Prison Romance Sample

            Having come from a family of cops, and then marrying one, I had always heard how tough prisons could be. They were nothing more than slabs of concrete, sectioned out into row after row of raw cages, filled with angry and dangerous men. Stories about inmates ‘dropping the soap’ and becoming someone’s bitch were very real, or so I had been told.

            But what I didn’t realize, was just how bad it was for incarcerated women.

            Women needed companionship behind those concrete walls, too. After all, masturbation could only last so long. Eventually, even a female wanted someone to share the experience with. Someone to push that ecstasy and need just a bit further. Even someone to share an emotional connection with on some level.

            Humans are, by nature, social beings.

            My life didn’t quite go as everyone had thought it would. The thin veil between the show we put on for others, and the uncovered truth became clear to me very young. I could only assume that since my family pushed me toward protecting the penal code, they wanted me to see just how “freeing” it could actually be.

After seeing my own family members take part in what could easily be described as vicious and brutal police brutality with zero repercussions or accountability, I decided to distance myself and, eventually, I joined the other side. The side that wanted to hold cops accountable for abusing their power. You could call it a kind of social justice criminal life, I guess. My attachment to my family had all but diminished years before as I watched their polished, round toed, boot smash into the dark chocolate skin of a young seventeen year old boy, right before his head smacked hard into the pavement.

You could call it immersion therapy, except the only thing I got out of it was a calm and collected distancing from the people I had thought were there to serve and protect. They were the bad bunch, the ones that shouldn’t have a badge, and they were more prevalent then most average citizen in the country knew about it. But there was a place for me outside the flashing lights and the parade of blues joking about their last racially motivated “lesson” that had been handed out and I ran right to it when I reached eighteen.

            I just hadn’t realized it’d land me in jail.

            On my very first day in the joint, I overheard a Prison Guard suggest that the female inmates should be made to service the male ones. He said that it would probably, “prevent them from fighting so much.’”

            Fucking pig, I thought while pretending to read my Bible, remembering to control my facial expressions so they wouldn’t catch on.

            But after a few months of being surrounded by women and nowhere near a sex toy, the idea of going through with something rationally demoralizing,  actually turned me on. How I longed to feel the body of a man intertwined with mine. Feel his hands on me, even if they were raging criminal hands. After all, I wasn’t the innocent girl on the other side of the bars, either.

            The daydreams, fantasies, thoughts, they were what kept me busy on the long, never-ending days inside the brink. Because I knew how to control myself, I ended up with one of the cushier jobs, working in the prison library. I was hell bent on exhibiting good behavior so I could get early release, and being put to work in the more crowded areas left a lot of room for fights. While I wasn’t planning on serving my full term, I wasn’t going to let someone turn me into their punching bag, or worse, their bitch, either. The library was quiet, with three inmates working, and no real drama.

            The thoughts of hot nights pressed against the bars, with my orange jumpsuit around my ankles kept my mind more than occupied as I rolled the library cart through the shelves. The door opened up and I paused, hearing the familiar sound of men’s dress shoes tapping across the tiled floor. Stopping, I turned around to find the warden standing behind me.

We stared at each other for a moment and then he smiled, walking over and hugging me tightly.  The Warden, Keith, was good friends with my family and had known me a long time. The news of my incarceration had not only shocked the entire core of my family, but Keith as well. I could only guess my relationship with him is what kept me in the library and out of the main confines of the prison.

            “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to come see you before now,” Keith said, glancing around. “I know it can be hard on an inmate if the others think you have an ‘in’ with the higher-ups. Didn’t want to make it any harder then it already is.”

            “I appreciate it,” I replied, pulling a book off the cart and holding it in my hands. “Though I would guess they would find it kind of confusing given my reputation for being against the system.”          


“Where did it all go wrong?” he asked as I pushed the cart down a bit and shelved some of the books. It was just him and me, along with an inmate janitor who was older than Jesus and had terrible hearing.

            I shrugged, having been able to avoid the conversation up to that point. I of course didn’t tell the whole truth, the firsthand accounts of brutal beatings I had seen over and over again as a kid. That would have been dumb, I had no idea where Keith’s loyalties belonged, but if he were like every other blue, they were with my family, and not with justice. “When I saw my father in a viral video showing him using, what anyone would call, excessive force with a man in handcuffs.”

            My stomach tightened at the memory of seeing that video. The truth was, up to that point, all the beatings I had seen were from extended family, cousins, my Uncle Roy, buddies of my father’s. The video was the first time I saw my own dad turned from the man I knew into some sort of monster. I didn’t want to believe what I was watching with my own eyes. I didn’t want to see my father kicking a man who was already down.

            “This job can get the best of you,” Keith replied, “but your dad is a good man.”

            I fought the urge to throw a book at him. I bit my tongue, knowing if I said what I wanted to, if I gave the Warden the sass, I had given the cops the day I was arrested, I would never make parole. He may have been a friend of the family, but I knew his reputation, he didn’t take shit from anyone. He made examples, and that was not what I wanted to be. 

            “He feels bad about it,” Keith said after a few minutes of awkward silence.

I didn’t reply, though. There was no point in it. Men like my father, my uncle, it was bred into them, and would continue on down the line until someone put their foot down. Seeing the way the world was going, people like me and the others I ran with, we were the only hope for a future of fairness and justice.

So, instead of starting a pointless debate, I grabbed the old dusty copy of The Origin of the Species, a perfect example of the savage way our world evolved, and shoved it back on the shelf. Nothing else needed to be said, and the Warden knew that. A few minutes later I was left in the silence of the library, the sound of the door slamming behind him, echoing in my head.