Publisher's Introduction The following is a somewhat fictionalized account of real persons and real events which took place in one of the punishment or segregation areas in the state prison at Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. While the author (who personally resented the exploitation of his friend) calls it "rape," it's really an account of clever sexual seduction, manipulation and psychology. Such seduction is not that uncommon in prison although few are as elaborate as the one depicted here. We get emails from homosexual readers who protest that we falsely depict and/or condemn homosexuals. Some readers assert that prison rapists are heterosexuals, not homosexual. Of course, homosexuality is a matter of definition; sex between persons of the same gender is homosexual. In all events, it's incorrect to believe that we disapprove of homosexual conduct. One's sexual appetites are his or her own business; enjoy whatever you like. We do, however strenuously oppose the use of force to achieve sexual gratification. The following story is not really rape but an insight into prison sex. Author's Introduction The rape of Jimmy Holm was but a single example of what too often happens to naive young men who newly enter Pennsylvania maximum security prisons. When the inexperienced newcomer is forced to match wits with a deviously manipulative long-imprisoned hunter, he has no prospect of eluding the jail-wise predator. In Jimmy's case, his fate was sealed by the collusion of the corrections officers who were supposed to be protecting him. The Pittsburgh prison staff, from the warden down to the supervisory lieutenant and the individual guards, knew about the sexual exploitation. Indeed, they actively assisted the predator seduce and use his victims. Not only is Jimmy Holm a real person, so are the sexual predator and guards who allowed these things to occur. "Eighteen!" the prison reception officer exclaimed glowering at the five foot, two inch, 137 pound new arrival. "That's awfully young to be dropped into this place! Are you aware that this is a maximum security institution full of hardened criminals?" Terrified, Jimmy simply nodded. "Do you know anyone here?" the guard continued while making notes. "NO," the boy managed, his voice quaking. "I've got no convict friends." "Have you ever been in prison before, perhaps as a juvenile?" questioned the balding corrections officer. "NO, I've never been in any prison," Jimmy said hoarsely trying to conceal his apprehension. "Well, young man, do you have any idea what you're getting into in a place like this? We have a lot of very aggressive men here, not to mention the sex maniacs. You're going to be fair game" the officer explained to the vulnerable young "fish" as new prisoners are called. Fidgeting in his chair, Jimmy indicated that he understood what he was being told. Jones, the guard, shook his head at the prospect of what was sure going to befall the frail youngster. "We have a special section here for young prisoners like you. It's called 'J-Range,' protective custody. I suggest you sign yourself into that status until you're better acquainted with things here." "What's this J-Range like?" Jimmy wanted to know. "It's a tier of cells which is segregated from the rest of the prison and from the general population of prisoners. It's totally fenced in. You'll get yard and showers along with the other inmates on J-Range, but you'll be fed in your cell," answered officer Jones. It didn't sound like any bargain to Jimmy, but he realized that Pittsburgh prison was a jungle for a kid like him. He felt that he had no choice. It would be J-Range or rape. "Will I have my TV on J-Range?" he asked. TV was VERY important to the boy raised as a couch potato. "I'm afraid not," the guard dashed the boy's spirits. "But, look, Jimmy, you don't have to stay on J-Range forever. You'll be reviewed every month. You can go out into the general population whenever you feel ready." Reluctantly, Jimmy made his fateful decision to go into protective custody. He didn't realize that he was going right into the lion's mouth. He had no idea that what he assumed would be a month or two of adjustment would turn into a ten year stint behind the J-Range fence. Being escorted down the long dark tier of thirty-some cells, the lad felt like he was a sacrifice being paraded for all to see. Staring straight ahead so as not to catch the eye of any of the men who were surely leering at him, Jimmy's peripheral vision caught the welcome glow of a television screen. He figured that if others had them, there was some way for him to get his TV too. Once Jimmy had met the older man who would share his tiny cell, he learned that three or four inmates on J-Range were