Since basically none of my friends have ever been locked up or even known someone besides me that had been, they are very intrigued by what prison is like, and if the stereotypes are true. “Dropping the soap” is a recurring inquiry. Hopefully, it stems from a morbid fascination, nor worry.
I know because of my stunningly handsome good looks, and hot prison bod, they probably worry I might be a target or have to endure relentless come-ons from sissies and predators alike, but luckily, I’ve yet to have an issue.
Partly, I suspect, as a friend who’s been down for 15 years jokingly pointed out, I’m too hairy to attract that attention. More importantly, I don’t put myself in dumbass situations, and don’t act like a fiend. But to give a general answer to the question…prison rape is a thing, but not something that’d happen while showering.
You have to put yourself in that kind of situation, and to go through with it, you’d have to have at least a dash of willingness and a strong dose of bi-curiosity.
Also, things are more intense in higher levels. The level 1 joint I’m at is pretty tame. I have heard horror stories about some other places. Plus, at level 2s, you have all the lifers, the high-risk cons, and the guys that might as well have life bits, which may explain all the fucking. I heard it is so ubiquitous at some places, guys are fucking everywhere–showers, closets, wherever. (On the other hand, by a nearly unanimous consensus, level 2s are better jailin’, but that’s due more to the higher level of respect every one accords one another.)
I was aware of the concept of “on the DL” previously, but I’d never seen it so blatantly illustrated until prison. Usually, these are (almost exclusively black) guys who have been down for 20+ years, and if it hadn’t been for the fact they like fucking boys, you wouldn’t even think they’re gay. Ironically, they’re also the type to publicly shit on fags, and they truly don’t consider themselves gay; like, they’re convinced they’re straight and sodomizing men is irrelevant. Apparently, their criteria for homosexuality vastly differs from the popular one the rest of us abide by.
They usually hang out with friends that like to do the same thing (secretly fuck dudes), but don’t fuck each other. Which is odd, because that seems like an obvious solution. Instead, they prey on the unsuspecting, the weak, the curious, the effeminate, the (typically white) dope fiends for sex. You will not be able peg them down for what they are immediately, but there will be whispers, and then a situation will erupt with someone you know. (That’s how I found out.)
In quarantine, everyone is forced to watch the infamous “candy bar movie,” a video about prison rape. One scene shows an inmate returning to his bunk to find an unwrapped candy bar on his pillow, like an anonymous love letter. They then depict the “proper” response: he takes the candy bar, “confidently” enters the day room with it brandished above his head, and loudly declares, “This is not my candy bar. Thanks to whoever left it, but I am not interested. I am going to leave it here so you can have it back.”
In reality, if someone left me a candy bar, I’d fucking eat it without a second thought. So, would almost anyone else. Granted, this could be a first stab at “grooming” you, but unless you’re super naive, you’ll quickly discern the true intentions of any old head generously cooking you a bowl, and giving you cookies for free. If you’re stupid enough to accept so many gifts that he feels they add up to some play, prison is going to be hard on you in too many ways.
[No matter what, the advisory responses to #prisonproblems given by MDOC policy are universally and spectacularly wrong, and almost guaranteed to provoke the same kind of incident. Another gem: the proper response to getting assaulted is to run away and tell a CO, without hitting back. This would probably get you “shot” (stabbed), and, worse, cement a rep as both a snitch and a bitch–which are the convict equivalents of the n-word.]
The preferred tactic of these predators is to ply their target with drugs, so he’s so high he can be coaxed into consent, or, more typically, to front the mark a costly amount of dope, which he can’t afford by himself. Then, they just bank on his fiend tendencies to override this concern.
So when it comes time to collect, the poor addict will sputter excuses, shrug his shoulders, and hope it doesn’t turn violent, which he’ll soon wish it had, when he finds out dawg’s true aim is to get paid in cheeks. Predators often work in tandem at this stage of the seduction to convey the severity of the threat, to intimidate as extra muscle, orto serve as lookout.
I jus heard of an incident, which is how I can break it down so vividly. What was kind of shocking about that situation was an ex-cubie’s involvement. I never had a clue then, but in hindsight it makes perfect sense. Then I recalled an overblown brouhaha when someone accused him of secretly being gay, and trying to smash the sissy in the front hall (who was the closest thing to a chick on the yard since he’d been on estrogen or some hormone, because he had these odd, misshapen man titties, while being relatively skinny, and sounded like a chick.)
Anyways, he made a huge deal about this slander to his sterling rep, which he spent almost two decades earning, and how fucked up the game was nowadays that people could lie like that. He talked about nothing else for two days. Now I discover that his rep at other joints was as a dude that liked to fuck. It was not so much rapey as deceitful as hell.
So, that is a breakdown of the saddest chunk of the prison sexual marketplace. Of course, there are salacious rumors of fucking female COs and food service workers. Some are true, but if I knew the details of those rendezvous, I’d be arranging them myself.