Mike was a sneak. He was the kind of frightened queer who's common to small-town Pennsylvania. He was ashamed of his "unnatural" desires. He was embarrassed by his interest in what men hid in their odoriferous boxers. Mike had spent his pathetic life in a gloomy closet. It terrified him that people would find out. He did his best to conceal a deep longing for male rump, sphincter and dangling scrota wreathed with curls. For some reason the thought of hairy balls was a great turn-on. Mike Folley did his best to appear "normal." He was afraid to appear unnatural. He was afraid a lot. Seldom was he brave enough to suck a sausage. When he did, he always went far from home. When he did, he felt very ashamed. Still, he couldn't help himself. Balls made Mike drool. By the time Mike reached middle age, he wasn't just sexually frustrated. He was angry. He was angry with a society that make him feel guilty of having been born a homosexual. He was angry with himself for feeling guilty. He was angry with himself for his unnatural desires. He was angry with other queers, the ones who were brave enough to be themselves. In order to be around men, Mike Folley became a prison guard. Many Pennsylvania prison guards are sexual misfits. Being a guard made Mike feel strong. It made him feel superior. A lot of prisoners were gay. Well, if not actually gay, their imprisonment forced them to substitute homosexual sports for what they really preferred. Being around a lot of man reassured Mike that he was in control of his unnatural desires; in control of the male objects of those unnatural desires. But it was also a turn-on. He masturbated a lot. It wasn't that he disliked women. They were okay. He just liked guys better. He especially liked older men like the one who'd used him as a teen. His fantasy was of big cock and hairy balls bumping his rump. At home, alcohol and dope helped his dirty thoughts. He played with himself a lot. At the prison, Mike liked to sneak around. He whispered to prisoners he thought might be gay. He expressed his contempt. It was really contempt of himself. Then he'd masturbate. He liked handling dick, even if it was only his own. "Junior" Camera was a drunk. Like Mike, he was a prison guard. He was a runt with a nasty Napoleon complex. While he was mostly just a common sadist, Junior was also queer. Hurting men turned him on. Degrading men sexually aroused him. He was in the military just so he could harm people. Being a prison guard was ideal for him. He got to feel ass and to degrade prisoners. The two prison guards weren't friends. They were some-times sexual partners. Together, they secretly went to a hunting lodge. They got drunk. They had sex. Junior tied Mike up. He whipped his ass before screwing him. Mike like it. Junior was a runt. He wasn't big enough to make the sex very satisfying. Mike's dream was of really big cock. Being bumped by a dwarf didn't calm Ringtown Mike's carnal canal. His quivering maroon "ringtown" needed better attention than that. Even a well buttered beer bottle failed do a satisfactory job. He just got cramps. Truth-be-told, Mike couldn't stand Junior Camera. He was as dumb as a crate of cantaloupe. He was a bullying Polish Catholic. The priests had gummed his diminutive dork all through parochial school in exchange for sound thrashings. What Mike's rosy ringtown really needed was a prisoner. It craved one with immense hairy gonads and a sizzling bratwurst. Black prisoners were well equipped, but they frightened Mike. He wasn't nearly brave enough to actually seduce one. African mamba made for great fantasies, however. He frequently strummed imagining a brown python exploring his intestines. In frustrated moments of penile longing, Ringtown Mike thought about finding a white prisoner, or maybe one of those older Spanish fellows. He imagined that they would ride him like a brahman at a rodeo. Wouldn't that polish the prostate into throbbing ecstasy! In the end, however, Mike wasn't brave enough for even an old white prisoner. Like always, the best he could manage was to sit on the toilet and sand his dowel with fists full of Lubriderm. He always rested on greasy digits caressing the colon. Even if Mike couldn't risk backing up to the bars with bare buttocks, he could flirt with prisoners. He did it the way he used to get attention on the playground. He was nasty to the focus of his amorous interests. He got attention by being obnoxious. Many maladjusted little boys use the tactic to attract attention. Ringtown Mike fell in love with an older prisoner, Igor Gande. Igor was non-threatening, but he was sexy in an old pervert sort of way. Mike harassed the prisoner. He hope Igor would notice him. The desperate infatuation went unrequited. Igor ignored poor Ringtown Mike. The guard was left to drink, snort dope and flog Floyd. That's what he called his failing phallus, Floyd. Maybe that's what he really liked best, old fashion "self-abuse." Normal persons usually find prison guards pathetic, pathetic and repugnant. Cowardly middle-aged fags like Ringtown Mike Folley aren't gay. They're just sad. Rebecca's Bargain Antiques Collectible Vintage Photos Fine Prints - Old Maps Sheet Music - Old Books Elegant Antiques and Collectibles "I can understand two men. There's something to get hold of, but how do two insides make love?" Lydia Lopokova [on lesbianism], 1973 You are welcome to use or republish any of our material. Please give www.prisoners.com credit as the source. Return to the Works by Prisoner Authors and Others Menu. Return to the Main Menu. Go to our site's Search Engine. Send us Your Comments, Questions or Input.