allowed to work as janitors on the tier and that they were allowed to have TVs. That's what he'd work for. He missed his favorite cop show, Miami Vice. "Maybe I'll get to see it next week," he though as he fell to sleep. It wasn't going to be anything like that easy. "Mr. Holm, you've been on J-Range for thirty days. This is your first review," the Deputy Prison Superintendent started. He was the chairman of the three-man Program Review Committee which, without interest or sincerity, gave the perfunctory monthly hearings to each of the men in the hole. "How are things going for you?" "It's very boring," Jimmy whined. "I need something to do, plus, I'm out of money for commissary. Could I get a tier worker's job?" "I suggest that you go out into the general population," the Deputy sneered unsympathetically. The prison administration didn't care much what happened to Jimmy or any prisoner. Their policy was to try to force men, even the most endangered and vulnerable out of protective custody. "But," the boy ventured, "I'm afraid of what will happen to me. Can't you give me a job working on J-Range?" "We leave the hiring of workers to Lieutenant Vargo. You can talk to him, but jobs back there are difficult to get." Jimmy had already tried talking to Lt. Vargo only to be told, "maybe in a year or two." "Can I at least have my TV set?" the lad pleaded. Callously smirking, the Deputy replied with a careless wave. "You've been here long enough to know the answer to that question, Mr. Holm. This board doesn't approve of self-lock-ups. We do our best to discourage it. We don't allow anyone except workers to have televisions." He'd heard the gruesome accounts of what happened to young men up on the prison's towering stack of cells. Too frightened to risk it, Jimmy dejectedly returned to his gloomy cubicle. Jimmy's crying brought Jersey, his cell partner, jumping down from the top bunk. "I told you they wouldn't be any help," he said. "They don't give a shit about any of us." "I always thought that the system worked and that officials tried to help people. I can't believe they're so uncaring," the boy lamented. "When my counselor sees me, it's the same thing. He doesn't give a shit either!" But somebody did give a shit, a certain sexual predator who'd been lusting after the boy. "Jimmy, Jimmy Holm!" a shouted voice aroused the youngster from his sleep early Saturday morning. "Would you like to come out to work on our weekend crew?" It was Roman, the old gray-haired tier worker who seemed to run things among the workers. Jimmy didn't realize that he was a cunning sexual predator. The clever old reprobate explained that he'd arranged for Jimmy to get out for a few hours to do some cleaning. The boy wouldn't be paid, but he could get an extra shower and a phone call if he wanted. In his delight, Jimmy didn't recognize the salient fact: Roman had so much influence that he could arrange for the job. Jimmy was instantly indebted to Roman; just want the aging homosexual wanted. Working hard, it wasn't too long before Jimmy showed Roman that he was exactly what the old man wanted. He was given a regular, but unpaid spot on the weekend work detail. At once he realized what he'd be up against if he went into the general population. Through the wire fence the men mercilessly taunted and jeered at him, calling him names, making sexual suggestions and threatening him. It all intimidated and humiliated him very much. Jimmy complained about the verbal abuse to Jersey, the older man who was his cell partner, but the older prisoner wasn't very sympathetic. He's been in self-lock-up for years. It turned into a conversation about Roman, the gray-haired tier worker. Jimmy realized that Roman had an awful lot of influence with the staff. Basically, all he did was kiss the guards' asses. He even shined their shoes and from time to time he fed them treats that he'd bought at the commissary. "How long has Roman been here on J-Range?" Jimmy asked. "Shit, I don't know!" Jersey snapped. "That's the fourth or fifth question you've asked me about that guy in the last few days. I told you, you better stay away from him. He's no good. He just wants to screw you." Jimmy was unimpressed. That old man was no threat. "Nobody's going to do anything to me," the boy protested. "He's just an old man. If he tries anything, I'll kick his ass!" "Let me tell you something, Kid," Jersey interjected. "That old man's been in prison for over thirty years. He knows every angle and how to manipulate both guards and inmates. J-Range is his little kingdom. You can bet that he's fucking the brains out of the young white boy who's his cellie. The whole administration knows what he's doing. You think they give a fuck?" "Maybe so," Jimmy allowed, "but