Hi, my name is Kiki, and this is my story of how I went from restaurant manager to what I have become -- a prison 'bitch' owned by black cock.
Before my extended vacation here behind concrete walls and metal doors, I managed a chain Tex-Mex sit-down called Tia's at the Riverchase Galleria in Hoover, Al. Back then, they used to call me 'Drew.' I had a blast fucking the barely legal waitreses and selling pot to the waiters. I made decent money between the baggies of grass and my sallary -- especially for a 23 year old kid... Life was good, or so I thought.
At work one morning, I had just had enough time to unlock the doors and had my openers start getting the place ready for business when this young piece of jail bait ass comes in wearing her short cut-off daisy dukes with an ass sitting inside that could turn a gay man straight (or something like that). She was looking for a summer job, and I hired her on the spot. Her name? Alice.
As it turns out, she was o a sophomore at Hoover High, but she could pass for a college sorostitute if you didn't know any better. I guess at school, she must have been pretty popular because business started Rockin after I hired her as a Hostess. It seemed like every time I looked over, she was saying hello to friends' parents and other High School crowds I hadn't seen come in before. She even had guys from local colleges smitten with her. They would sit on the same side of the booths just so they could keep an eye on her cute little ass. As a coincidence the uniform for her position included black short skirts and high-heel pumps.
At any rate, she was crushing on me pretty hard from the time she started working for me, but there was no way I was going to hit that. She was still 15, and I'm no fool. That's a boundary even I wouldn't cross at that time in my life. After turning her down on several occasions, we wound up at a party after work where she must have slipped something in my drink, because I can only remember snip-its of us fucking in the bartender, Mark's, bedroom. I woke up in a drunk tank feeling like hell the next morning.
I couldn't remember anything happening that would have caused me to wake up where I did. I normally would have crashed on Mark's couch under such circumstances. The events of that night I couldn't have imagined happening to me in my worst case scenarios...
One of the guards tosses a Hot Pocket (I shit you not) through a slot in the door and that was my breakfast... because that's what a man with crazy hangover blood pressure needs -- high sodium. Geese. I was in bad shape and flipping out over my situation not know at all why I was there.
I got my phone call, and Mom, through a cascade of audible tears, tells me that the family lawyer is on the way down to explain the situation to me. She arrived just before lunch, or at least that's when the guards took me to our private meeting room.
"Drew, why don't we start with you telling me what happened last night," Mrs. Jenkins suggests. She's a very attractive black woman in her mid thirties with a look in her eye that says 'You're not the kind of scum bag I went into debt to get my J.D. to protect.'
I recounted the night as best as I could -- straining to regain bits and pieces as I went. Often, I had my eyes shut, head bowed, and was tapping my hands on the table while reaching way back into my shallow memory bank to communicate as many details as I could. She then leans back and her shoulders drop as though she realizes the potential that I have been set up by Mark and/or Alice.
"Ok, now let me tell you in plain English what I know," Mrs. Jenkins beings to explain. "Early this morning, police received a call from a frightened drunk 15 year old girl who says you forced yourself upon her last night and that you attempted to strangle her wherein she was only able to escape by smashing a lamp over your head. When the police arrived, they found you knocked out in your Bartender, Mark's, bed. Upon searching your pockets, Officer Tucker found three individually packaged bags of Marijuana and a wad of $20 Bills all stashed in a Brown paper bag that they found in the front left pocket of your cargo shorts." Here's the thing -- I had sold all of my pot early into the party and I had already placed the cash from those sales into the glove compartment of my car. I tell her this, but she is not impressed with the information that would only further incriminate myself. The very nature of my drug dealing would negate any fiber of goodness in me that might remain in the eyes of a jury.
She continues, "The young girl was admitted into the hospital where a rape kit was administered, she was treated for minor injuries and then released. Are you also going to tell me that the semen they find won't match your DNA?" Unfortunately, one of the few snapshots of memory I have are of my dick pumping in and out of Alice. But in that memory, there was nothing violent taking place... I hadn't had any pot or drug money on me after I started to really party. I know myself well, and there's no way I would rape someone -- much less try to kill that person even in my most fucked-up state of mind. I'VE BEEN FUCKING FRAMED!!!
