Untamed Identity: Three Bitter Young Men Raped, Rebellious, Notorious!

Chapter 1

In A Strange Place

It’s 6:00 a.m. We’d gone through the humiliating check-in process that included a mouth and spread your ass cheeks search for contraband, followed by the fastest shower in history. Correctional Officers watched intensely in case one of us started freaking out. Our count of thirteen slipped into the dreaded tan, one-piece, house ensemble.

The leading C.O. briefly froze us string of lawbreakers at the entrance to the prison’s population for distribution of standard personal items from this old burned-out lookin’ white dude. Yeah, I was a transgressor, but by deception. Guards had divided us into smaller groups, leading us to our new homes on display to inmates. I immediately sensed some of the things I’d only heard about on the outside. I could feel a spirit of confrontation, desensitization and competition; a survival war zone. In the antagonistic procession of mixed races, I stepped a cool steady stride inside the fortified, four-story residence, giving the impression to notorious criminals that my being there was just a casual mishap; you know, that I didn’t take no shit. Being the only Caucasian tenderfoot, I had to demonstrate an embellished rigid posture. I wore an exaggerated hard look, my under-sized chest fully inflated as I followed first in my group of three, directly behind the apparent bench-press lovin’ C.O. The buffed, African-American guard appeared physically capable and was well-equipped with weapons to seize any resistance or attack attempt.

Keeping a confident, perpetual swagger, I carried along the second-rung corridor, one neatly folded prison-issued uniform, one towel, a facecloth and a small brown paper bag containing basic toiletries. For sport and intimidation of us greenhorns, society’s ills shouted warnings, whistled flirts, hissed kisses, threw balled paper our way as the cord of newcomers passed by with the massive officer. And this is where I’ll be for the next 10 years! Me? Please tell me I’m having a nightmare. Am I really here? I can’t believe I’m doing time in a State Penitentiary. Reality had quickly found its way into my inner reins, possessing every crack and crevice of my being. It absorbed me completely, afflicting my soul. I suppressed it, but my heart raced out of control. My skin moistened. I’d never been in a situation like this before. This was all because of some humbug bullshit.

Tight-lipped, nostrils flared, I looked straight ahead except for an occasional penetrating, confrontational glare at inmates, who threatened me or expressed sexual interest in the new cute white-boy. Hostile activity of the prisoners, the cement walls, the bars, not to mention the loss of freedom, was all horridly surreal. Joviality of multi-cultured inmates heightened, when the fair-skinned C.O. and I came to a halt in front of cell number B-9. I wasn’t sure what prompted the boosted surge from the public’s troubled children, but the needle on my uneasy radar escalated from high to tilt.

From an enormous set of keys, the prison official unlocked the bared door to the obviously popular cell.

New roommate, McFadden. He announced lacking emotion.

What the HELL is wrong with you, McFadden? GET back into uniform! Get in there, kid. He ordered, shaking his head in a tone of hopelessness.

The huge officer roughly nudged me inside with his nightstick, before a sneaky grunt.

What the hell is this? My cellmate is completely naked. Okay, is he just a loon and does this all the time? Or is he sending me an unwanted message? In either case, I realize that something’s really wrong here.

The guard’s suspicious remark and bleak facial expression aroused in me an even more sobering concern, as if that were possible. He secured me inside the cell and split with the other new inmates. I stopped in my tracks in amazement as I observed the unfolding of a colossal, mean-looking individual about 6’4", 285 lbs., emerge from the bottom bunk. Inconspicuously, I swallowed hard, but quickly snatched myself from shock as he slowly approached me. He slammed a candy bar against my chest that I let hit the floor.

Wel-come. He said in a menacing baritone voice.

I didn’t ask you for nothing. I said.

I’m the welcoming committee. He continued with a tightened stone face.

And when the committee gives you a gift, it ain’t polite to refuse it. He said solidly.

I remained silent, but subtlety sucked in and held another long breath, re-puffing my chest. I stepped even closer, looking way up at him with an equally challenging scowl. He held the cold demeanor of a hardened degenerate. Physically, he resembled someone I might’ve seen on television who may have been from an African tribe; high pronounced cheeks bones, a wide nose and extremely dark skin. His almond-shaped, bald dome shone perfectly. Bridging the three or four remaining inches between us, he stepped yet closer, hovering over me with balled fists as though superior.

