There are those folks who prefer a generous portion of penis in their diets. Ronald S. is just such a folk. As it happens, Ron is the guard sergeant on E-Block.
I certainly don't denigrate anyone (not even a guard) just because he savors sausage. Don't otherwise ordinary people relish yogurt? Have I not personally known a few fine women whose ingratiating talent was their fellatio forte? Do I not steadfastly support each person's right to choose his own sexual diet?
So, these comments about Sergeant Ron reflect no condemnation of whatever dangling dainty excites his pallet. Let him glut on weenie, yogurt and all, for all I care.
I record these comments about the E-Block sergeant only because he's so obnoxious and humorous. He ought not be allowed to sink into bureaucratic oblivion without at least a titter.
Ron S. is a stubby, potbellied guard, catty, shrill and cranky; an unhappy person who suffers from perpetual PMS. He's apparently awaiting promotion to lieutenant and transfer to a new prison, one with younger, more appealing inmates. Most of his fellow guards must struggle to endure him. The prisoners make fun of him. Though he's married and has children, they must not want him at home. He's at "work" early and he stays late.
His prison bosses are aware of the sergeant's proclivities for organ meat. Several would-be meals have complained. They went to the hole while Ron gulped down the yogurt.
I've not personally been solicited by the sergeant. I'm old and ugly. Ron much prefers young prisoners, especially athletic men whose body odor is pungent enough to make your eyes water. His favorites are blacks, long blacks, if you follow my meaning.
Because I have no first hand experience with Sergeant Ron, I've given him the benefit of the doubt and omitted his last name. If the many reports are fallacious, then regard this as only a likely fiction. However, my sources are many and varied.
I've talked to men who are less finicky than I am about the gender of their luncheon companions. They certify that Ronny is, as they say, a swallower.
I've watched Ron skulk around the block peeking into cells where men might be undressed. I've seen him go in behind a man who's relieving himself at his toilet. I've personally seen him peep around such men to admire the faucet.
Often I've seen Sergeant Ron S. become enraged when he discovers that a man has partly covered his cell bars in an effort to use his toilet in relative privacy. Ron absolutely insists that he able to look into the cell at all times, especially when the seatless porcelain pot is in use.
Ron is less irked by an obstructed view, if there's a strong odor. Certain aromas seem to tantalize him.
Oddly enough, Ron seems to have used the prison barbershop for his first prison tryst. While still a rookie guard, Ronny waited until the shop was closed. Then, golly, gee, he suddenly discovered that he really needed a haircut. He got the keys for the deserted shop, collected a barber he's had his eye on. Zeek (that's what we'll call the prisoner barber) had scarcely started the trim when Guard Ron, unable to contain his frenzied anticipation, seized Zeek in his most manly spot, clutching the appendage with an adoring insistence.
Zeek was so started by the sudden grasp of his apparatus that he jerked back, nicking the groper's rather prominent ear. There was a gush of blood but Ron held fast, unwilling to relinquish his prize.
While Ron repeated the barbershop ploy, he was more careful after that to find more willing (and less clumsy) barbers. Nowadays he seems to be using newer tactics, or maybe, he lost his taste for prisoners.
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