I chose not to take the plea bargain insisting that I was honestly innocent, and Mrs. Jenkins did the best she could for me, but when it was all said and done, a Jury sentenced me to a total of 25 years for rape, drug possession with intent to sale, and attempted man slaughter charges. "I'm fucked!" I said to myself in a hazy fog of unbelief that my life had just taken such a sudden and drastic turn that would at the very least rob me of my early adulthood. I'll be 48 when I get out unless I can get paroled early and possibly get some time off for good behavior. Regardless, what the fuck can I expect my life to be like at that point. No relative work experience and a Felony of this nature will be enough to ruin the rest of my life. To say I was suicidal when all of these facts sank in would be a vast understatement. I was under suicide watch and had countless sessions with a therapist who tried convincing me that it wasn't the end of the world.
Shortly after the sentencing hearing, I was transfered to a Maximum Security prison in Colorado. I was totally and utterly distraught.
After being processed into the facility, a guard was escorting me to my new cell. Apparently, my reputation preceded me as evidenced by the comments made by other prisoners on the way. "Damn, you're the fuck who been out rapin' children in the world... youse gonna be gettin fucked big time up in dis mo'fucka," one inmate said as we passed by a group playing cards in the common area. One of the biggest blackest men I've ever seen sitting next to that prisoner says, "Damn you a fine piece of ass... I can't wait till shower time. I 'aint gotten off ever since I found out about yo' stupid rapin' ass was comin'. You gonna get all this seed I been savin', you herd?"
"This be yo' new home you mo'fucka," the guard says in a suspiciously thuggish dialect. Voices are still outside the cell saying crazy things, and I'm on the verge of absolutely losing it. I am hit with another wave of pure and sober reality of where I'm at and that my life will never be the same.
I set my things down and start making the top bunk up. I finish that then find a seat in the chair next the bunk bead. I'm alone in the cell and I start looking around at the evidence of what my cell mate is going to be like. The first thing I notice is the shaving kit at the sink and how there are black curly hairs where he must have shaved several days of growth. The voices from the common area die down for a little while, and exhausted from the stressful day, I crawl up to the top bunk and try to sleep. My body will have none of it. I stare at the cracking paint on the ceiling dreading the inevitable meeting with my cellie. Is he going to be friendly or is he going to be some tatted out thug... no way of knowing what I am about to find out anyway.
After some amount of time that felt like a year but only amounted to a few hours, I hear a lot of footsteps headed towards their cells for what I later come to know as the 'count' where all prisoners are accounted for by staff before it's time for chow. Not long after that, I hear a pair of feet making their way into the cell. They stop abruptly.
"Fuckin she-it," says a deep aggravated voice. "I dun knowed dis single-cell shit'd be too good to last."
Out of pure instinct, I start apologizing explaining that I had no choice and didn't mean to invade his space.
"Well, look her mo' fucka. 'Aint yo fault lil'dude. What they be callin' you?"
We do the meet'n greet and I am relieved to find that "D," as he is known, is a very reasonable and friendly 6'3" black guy weighing in around 250-275lbs (all muscle). He tells me that since we're going to be staying in close quarters for a little while, he might as well look after me a bit and show me the ropes before the "perv mo'fuckas" start "layin' down day press game." He takes me to chow and lets me sit with his gang of thugs. They walk with me and make sure that nobody gets the bright idea to have their ways with my "bleached ass' booty." Nobody made any mention of why I was in there, and scared of the consequences of them finding out if they didn't already know, I dare not mention it. When D's friend Faze asks me, all I said was the truth -- I got set up for some shit I had no real part of. I did notice that after I answered, they all stopped eating and looked at one another. A couple in the bunch were definitely holding back a snicker.
The next couple of weeks put my mind at ease about having to adjust to life in prison. D's friend Dizzy set me up with a job cleaning the common areas and everyone pretty much looked after me. I didn't even hear but a handful of sexual threats and those were all murmurs to the effect of "You gonna get yoes fa'real." I paid it no mind and tried to stay positive.
After about a month and feeling pretty well adjusted to prison life, I started cutting up with my new friends more and more. Eventually, D let me in on a little secret that one of his buds has some pruno to share with us one night (pruno is a crude wine made of yeast, sugar, and fruit juice set to ferment).
His friend enters the cell after the count where we have two hour befor lights out to get our drink on. What was to happen next would change my life forever.
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