Working in the food service department sucks. Other than having access to food that other prisoners not assigned to the food service could access, there were no other rewards to the job. That was until the day Ms. B. got assigned to my shift.
Dreadful workdays that consisted of tedious clerical duties and processed chicken sandwiches turned into exciting opportunities of all-you-could-eat “kitty kat” — an orgy in prison — that always concluded with a happy ending.
The rumors on inmate dot com (the oftentimes incorrect prison rumor mill) were true. Ms. B. was a real live freak.
As a clerk in the food service, the first order of business for me and my coworker I’ll call A. — a tall, skinny, white, transgender girl with long, blond hair and nice-sized breasts — was to take inventory of the storeroom before all of the other prisoners arrived. Our first morning, we entered the storeroom around 5 a.m. as usual. Ms. B. was in the front opening doors, as A. and I closely followed.
After getting an accurate count on the cases of canned vegetables, we turned our attention to the sacks of rice and pinto beans that were stacked in the cool box. A. eased in front of Ms. B. in preparation to unstack a set of rice that was impeding our path to the pinto beans. A. grabbed the first bag, and as she turned to reset the bag, she grazed Ms. B.’s super large breasts with her arms. Embarrassed, A.’s face turned beet red as she attempted to apologize profusely to Ms. B. for the incidental invasion.
Then this happened. Ms. B. took a step back behind a section of rice where she could not be seen by anyone who opened the cool box’s door, unbuttoned her shirt, exposed her huge, bare breasts and said, “That was fun, let’s do it again.”
She buried A.’s face in her breast and ripped A.’s shirt over her head. What began as a routine count had suddenly turned into every man’s dream come true. Two beautiful women, with two nice sets of exposed breasts, were standing inches before me making out!
I had been in prison for a few years and have previously had sex in some weird places, but never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be having sex in a prison cold box.
It felt like I had been granted parole.
For the next twenty minutes, Ms. B., A., and I engaged in one of the sexiest threesomes in the history of earth, not just prison. The cool temperature of the cool box was not sufficient to stop the sweat that our steamy sexcapade produced.
This sexual event would become a staple in our early morning inventory rounds. After counting the food services inventory, A. and I took an in-depth inventory of Ms. B.’s goods. Occasionally, Ms. B. would manufacture a reason to do an additional evening inventory to ensure both inventories had been done properly. Ms. B. was a lady in her early fifties, but had a sex drive like a 20-year-old. She definitely expanded my view of working in the food service department, especially when it came to taking inventory.