he's always been straight with me. He's never said anything out of the way." To himself, Jimmy recognized that he had noticed Roman looking at him especially in the shower. A heavy key turning loudly in the lock of his cell door, startled Jimmy from his early morning sleep. Lieutenant Vargo slammed the door open with such force that it crashed noisily against the moldering brick wall. "Pack your shit!" the Lieutenant boomed. "You're moving down to 35 cell!" Jimmy protested, but was cut off. "Look," Vargo snarled, "I don't have all fucking day. Pack up! I'll be back in ten minutes." "Why am I being moved?" the boy insisted. "I'm putting you into a single cell. You are too young to be doubled up with an older man," the Lieutenant explained. It wasn't quite the whole story. The guard was only doing what Roman had put him up to doing. The old pervert realized that he couldn't make any progress with the boy as long as Jersey was working against him. Without the protection of Jersey as a cell partner, the real seduction could begin. Roman didn't waste time. To help Jimmy with his boredom, Roman loaned him a paperback novel. The first was followed by a stream of others. With each, the boy felt more and more in debt, but the books helped overcome the 22 hours a day of solitary confinement. Roman became progressively more friendly, trying to win the boy's trust. He started to call him "Shorty" and to stop at his cell for frequent chats. "Do you smoke reefer?" the old pervert asked one morning. "I started smoking in the eighth grade," Jimmy admitted. "I've smoked it all through highschool." "I have some for sale," Roman whispered. "Are you interested? "I don't have any money," the young man groaned with a pained expression. "That's too bad," Roman said with a shrug. But the next day, the conniving old homosexual handed a novel through Jimmy's cell bars. "Check out page 21," he suggested. Looking at the joint that he found tucked into the book at page 21, Jimmy realized that Jersey's warnings about entanglement were valid. The young man shrugged it off. He smoked the joint convinced that he could handle the dirty old man. "How much does a joint like that cost?" Jimmy asked Roman the following morning. "Three packs or the equivalent," Roman said with a smile realizing that he had the boy nibbling at the hook. "Then I owe you three packs," Shorty said. "I'll pay you as soon as I can." "Consider it a gift, Shorty. No strings attached." Jimmy assured his benefactor that he would pay if he could, but he needed a paying job. Roman again explained that the only men getting paid were the regular workers on the weekday shift. "Most of the men here are crazy, untrustworthy or just don't want to work. Be patient. Continue to do the volunteer work until something opens up." Sure enough, within a few weeks, one of the regular workers was transferred and his job was open. Realizing the influence that Roman wielded, Jimmy asked him to get him the valued position. The boy had come to realize that the old man was a devious snake in the grass, but he really wanted the advantages of a regular job, especially the privilege of a television set. The old pervert expertly played his victim along. He pretended that he didn't know who would get the job. Not until the next day did he make his decisive move. "I talked to the Lieutenant," Roman whispered through the bars while handing in another joint. "I'm sure I can get the job for you, but why should I? I mean what's in it for me?" "I'll give you half my pay," Jimmy instantly offered. Emboldened by the boy's obvious desire for the job, Roman shook his head. "I'm not interested in money," he said. "All I'm interested in is your handsome body." Backing away from the bars as if he'd been stung, Jimmy almost gasped. "I won't do that!" he said emphatically. "Shorty," the man said throatily, "I don't want to fuck you. I just want to suck your dick." The young man was taken aback. It wasn't at all what he expected. Somehow that didn't seem nearly as bad. "Think about it, Shorty," the shrewd predator said in parting. