking small, but when I get nervous, it seems to get even smaller. Even hard, it’s still below average. But getting hard in that environment, in front of other cons, would just get you beaten up. Not right there, but in a place where it would take the guards a few minutes to stop it, and in that time, the damage would be done.
Every time I went to the prison showers, my dick felt like a fixed nub.
I saw a variety of cocks around me: some massive and dangling (like seven inches plus soft. Huge motherfuckers), others smaller (like four inches plus soft) but still flopping around as biggish soft coks do, or at least moving to some extent, as people walked to and from the showers.
Obviously, looking at other dicks for too long is a dangerous game to play in jail (just as getting hard in the showers is), so I just used my peripheral vision to look at them. But not once did I see a dick as small or smaller than mine. Every time I took a shower was a truly humbling experience.
I had the smallest dick in prison.
Fortunately, no one else wanted to be perceived as looking at someone else’s dick either, so there were never any comments from anyone. I know that may surprise you, given some of the stories you read on this site, but none of the other cons ever said anything to me about it. Thank God.
It wasn’t until I got out of jail that I told my wife anything about my time in there. Worried that seeing her would make me emotional, I had asked her not to visit while I was inside.
On the first night I was out, and we were back together, I told her the whole story. At the end, to lighten the story, I told her about the showers, and we laughed.
It wasn’t my intent to make race a focus, but at one point, I said something like, “And I know it’s a stereotype, and I shouldn’t say this, but holy shit, the black guys in there all really did have massive cocks.”
We laughed a bit, and that was the end of it. Or, at least I thought it was.
Now, remember, I still had to finish my sentence with a bit of time on house arrest, so if my wife and I were to see each other, it meant she had to visit me at my sober living place. So, the day after I got out, she came to visit and told me she had run into a friend, Trae, outside. Apparently, he had asked how I was doing and how things went. She told him everything went well. Then, she started to laugh. I asked her why. I had to prod her a little, but finally she admitted that she had told him about my prison shower experiences.
I felt my face get red with humiliation. I wasn’t angry and laughed along, but I was definitely embarrassed. That was meant to be between us.
The next time I saw Trae, he brought it up too. “Your wife told me about the prison showers,” he said, smirking. “It’s true, huh?”
Again, I was humiliated. But at that point, there’s no way to really play it off, so I just said, “Yeah, man, I guess so,” and did my best to laugh along.
I left the sober living place a couple of months later and moved in with my wife to a nearby apartment. I wouldn’t say Trae and I were close after that, but we ran in the same social circles: 12-step meetings, working for the same temp agency to get back on our feet, and for a short while, he moved into the same apartment complex we moved to. He didn’t bring it up every time I saw him, but every once in a while, he’d make references and small dick jokes about the time I found out I was smaller than everyone else in prison.
Now, all this time later, I can’t get enough of my wife making fun of my dick size.
To be clear, I understood that my saying that all the black guys in prison were hung like horses was a stereotype, and I understood it then. I had never used communal showers at all, and the first time I did just happened to be in a place where black men are overrepresented. I wasn’t dealing with a sample size that would pass muster for a peer-reviewed study. There just weren’t as many white guys or men from other ethnic groups in my block when I was in prison. If there had been, it’s entirely possible that I still would have been the smallest guy in every shower. But, in the moment, I just thought, ‘Whoa, black guys are really hung motherfuckers.’
The End.
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