Locked Up and Looking for Love: Part 2
Jul 20 2011
Last time on Pen Pals, our prison correspondent Bert Burykill told us about his tribulations a few years ago, when he was perpetually blue-balled while behind bars and desperately writing letters to young ladies in search of companionship. Today, he tells us about meeting one of his potential paramours.
The visit came on a rainy Sunday. My so-called jail friend had been dropping hints that my girl might be too twisted for even a lusty scumbag like me, and my palms were sweaty as I walked to the visit room. On the bright side, I thought, the more beastly the broad the easier it is to ask for head on the first date. The uglier and fatter, the more desperate to please. That’s just the sad truth.
So as I looked at my girl for the first time I tried to think positive thoughts, while praying that there was some mistake and she was really at another table. She was not pleasantly plump. She was overweight in all the wrong places, like the neck and arms. She had thick glasses that screamed, “I don’t care anymore.” She reminded me of one of the extras in Sweatin’ to the Oldies. But, silver lining: All of this pointed in the direction of guaranteed handjob and possible mouth action. So I was cool, calm, and composed as I gave her a handshake and peck on the cheek.
As I sat down, my dreams began to crumble—there were stupid little toys and a sippy cup on the table and—Heyzus fuckin’ Crista!—a baby in a high chair staring at me. I was sitting there in shock when a mulatto kid wandered out from behind her fat flank.
“Jermel… Jermel honey… Don’t be shy, this is my friend Bert I was telling you about.” I suppose stereotypes exist for a reason, because a locked-up black guy is the only type of dude who would have given that fat white Holstein heifer kids. Which is great, because someone has to do it, but I didn't want anything to do with that scene, other than maybe a blowjob, but that wasn't happening with two kids present. Total disaster.
The next five hours were awful. Jermel was a real obnoxious piece of shit who made it impossible for his mom to notice how I was presenting her my crotch. Even with the kids I was hoping for a quiet HJ under the table, but then the ugly retarded baby started crying. I was so exasperated I wanted to go back to the dorm and pleasure myself in the spunkatorium. The dumb fucking cunt didn’t even bring any money, so I couldn’t eat chicken wings or drink a soda. I just sat there staring at her unimpressive tits wondering how they’d reflect light if my jizz was covering them.
Eventually I asked, with a hint of disgust, why she’d travel all the way up here with kids. She couldn’t find a babysitter, she said. I guess she was just trying to be nice and give a lonely inmate some company, but I was seething. People were looking at me like, “Look at the little white guy with the fat ugly wife and black kids.” My cock had gone soft for the first time in months. She said she wanted to come back without the kids some other week and I said NO.
The next week I got a message saying I had another visitor, but I refused to come out. After all those months of dreaming about a fat mouth choking on my hambone, spitting, saliva, puke… it just didn't seem worth it anymore. The CO couldn’t believe I refused a visit from my wife and kids. The fat dummy brought the kids again! That’s the type of woman who comes to visit us assholes in jail. It takes a really desperate fatso to go through that trouble, or, very rarely, just an unbelievably bonerable, dedicated woman. A lot of guys think it’s easier to just get head from the Haitian ladyboy for a pack of Newports.
Previously: Locked Up and Looking for Love: Part 1
Things You Learn Designing Porn Banners for a Living
I Went to a Raëlian Cult Protest for Titties
Stress Makes Me Horny
Superstitious People Are Dismembering Albinos in Tanzania
Voss Water Is Bullshit
Bad Cop Blotter: The Police Aren't So Brave When Someone Has a Weapon
It's a Godlis World: Early Photos of Punk Rock After Dark
VICE News: Water War: Dry in Detroit
Tim and Eric Tell Us About Their Greatest Fears
We Asked a War Correspondent About the Origins of ISIS