What’s up? I asked fixed and stiff.

He harked spit down into my hair.

You ain’t polite are you? He said.

Quietly, I just stood there processing the offense, contemplating my next move.

What? You’re only nice to under aged girls? Is that it?

Aw shit, not the girl! Aw shit! This is so not good.

A sudden bolt of nervous anxiety rippled through my entire body. Simultaneously, beads of sweat covered me all over. It seemed my feet instantly became the new dwelling place for my heart. But I had to keep my composure. I wasn’t backin’ down. I couldn’t.

Yo, you need to squash all that! It ain’t what you think. I said in opposition.

"By the way, the name’s Chris! Chicago Southside up in here!" I proclaimed loudly, hoping for comradery from somebody, anybody out there in the population.

And who the hell are you? I asked, holding a hard stance.

Flexing his fists with a callous look, he maintained his mean attitude, but didn’t say a word. Except for a sporadic threatening look, Blue-Black never mumbled a sound until the breakfast call thirty minutes later, neither did I. I began hearing activity of the guards taking their positions preparing to escort us to the cafeteria.

O-pen! One of them ordered loudly.

All cell doors simultaneously opened electronically. Like robots, we stepped out and again lined up single-file. Blue-Black stood directly behind me.

I like you. He whispered into my ear.

I jerked my head away and swallowed hard again. I feel some of the inmates staring at me, making soft kissing noises and congratulating Blue-Black with two thumbs up, as if he’d won the lottery.

Leave him alone! Blue-Black mocked loudly. I knew better than to think he had my best interest at heart. The guard heading up the rear snatched out his nightstick and aggressively rushed up to our place in line.

You got a problem McFadden?

No sir!

Then shut your mouth and keep the line movin’!

Inmates snickered unnoticed by the officer.

Chapter 2

Intimidation

We shuffled a steady pace through the food serving line, with Blue-Black still on my tail. I carried my tray to the other side of the dining room. I grabbed a spot at the end of a bench at a table with three humble looking dudes. One African-American, the other two were Mexican. Knowing no one, I kept quietly to myself. Suddenly, the three men at my table grabbed their trays and scattered like cock roaches from a burning building. It was Blue-Black and five of his buffed cronies with their trays, who had ran them off with just a head nod. I paused from eating, looked them one by one straight in the eye and continued the bland meal. Blue-Black boldly reached onto my tray grabbing food with his bare hand.

I LIKE eggs. Sloppily, he stuffed the eggs into his mouth.

One of his buddies, who straddled the bench next to me, stirred my fruit cup with his forefinger.

And I like applesauce. He licked the applesauce from his finger, laughing afterwards. Calmly I rose, dumped the contents of my tray and used it to bash Blue-Black’s cohort in the face with all my might. Gripping and punching one another, we struggled for the win, toppling around until he caught his balance, picked me up and threw me across the table. The crowd of inmates went wild. I wasn’t the favorite.

Aw shit! It’s goin’ down! They began yelling.

That white boy ain’t got a chance in hell!

Whip his ass!

I knew he was gon’ get his ass kicked!

Get him!

Blue-Black and Thor another wolf from another set, rushed to help me up. They both lobbied for control of me.

C’mon, don’t worry ’bout nothin’. I’ll take care of you. Blue-Black comforted—shielding me, blocking Thor’s interven-

tion. Blue-Black took me by the arm.

Get the FUCK back! I tore away.

Well, get your ass up! Here come the guards! Tell ’em you fell so you won’t go to the hole!

Within seconds, the guards were there on the scene with pulled nightsticks.

What the hell’s goin’ on here?

Uh, nothin’. Nothin’, I’m alright. I just dropped my tray, that’s all. They split, not fully convinced. I gave Blue-Black and his gang a mean look and removed myself far from them. No breakfast for me that day. But at least now everybody knows I ain’t no punk!

After breakfast, it was on to our work assignments. I’d put in to take some computer classes when a seat became available. But for now, my post was in the library. I read a book a week. Before long I was reading two every week. Not only did I learn more about computers, but I read everything from Hank Aaron’s baseball career to agriculture to filmmaking. Blue-Black worked in the laundry room. Some of his partners worked in the kitchen. I was glad to be away from those thugs. Then, it was free-time. We could write letters, draw pictures, lift weights or socialize. I returned to the cell to write a letter to my mother. To intimidate me, I was disrupted by Blue-Black and his crew standing just outside the cell making calls of the wild.

