Guest Essay: The Prisoner, The Visitor & The Sausage

Phone sex is normal to a prisoner and his spouse. Almost everyone in this situation does it. After a few phone sex sessions...

Part of my mission featuring monthly guest essayists, is the desire to share a wide cross section of voices. This months story is by Ubaldo Teque, Jr. I was introduced to Teque’s work when I was on the board of Right to Write Press (a non profit supporting the growth of emerging incarcerated writers). This piece was first published by Erotic Review (UK) where I was a regular contributor.

Spicy Beef Summer Sausage

Around February of 2001 I was housed on the infamous 2000 floor of the men’s L.A. County Jail.

I lived in 2200 Delta Row amongst three other inmates, in a small four-man cell with a collect phone that hung on the back wall. The phone was on 24/7.

Around that time I was just waiting for my sentence to be handed down. The delay was because my trial counsel had suffered a stroke right after my trial, and I was going to need another lawyer to be assigned to me by the public defender’s office in order to receive a so-called fair sentencing hearing.

Mentally, I was stressed out. I would exercise twice a day, a routine of navy seals, burpees, squats, and running in place. It kept me sane for the time being, and since the mother of my kids had recently relocated to Las Vegas to live with her parents, I was alone and bored.

I needed to exit the cell, and being called out to visit was the mental pass to freedom. Visits at the jail were every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. A fifteen-minute mental and physical escape was what I needed on those four days. One of my neighbors on the tier from the San Fernando Valley, who I will call Y.G., was always on the stressbox, a.k.a the in-cell phone. He was a lady-catcher. He had pretty chick friends, and one day he asked me, Ey bro, you want a hook-up? I was like, sure, will she drive up to pull me out (visit)?

He was like, Of course, she’s my lady’s best friend. So her phone number was given to me. In jail a hustler hustles hard in order to survive I had a couple of burn-out phones all over L.A. A burn-out phone is hooked up with phone identifications. A phone like this will last about a month in any residence if one doesn’t pay for it. I chose to pay for my phones, so I stretched them out. Calling Las Vegas every day costs money.

I called the hook-up. Her name was Blanca. She was 5’ 3”, with shoulder length blond hair, a hot body, and a killer smile. She was a Mexican native from Distrito Federal. She loved music, especially rock in Spanish. A single mother with three kids, she worked hard. She did all she could for her kids, and still found time for her prisoner friend.

Every day we spent at least two hours on the phone. We clicked really good, and one day our conversation got really heated. I was hard and she was wet. We ended up having phone sex that night.

Phone sex is normal to a prisoner and his spouse. Almost everyone in this situation does it.

After a few phone sex sessions she wanted details, and I somehow over-exaggerated my penis size. Her curiosity didn’t stop there. She wanted to see it to believe it. I led her on, caught in the moment, and I promised to show her the long pole at visit.

Visiting at the L.A. County jail is behind glass (no contact), so that fact was on my side. All I had to do was grow my penis overnight to a huge size. Now how the hell was I supposed to do that? My mind started racing as I lay on my bunk biting my fingernails trying to find a solution to my problem.

I had three cellmates in the cell. Chubbs was a big Mexican man who was bald and without a t-shirt on he resembled Buddha. He also had a big appetite. He always had a bag full of canteen items. As I glimpsed his bag, my mind was under pressure. Then an idea hit me. I first pulled the wrist band off my porter’s glove. I sized it up, pulling it up towards my upper right thigh close to my penis and scrotum.

Now with this tight rubber-band wrapped around my upper thigh all I needed was what was in Chubbs’ canteen bag: a long, thick, spicy, summer sausage. When I asked Chubbs if I could borrow it he thought I was hungry, but when I exposed my plan to him he laughed so hard he couldn’t stop. Tears came out of his eyes.

He enjoyed and encouraged my deceitful plan with a devilish grin, and now I was ready for my 15-minute visit behind glass. But what Blanca thought was going to happen was not.

I planned it well and this is how I executed my plan. Being an active gang member in 2001 I used jail politics in order to get away with my plan.

The day of the visit arrived. As I walked out to visit the rubber-band was already in place, wrapped around my thigh. The sausage was in my L.A. County blues backpack.

I arrived at my assigned window before she did. Actually, all inmates arrive at their window before visitors. This short time alone allowed me to slide the sausage into place under the rubber-band. Now with everything in place it was go-time.

Blanca strolled in sporting a freaky smile, a hot tight dress and heels. Now I had to deliver my drag. Since I was active I used jailhouse rules to cover my ass. I explained to her I was not able to pull out my penis at visit, because of all the people present, kids, etc. Blanca tried to convince me by promising to cover the window from onlookers or passersby. I asked her if she cared about my well-being in jail.

I asked her, Do you care if I get regulated? (A regulation consists of two or three individuals beating me up.) That was the lesser penalty. I could even end up getting stabbed for doing disrespectful things at visit. After much debate she accepted my current offer to squeeze my pant leg so that she could see that I was hung and blessed by the God of lust. I put my leg up on the stool and gripped my pant leg.

Blanca’s eyes almost popped out of her eye sockets. I knew my plan had worked once she bit her lower lip and said, Baby, I don’t think your cock will fit in me.

After, as I walked out of the visiting room heading back to my housing module, I was pulled over and padded down by the deputies. When they found the sausage in my back pocket one of the deputies said, You better have a good reason for carrying this sausage to visit, or I will keep it. I didn’t want to lose Chubbs’ sausage so when the deputy gave it back to me I put the sausage down my pants, showing them what I had done. Squeezing my pant leg I said, Gentlemen, size does matter.

As I walked away with the sausage all I heard was, Get the fuck out of here, you fuckin’ fraud!