@ Nottoway Correction Center en 2016
“It’s probably small,” were the prison guard’s shocking words. “What?!” I said as I walked up and looked into her eyes. I had to make sure I wasn’t hearing what I wanted to hear. “You heard me … you probably got a small d*#%,” she said thoroughly, sashaying and smiling with a demonic warning written on her face. It was a surprise given how she was a new, rookie guard. It’s against Virginia’s DOC policy for an inmate and staff to have an intimate relationship. Although I was about that rebellious life, I didn’t know her. We didn’t have a report, so I didn’t know if she was 12 (police), or one of them ones. Given the obvious, I was stunned, yet I was intrigued and turned on by her gangsta approach.
Thinking back to when I was 27 years old, I always strived to dive into the next woman’s ocean. I was locked up, but I still had big drip (swagger). During the first half of my incarceration, my long days started and ended with me chasing woman. I wanted to play the game, and I never intended for anyone to get hurt. Unfortunately, though, I fell into the deep end of many bad romances. I was a young, reckless playboy whose name was tattooed on more than enough women. “You’re so different,” is what my bisexual ex-girlfriend, Tisha, used to always tell me.
“F#%$ it!” I thought silently. Taking a risk and feeding on her bait, I aggressively fired back at her. “I can show you better than I can tell you,” I assured. The officer-in-training matched my energy and continued her tease. I was on her like a bloodhound dog, reading her body language, waiting on the right time to make my move. By the look on her face when I showed her, I was bigger than what she expected. “Oh my God,” was her response.
Like a fiend chasing a fix, she couldn’t get enough of me, and honestly, I enjoyed it, too. My perspective was simple: I’m a man who’s locked up, I’m not into homosexuality, so I chased female staff because they were my only tickets to Triangle Paradise. Overpowering shame, guilt, and her wedding vows, our selfish desires ran wild and free within the walls of a prison closet.
One day the rookie wanted more than just a taste of me. “I want you to put that thing in me!” she demanded softly as our hands wandered each other’s bodies. The small, hot closet was dark. I couldn’t read her facial expressions, but I could see her seductive eyes locked in on me like a pit bull’s bite. I wanted to tear away at her uniform, bend her over, and unleash the mad dog in me; but instead, I listened to her body needs and I quickly licked her from front to back. Then I took her from behind. As I pushed deeper into her belly, her moans grew louder. “Damn, baby,” she cried. Making sure her sounds of agonizing pleasure didn’t get us caught, I used my right hand to muffle her mouth, as my left arm wrapped around her stomach to keep her from running. I wasn’t going to let her go unless she gave me a direct order. She placed her head on my neck and passionately bit down on both my index and middle finger. Lust made us forget about the possibility of getting into trouble, for we were lost in an erotica maze.
Nothing in life lasts forever. Likewise many affairs, our closet booty calls came to an unpredictable end. My mother once said: “after a man sleeps with a woman three times, she’s attached.” Looking back on things now, my mother was numerically correct. After a few times of having sex with her, the rookie wanted more than just a good, sneak and geek sexual encounter. ” … I don’t want to marry him … I want to be with you … I love you, Latif!” were the horrific words that came out of her mouth. “We have a good thing going, so why is she talking crazy?!” I thought. “Did she really believe that I’ll marry a woman who heartlessly cheated on her hubby-to-be?!”
With emotions stirring up in her bag, she was aggregated with my nonchalant answers to her vulnerable questions. I ignored all of her kites, convo entrapments, and it annoyed her. I had no plans to be with her beyond sex in a prison closet. The rookie began acting like a child and behaving off her impulses: threatening and blackmailing me; making derogatory statements to me in front of other inmates; and manipulating me to the closet, so she can argue and cry to me. “Why are you doing her like that?” was how her coworker/best friend felt as she stopped at my cell. I smiled and threw up my hands in innocence. She jerked her neck and rolled her eyes as she walked off. The entire situation had became too stressful, and I wanted to run far away from it; however, I was confined under her rules and authority.
In my selfish, arrogant mind, I figured I was playing a lose/lose game: It was either play house with her; or she was going to make my life very uncomfortable. The idea of loving her out of lust had me feeling confused – that was her man’s job I thought. By the grace of God, though, my unpredictable nightmare suddenly changed. “I put in my two weeks notice,” she said with uncertainty in her voice. I was relieved, yet I knew I was going to miss her.
Relationships built off of lust is a double end sword – both individuals are wounded. Lust is a prevalent word in the devil’s book of games. My biggest takeaway from lust at the time was to be more careful with women. With a lot of help and self-healing work, I learned how to checkmate my sinister desires. As of date, I have female friends whom I don’t sexualize our relationship, and I can honestly say that we are simply “just friends”. If I could go back in time and do it all over again, I would tell the rookie: “Love is God, Lust is Devil”.
@ Indian Creek 2025
Today at 37 years old, I am a godfearing man who is lusted out.
“That’s it, La La!” Ace said with his approval. I let the guys read my work before I send it out. I know if they feel it, I know the world is going to feel it. #LustedOut