During my twenty years of incarceration I’ve seen some of the most bizarre things, but none have been more unnerving than the oddities I’ve witnessed in prison showers.

Of course, if you’re around something long enough, it can easily become commonplace. And I’m positive that has happened to me in many ways. I can remember a time way back at the beginning of my bid [his sentence] when I dreaded going into the showers, always afraid of what new horror lurked there. Now, well, it is what it is.

I’ve seen men butchered in the shower, gang raped in the shower, ass fucked in the shower, sucked in the shower, and shaved in the shower. I’ve seen them masturbating in the shower, squatting and taking a shit in the shower, jamming things up their ass in the shower, and pulling things from their ass in the shower.

Hell of a visual, eh? Each one of these things could be their own little story.

But the things I’ve described above don’t even come close to the myriad of strange occurrences I’ve witnessed; that’s just the most common stuff. The list is endless. I’ve also witnessed many variations and several combinations of what’s listed above. You’d be surprised how creative men (and sometimes women—see below) can be when they have too much time on their hands. And, let’s face it: the men who find their way into prison aren’t always the most moral of people, and neither are the women who choose to work in such an environment. What, you didn’t think guards were involved? Hell, some of the freakiest humans I’ve ever run across in prison were NOT convicts. I once knew a male guard who used to pay convicts for their semen. Yeah, you read that correctly. Their semen. He used to shell out twenty five dollars for a pill bottle’s worth of the gooey white stuff.

I’d like to share one of these not-so-treasured experiences with you. One has always stuck out in my mind as being kind of weird, yet funny. It’s definitely different. Acrobatic, even; and PG enough for me to actually get it published. Hopefully.

It was a hot summer day, so flippin’ hot you could’ve fried hotdogs on the asphalt, and I’d just returned to my housing unit from working out in the weight pit for about an hour. I was dripping sweat and my armpits were reeking of sourness. My unit had long rocks (a floor of the housing unit) with cells lining each side and facing inward with a 10-foot-wide, tiled hallway in between. About sixty convicts were housed there and shared two showers located at the rock’s end.

Like usual, I approached the dimly lit shower area (a filthy, mildew-scented, ceramic tile-covered room of debauchery with no doors and two curtained showers tucked into its rear) and stepped inside to see if both showers were occupied. They were. Each was running with clothing piled on its respective bench bolted to the wall outside.

I stepped back out into the hallway to await my turn. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. What the fuck? The line had grown in that time, and now four convicts were awaiting their turn in the rain box.

I stuck my head in. “Hey, there’s people waiting out here!” I hollered.

Normally the people in the shower would shout something back. Something snappy like: “Stop your bitching,” “Hold your goddamn horses,” or “Fuck off.” This time they said nothing. Not a peep.

I started to grow suspicious. I was hot, sweaty, and exhausted. I didn’t have the patience to wait on two lovestruck convicts making it in the shower. This wasn’t my first mission to Mars. I strolled back in. The shower curtains were designed to end just below the knee so the guards could look in and make sure that only one person occupied each stall. I walked up to the first shower and peeked under the grimy, soap-scum-coated curtain and found only two flip flop-adorned feet, with both heels facing outward.

Strange. I’d been positive I was going to find four feet. Out of curiosity, I peeked under the second just-as-filthy shower curtain and found it empty. What the fuck?

I drew the curtain back just to make sure I wasn’t losing my marbles. Still empty. Where was this dude? His clothes were neatly folded on the bench, so was his towel. I peeked back under the other shower curtain, only to find the same two feet as before. I shook my head. I was stumped. I started back out of the shower area, but caught a bouncing movement out of the corner of my eye. No … it couldn’t be?

I turned and glanced up. Sure as shit, right near the ceiling bounced the missing two feet in a slow up-and-down motion, only they were flip flopless, and their toes were facing the opposite direction of the feet below. My jaw dropped. I fought back the urge to burst into laughter. “What?” mouthed one of my buddies who also stood in the hallway awaiting his turn in the shower. Speechless, and not really knowing how to respond to two men doing some type of standing 69 position in the shower stall, I pointed. My buddy stuck his head in.

“What?” he mouthed again, not seeing what I was seeing.

I pointed to the set of bare feet above the top of the shower curtain bouncing near the shower stall’s filthy ceiling. My buddy’s eyes slid north, then flew wide open. He chuckled, then shook his head. “Damn, that just ain’t right,” he said quietly. Any man strong enough to hold up another man while both parties sucked each other off was definitely not someone he wanted on his bad side.

Jerry Metcalf 251141

email @ jpay.com



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