4 – Blog 01 – Justice Served

Sunday morning after our tumultuous Lynyrd Skynyrd concert, Jack and I are at Michael’s with the other band members. Michael’s dad, Mike Sr., limits his ‘I told you so’ lecture to advising me to get straight with my parents. I call home, praying Mom answers but prepared for the worst. Of course, it is Dad who answers.
What?” he barks curtly.
“Tim. You get home this instant.”
“Yes, sir,” and I hang up.
I look across the room at Mike Sr. and shake my head. He nods back.
I whisper in Jack’s ear, “I have to go home. I must do this alone.”
He looks as shocked as Michael did when Jack whispered into his ear. I kiss each eye shut, turn, and leave.

When I arrive home, Dad hustles me into the car. We drive to Miami Police Headquarters. He lectures me all the way there. I caused a riot. I got Max killed. I put the younger kids in danger.
“I got a call hours ago to bring you in for questioning. Do you know how wrong it is to say I didn’t know where you were?”
“I was at Jack’s until an hour ago when we went to the Antonio’s.”
“I’m not bringing them into this mess. You better not lie to the police.”
“Dad, can’t you be on my side? They’ll just lock me up if they think you don’t trust me.”
“Maybe you need to learn a lesson about all these antics you pull.”
“They shot and killed Max, Dad.”
“Don’t expect me to defend you. You cannot blame the police for what you caused.”
I keep silent the rest of the way to the station.

Once there, it is preordained that I am going into custody. They want to charge me with police obstruction but are unsure I did anything. Dad has me describe what happened. He interrupts me when I start to accuse the canine handlers of negligence and potential assault on the concert goers.
“We’re going to hold him until this fracas has been thoroughly investigated,” the interviewer concludes.
Dad says goodbye, handing me a small case with a change of clothes. He knew I was going to juvenile hall before we left home. I remain dry-eyed as he leaves the station.

I am put in an open cell of about ten kids, ages 12 – 16. The oldest one is also the fattest. He comes at me right away to knock me down. I jump back. Fatty falls on his face. I put my foot on his neck and grind it into the floor.
“Don’t fuck with me,” I tell him.
He squirms a little before giving up. I look around and throw my stuff on the nearest bunk. A few, and then all the little kids, grab their stuff and move onto my side of the cell.

“You owe me one beat-down,” I tell Fatty as I take my foot off his neck. He hunkers back to his corner, where the last few boys spit on him before running across to my side of the cell. All the kids rearrange their bunks so I can protect them. They sit on or near my bunk while I set up.
“Y’all look abused,” I challenge them, staring at two boys cowering in the back.
“Whatcha in fer?” the nearest boy changes the subject.
“Murder…of my dog,” and they break up.

We chat. The tension in the cell disappears. My only worry is what if some football jock gets thrown in with us; would I have to fight him? I am not surprised when shortly, a jock shows up. He gives me the stare, which I quickly avert, and we leave each other alone. Half the kids move over to his side. Balance of power established; Fatty banished to solitary.

That night seems to last an eternity. Jock boy alienates his followers by choosing a looker for his current bed buddy. The winner is promptly abandoned by all his allies in that corner, who return to my side. They vigorously complain that their friend is about to be raped. They pester me with their fake hero-worship while I accept the inevitability of a fag on fag battle. As soon as the victim’s whimpers turn desperate, we march over. I confront jock-head who has already pulled down the 12 year old’s jeans.
“Why you havta do that?” I challenge him.
“What’s it to ya, dickweed.” He ignores me, returning to the molestation.
“You gotta find someone small ‘cause yer dick ain’t growed yet?” I imply.
That gets his attention.
Grabbing his swollen, half-erect dick and shaking it at me, “You want some of this, bitch?”
My dick is already swinging, easily seen through the jailhouse jeans I wear. “I thought y’alls just into little boys.”
He blanches when I do not flinch. “Faggot,” he answers my challenge.
“Yeah, right. And, who has his dick halfway up his bunkmate’s ass?”
Everyone laughs at him. The victim quickly escapes to his friends. We walk back, the tribe united. It takes the jock a minute to get his dick to relax and realize how disrespected he is. He comes roaring over, yelling like a banshee, straight at me. My quick step-aside only makes him change direction. I put my back to a wall and prepare to be assaulted. His punch goes wild. I heard the bones crack as his fist hits the cement wall. It makes him scream even louder as I scurry away. Waking up from their general torpor, the guards rush in, grab the jock, and drag him off to solitary confinement.
The guard asks me why he attacked me. The kid victim tells the guard that I was defending him.
“Did that boy try to rape you?” the guard asks the kid.
I silently shake my head and he shrugs. “He didn’t after my friend told him to stop.”
The guard gives me a funny look. “It’s not your job to protect anyone.”
“Yes, sir,” I meekly agree.
He turns to the victim, “You saying he assaulted you?”
Again I shake my head. The boy resists the urge to rat, “Nah, he just threatened me.”
“Okay. Well, he’s earned his week in the hole.”