Ah-ooooooooooo! Ah-ooooooooooooooooooo! They mocked a few minutes and moseyed on. Dinner was a replica of the intimidation at breakfast, minus the physical altercation. They simply peered at me from afar. Perhaps, they had already decided my fate. The first day came to a close.

Clo-se! Yelled an officer. The bared doors clanked shut.

This was a good time to get things squared and let him know my m.o. man-to-man. Stepping around him, I situated my books and writing pad on the bottom bunk.

Look here man, whatever your name is, I don’t want no trouble. I just wanna mind my own business.

I later found out that those were the two statements you didn’t say in a state pen. They were sure indication to other inmates that you were weak and afraid. My statements must have confirmed a green light.

I turned to face him in an effort to complete my Why can’t we all just get along? speech.

We might as well make this work because… .

Before finishing my attempt for a peaceful co-habitation, his fist met my nose with star-circling impact.

Chapter 3

Broke Down

S orry punk! I ain’t too big on foreplay. He taunted.

The staggering collision preceded repeated rounds of fast blows to my head, face and body with the speed and precision of Ali and seemingly with more force than a freight train. Attempting to protect myself from my perfectly body-sculptured cell-mate, I sluggishly scrambled from one side of the 10x10 cement dwelling to the other, in an effort to escape Blue-Black McFadden, so nick-named by inmates for his extremely dark skin color.

I was a frail 19 year-old white dude, in a predominately black prison. Fear lurked nearby awaiting my embrace.

With both eyes swollen nearly shut, tightly tucked in a corner near the bars, I put up my dukes, swinging off-target. He’d become a blur. I squinted through line-sized eye slits trying to focus. The 38 year-old, 14-year resident began removing his uniform, massaging his bare genitals.

What the hell you doin’, man? Yo, G-u-a-a-a-r-d! G-u-a-a-a-a-a-r-d! I petitioned desperately for help with no response. Again came a continual roll of brutal punches. Assuming the obvious, inmates began revving their engines.

I don’t want no trou-ble. I wan-na mind my own bus-i-ness. Blue-Black mocked in a baby-fied voice.

Did I ask you what you want, punk? He continued.

You don’t say nothin’, you don’t do nothin’ and you don’t get nothin’, ’til I tell you! But after while, you gon’ want this! Trust me. Alright, if you insist on foreplay, c’mere and gimme a lil’ kiss before we start. Muah! Muah! He ridiculed.

Leave me alone muthafucka! I’ll kill you! I swear to God! I will kill you! I threatened. My urgent response signaled inmates of the barbaric confrontation. I’m betting this wasn’t the first time Blue-Black hunted.

You ain’t gon’ do a damn thang, but give me what I want every time I want it and anything else I tell you to do!

He grabbed me aggressively. Hard as I could, I fought back. Exerting little effort, he slammed me onto the bottom bunk. A couple of direct jabs to his face raised my confidence that I might have a chance of winning this battle. However, my punches were equivalent to a mosquito bite on an elephant; they offered no results in slowing down his efforts. Violently, I tussled and squirmed. My offender prodded my side several times with a sharp, wooden homemade device the prisoners referred to as a shank. My open wounds released a continual flow of blood. Using precision technique, the Amazon pinned my arms at my sides with his strong thighs, locking me in place while yanking the jumpsuit off from around my shoulders. Like a deer captured in the gripping teeth of a wild mountain lion, I felt helpless. Long and slow, he licked my neck up and down. Non-accepting, I turned away clinching my teeth in utter disgust. Ferociously, I thrashed about with no effect. Less than fifteen minutes into the struggle, I’d been completely de-clothed except for one pants leg. I got a break, using both feet, and kicked him backwards. At this juncture, I thoroughly understand and identify with the act of murder. In my heart right now, I am a murderer. How I wished I had a 9 millimeter or anything else that could take him out. I wouldn’t hesitate to blow this demon into the 9th circle of hell without one spec of guilt. I would empty the clip into him, refill it and empty it into him again, mutilate his body and set each piece of him on fire.