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. The guy's getting transferred in a couple weeks and his replacement is supposed to be lined up by Monday." "I don't know," Jimmy stammered uncertainly when Roman returned for his decision. "Are you going to try to do other things to me?" "Of course not," the clever pervert assured earnestly. So, for the sake of the job, or really for the television distraction that it would permit, Jimmy Holm relented. The lad submitted to the sexual attentions through the bars of his cell door, but, even with the stimulation of a smut magazine, he couldn't manage to become aroused. A slurping gray head bobbing around over his crouch was hardly a turn-on. When the other worker was finally transferred, Shorty assumed that he had the coveted job, but Roman showed up at his cell with the news that another prisoner was being considered for it. "What?" exclaimed the young man. You promised me that job! I even let you blow me!" "Quiet," Roman warned. "Yeah, sure, your my first choice, but you really haven't done a thing for me with that dead thing you've got. You'll have to do better than that!" "What do you expect?" the boy groaned, crushed that he wasn't going to get the job. "I've tried. It just doesn't respond to you." "I'd still like to give the job to you, Shorty, but I've got to get more. I'll tell you what, 32 cell is empty. I'll get the door opened so we can use it." "No!" Jimmy declared forcefully. "I told you, I'm not letting you screw me!" "NO, no," the pervert assured, "I just want to lick you, you know, in the rear." "What? Lick my rear?!" Roman nodded, shrugged and walked away. The boy spent hours in the lonely filth of his little cell thinking about it. It was perverted and gross, but, somehow, compared to getting a TV set, it didn't sound so bad. As it turned out, except for the injury to his self-esteem and an abiding sense of disgust, it wasn't so bad. The boy even got used to it. Best of all, he finally had the job that he wanted. The big catch was that he didn't own a television and didn't have enough money to buy one. Not to worry, Roman of the penetrating tongue had a scheme. Shorty was aware of how powerful Roman was. The old man dealt drugs, mostly grass, from two of the J-Range guards and, through the wire fence, with several prisoners in the outside population as well as with the men on J-Range. He had most of the guards in his pocket. Jimmy realized that Roman could get a TV for him if he wanted to do it. "I've got one lined up for you," Roman explained, "but you're going to have to be nicer to me." The boy didn't like the sound of that. "You better be nice to me, Shorty," the man continued. "Just like I got you the job, I can have it taken away." Although he dreaded the prospect of any further sex with the pervert, Jimmy wanted to know how Roman could go about getting a TV. "If you want a TV," the man explained, "you'll have to double cell with another tier worker or with a guy in administrative custody. Then you can share your cell partner's TV. I know a guy on administrative status who's got a TV set. He's over on the maximum security unit. I can get him moved down here and into your cell." "If I agree," Shorty asked, "what do you want from me?" In husky, excited tones, Roman explained that he wanted to "slick leg" the boy, meaning that he wanted to fuck himself between the young man's thighs. "Either you allow me to do it, or I'll not only have you locked back in your cell, I'll see to it that you never get a TV set!" The "slick leg" wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't all that bad, either even though it was almost a daily ritual. Shorty had become accustomed to the intimacy with the older black man. He wasn't exactly fond of it, but he put up with it believing that at any time he'd be getting the cell partner with the TV. It took him a couple weeks to realize that nothing was happening. "You're lying to me!" Jimmy accused after a violently sloppy session of slick leg. "You have no intention of moving that administrative guy in with me." Panting, the pervert assured Shorty that he certainly had the power to get the guy moved. "I'm still intending to get it done. I'll make a deal with you, Shorty," he said stroking the kid's hair. "If I get the guy and his TV moved in with you, you let me go all the way. If I don't, I'll never bother you any more for sex and you can keep your job." Having already gone so far, Jimmy felt that he had little more to endure. He agreed. Within days, the young man was moved into a double cell and Roman's friend from the max unit was moved in with him, TV and all. Roman's sexual exploitation continued for years until he was brutally assaulted by several much younger prisoners. He was transferred out to the Camp Hill prison. Almost at once, he was given a job in the protective custody unit at that prison. He was back shining guards' shoes and stalking the frightened young boys. For Jimmy, the homosexual exchange had taught him that sex was a commodity on which he could trade while in prison. He soon developed new friends. After years, he saved up enough money to buy his own TV set. Finally, after 10 years, he went into the general prison population. His uncomfortable education on J-Range was finally over. It had begun because a corrections officer, a friend of Roman, had scared him into signing himself into protective custody.