The Fish

Chapter One - Day One

Fish. That’s what they call me here. It means I’m brand new to prison life and don’t have a clue what’s going on. It’s an accurate description. I know everyone in prison says they are innocent, but in my case, it’s true. A horrible person, short and red-headed like me, is out there roaming free. They held up the liquor store by my house at gunpoint. They shot the owner in the leg. While this was happening, I was suffering a massive head cold. I walked down to the liquor store to get some DayQuil and found the owner and bleeding. I called 911 and stayed with him until the ambulance arrived.

Here are the mistakes I made. First, the asshole dropped the gun. I found it near the door and picked it up. I don’t know why I did that. Second, the owner revived several times, and I slapped his face to wake him. He was so out of it; I think all he remembered was my face. He picked me out in a line-up after the police found my prints on the gun. My third and worst mistake was running when the cops tried to apprehend me. Let this be a warning to everyone reading this: if the cops are coming for you, let them. Be agreeable. Don’t fight.

The fingerprints were circumstantial evidence, but the owner was an extremely credible eyewitness who pointed me out to the jury. Add to that my mad dash for freedom, and it was an open-and-shut case. Nobody bought my story then, so I don’t expect you to buy it now. But it’s true.

I spent time in the county jail, but they released me on bail because it was a first offense. After the trial, I was shepherded away in handcuffs. I got on a bus with a dozen other “innocent” prisoners, and we drove off to hell. The bus ride was the last peaceful moment. We all sat silently, facing our doom. Nobody looked at anyone else, and I just stared at my lap, desperately fighting off the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. Crying in prison is like an invitation to a beating for the predators that circle the yard, looking for weakness. Sobbing on the bus was probably dangerous, but it was hard not to control it. The tiny glimpse of prison life I got in the county jail was so wretched and cruel that I doubted I would survive. And I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for Mike Hawk.

The guards marched us from the bus to an intake room, where a sleazy corrections officer watched us remove our clothes. He took extra care during the cavity search, whistling with admiration at a few of us whose rectums were to his liking. He smacked my bare bottom and said, “They’re gonna eat you up, Fish. Salmon supper tonight.” “Salmon” was a reference to my red hair. It’s more auburn.

What came next is now a bittersweet memory. At the time, it felt like my life was over. After the cavity search, we put on our prison garb. The officer handed us a bundle with a blanket, toothbrush, toothpaste, a tiny towel, and a bar of soap. We formed a line and marched to our cells. My cell was in the middle of a loud hallway, with cells facing each other. As I walked, hands reached out to grab my big ass, which has always been too big for a short man like me. The cries and jeers were cacophonous. I’m not afraid to admit I was the youngest, best-looking guy at Corcoran. The whoops and hollers weren’t for anyone but me. The cell appeared empty because I hadn’t seen Mike Hawk on the top bunk. As I unpacked my meager belongings, Mike whistled. It startled me.

“Holy shit, I caught a live one!” He jumped down to look me over. Grabbing me roughly by the shoulder, he said, “Turn around. I want to see what’s for dessert.”

I blushed and stood my ground. “I ain’t your dessert, for fuck’s sake.”

Mike feigned an apology. “Oh, sorry, little man, my mistake.”

The words “little man” stung. I was little everywhere except my massive butt. Many redheads are blessed between the legs, but I bore the ‘Irish curse.’ My two-inch cock hardly even qualified as a real penis.

Mike rubbed his crotch. His cock showed huge, even through his baggy scrubs. I gulped. Yeah, I’m gay, but I never really liked big dicks. They made me feel inadequate. Mike’s massive blessing was most unwelcome. I did admire his strong pectoral muscles, with thimble-sized nipples poking through his white t-shirt. He caught me eying his chest and flexed his pecs one at a time.

“Don’t play hard to get, little man. I’m Mike. Mike Hawk. What’s your name, Fish?”

I frowned. “Brandon Little.”

Without asking, Mike put his hand down the front of my pants. “Shoo-wee, that’s little alright.”

When I turned bright red, he put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I dig the tiny ones. Seriously.”

I felt a strange wave of relief. It was like I had been defending my smallness from the entire gay world, and here in prison, I found acceptance from my new, obnoxious cellmate.

We stared at each other. Mike continued to rub his crotch, and the monster inside them swelled beyond normal proportions and then beyond the impossible. My asshole twitched with fear.

“You said you’re not dessert, so let’s make you an appetizer.”

In one swift movement, Mike held my head against the cell wall. His cruel cock jutted from the fly of his scrubs. Roughly, he pulled down my scrubs, revealing my large, feminine ass.

“Oh shit, dude, I’m gonna cum just looking at your ass. Fuckin’ beautiful!”

He spat into his hand and slicked it up. He knew he was too big, and he had some technique. He spat many times as he his way in. It started as , but I was hooked by the time he hit the end of my rectum.

“You like that, Smalls?”

I nodded.

“Ready for the rest?”

I couldn’t believe there was more. He pushed in hard and suddenly went to a place I’d only heard about. He was in my colon. When it went in, I yelped. That didn’t stop him. He fucked hard and fast. I moaned with unwanted pleasure. Before I knew it, he’d blasted my guts with cum. Then he kissed me. My heart fluttered. Maybe prison wouldn’t be so bad after all.