A man is tryin’ to rape me! N-o-o-o! This can’t be! This can’t be happening to me! This had to be some hideous, atrocious nightmare. Why couldn’t I just wake up and this not be happening? Nothin’ in my life could ever be worse, match or even come close to this repulsive violation. This cursed event was no comparison to the rejection I’ve felt for years of never knowin’ what my real parents looked like, or never having heard their laughter, or having them to believe in me. Without a doubt, this beat all the anger I’ve harbored for years of being tossed around from foster home to foster home. The overwhelming self-condemnation of why my parents didn’t care enough to keep me, haunted me daily. I wished they could save me from this loathing repugnance. I had no family roots, no solid foundation for life and now this? How could this be happening to me? Why would the force that runs the universe, allow this? What had I ever done to deserve such a degrading, humiliating, soul-wrenching infringement?

Ya ever had dark meat, girlfriend? Blue-Black scoffed squeezing me invitingly before more wicked assaults.

Go to hell! I refuted, uselessly struggling to free myself.

The quest was clearly the happening of the day for inmates, who rattled objects along iron cell bars, whistled even louder cheers, placed wagers, and chanted Blue-Black’s name, proclaiming him as the victor.

Be still, baby! He whispered, licking my ear.

You know what they say, once you go black, you never go back! And you know what? Blue-Black paused to ponder the saying with me clutched between his robust thighs.

I believe that’s true! He laughed a short devilish laugh.

F-U-U-U-C-K YOU! I screamed.

I bluffed in any way I could think of that might seize the onslaught.

Man, you better back the fuck up! I got people who’ll fuck you up!

The rough assailant snatched me in closely to himself. My eyes now swollen completely closed. I could only smell and feel his muggy, foul breath on my face. Close range opened a hopeful chance for me to guard myself and again let know him that I wasn’t gutless. I went in blindly toward his ugly mug with the goal of clinching between my teeth some part of his skin; anything, as long I could bite the son-a-bitch! I got lucky and clamped down on a good portion of his bottom lip. I bit down with every ounce of strength I had, ruggedly dragging it side to side.

ER-ER-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R! He squealed long at the top of his lungs.

It was his turn to kick and scream. Blood streamed steadily from his punctured lip. The big bad-ass shrieked a high-pitched sound that surely raised the ears of every dog in Chicago. I’m hopeful for the win, or at least that my demonstration of manhood will halt the attack. Prisoners, sensing the climax of our dual had a field day vocalizing their imaginations regarding progression of the fray.

Stagnated with pain, Blue-Black searched desperately for a way of release from my relentless hold.

Got stitches? I sneered unclearly through tightly clinched teeth.

Frenziedly rummaging the bed and relocating the shank, he thrust my upper back like a crazed maniacal beast. My body folded from the impact of each driving force. For my life, I clamped down harder on his blood-drenched soup cooler, grinding my teeth hard back and forth. There was no letting go. It was the only defense and chance I had. Unexpectedly, the wounded lip completely detached into my mouth, making my chances of triumph and gaining respect, slim to none.

Ugh! I spit it out onto the floor.

Seeing his own blood, painfully realizing that a large part of his lip was gone, fueled his anger.

Turn yo’ pretty lil’ white ass over! He slurred in agony.

Yo’ momma got a pretty ass. I moaned feebly.

I ain’t no punk, man! I insisted, doubled over in misery.

SHUT UP! He garbled angrily. The reprobate juggled between getting me into his desired position and providing a hand tourniquet for his injured lip. He lost his balance when again, I kicked him backwards. His anger for my actions temporary suspended the tourniquet. He slammed me over onto my stomach. With both hands held firmly together, he pounded my back.

Ar-r-r-r-g-h! O-o-w-w-w! I yelled with blood gushing out. This marked my defeat. I’d rather he killed me.

The pain was overwhelmingly severe. I was sure he’d broken my back. Still, I expressed all the resistance I had left in my weakened state with no avail. With all my might I threw futile punches, kicked and scrambled fiercely as I could. I was growing weary. He was getting the better of me. I’m shaken to my core realizing the terrifying, likely probability that my manhood will be taken.

"Don’t do this, man! Please don’t do this! Somebody, please help me!

G-u-a-a-r-r-r-d! Somebody help me! Chicago Southside! Southside! PL-E-E-E-EASE! PLEASE! Somebody Help me!

I reached down into the bare bottom of my gut for a last reservoir of strength. In excruciating pain, barely able to move, I scrambled more, yelling as loud as I could for rescue.

Vehemently, Blue-Black gripped and locked my arms behind my back. His strong athletic thighs propped