I kinda enjoy how it turned out. The boys stop pestering me, confused as to whether I am a wise-ass wimp or someone they do not quite trust. At least my hard-on is long gone. One kid sits on my bunk and pesters me with questions, just like Stu always does.
“How’d you know them guards would come?”
“Man, he sounded like a bull elephant when he broke his hand. They had to come. I just had to stay out of the dick’s way.”
“You never threw a punch. You ever get in real fights?”
“Why risk marring this pretty face?”
“It is pretty,” He tells me, giving me a look.
“Hey. You know I’ll back you up. I don’t need any ‘special’ favors. Just friends.” I offer a handshake – how lame.
He barely shakes hands, looking downcast.
“What’s your name?” I try to encourage him.
“Tommy,” he brightens up.
“I’m Tim,” as I wink at him. He looks pleased that he does not have to give up his ass for protection. Most of the others come over that evening and introduce themselves. We all agree to watch out for one another.

Later another older boy is led into the cell. Again the nasty looks warn me to leave him alone. He chooses a bunk near Fatty who tries to explain that because of me everyone hates him. The new kid soon is sitting on a different bunk in a vacant corner of the cell, glaring at anyone who looks at him.

Soon after lights out, there’s a rustling among the bunks. First, the youngest boys move into the furthest bunks, two or three to a bed; I figure it is for self-protection. Tommy is sitting at the foot of my bed.
“Jist what happens every night,” he whispers. “The big guys pick their victims, and it starts all over again.”
“What if I take on the big guy before he grabs someone young?
“You mean take him out?
“Nah. I’ll just fuck his brains out.
“I knew you was a fag,” Tommy suppresses crowing.
“And, you’re not?”
“Well, there ain’t no girls in here.”
“You still makin’ a play for me?” I laugh.
“Why not? You ain’t ashamed are ya?”
“No way. And I’ll enjoy riding that guy’s asshole.”
We both giggle. He has a gleam in his eyes.

In the darkness, I hear someone shuffling in our direction. Crouching until the shuffler is close, I jump the boy, knocking him down. It is my original nemesis, Fatty. I kick at him and tell him to stay on his own side of the cell. While this goes down, the new boy sneaks by me. Soon I hear a struggle and muffled cries. By the time I get over there, the bigger boy is already on top of the smaller kid, who’s now half-naked. I jump on top of the two, reaching around to grab the older one’s already hard dick. To his surprise, I undo his jeans while he mindlessly humps. He soon regains his composure, trying to knock me off his back. I grab his exposed dick like a bronco’s pommel horn, I hold on as he bucks. The younger boy slides out of his bed and joins the posse watching the action in the dark. I stroke his dick which quickly became super hard. Realizing I’ am not about to be bucked off his back, he tries to maneuver himself so we are face to face. Unhooking my jeans and pushing them down, while still stroking his stiffie, I grab both dicks in either hand and work on them. It is totally different from jumping Jack. I despise this guy. I just want to humiliate him. Thinking he has me bested, he really starts getting off. As he gets closer to ejaculating, I swipe the top of his dick for pre-cum, smearing his straining cock. The rest of the pre-cum I smear into my ass. Now he is fucking me. His look of surprise quickly turns to moans of ecstasy. He is about to cum. I reverse our positions. Cum leaks from his dick head as I vigorously start to pump him. His legs wrap around me as he gives into the fucking. Soon he realizes what’s actually happening. He starts squirming, trying to push my dick out. I will not give him an inch. The more he squirms, the longer and firmer my thrusts become. His moans turn to whimpers as he cannot stop me from assualting him. I relentlessly drive into him, never nearing climax.
“Now you know what it feels like, cunt head. Take it. Take it all. Take it hard. Take it all night long.” I taunt him.
He lies there, passively waiting for me to be done, hoping it is sooner than later. I show no indication that I am about to finish. From the whispering all around us, I know we have an audience.
“If y’all don’t get back in your bunks, I’m gonna start lookin’ for a tight ass. This boy is goin’ all loose and flappin.’ I’ll never cum,” I taunt my victim.  He moans.
Hearing the boys scurrying back to their bunks, I pull out and cum all over him with just a few hand strokes. He tries to crawl away from me.
“You like boy pussy because you can’t take real fucking. You’re pitiful,” as I kick him toward his bunk. A small cheer goes up and a few ‘Yeahs’ are heard. I go and wash off my dick. When I get back to my bunk, Tommy is stretched out at its foot. Ignoring him, I climb in. I am instantly asleep. When I wake up, Tommy is gone. The night-time nightmare is over.  Daytime is normal time.

Just another day in the life of Tim Castle, delinquent waste case. I refuse to be pestered by my minions, telling them to talk to the boy I fucked.
“He’ll tell you what it really feels like, especially at the end when all you want is for it to stop. I coulda fucked that stanky ass all night long.”
They all laugh, making it obvious who is the object of their scorn. Tommy saunters over to him, sitting on the opposite bunk, and starts his pestering.
“Hey, man. How long ya bin in?”
“Fuck off.”
“Com’n. What was it like? You was into it with him. I seen ya cum.”
“Shut up and die,” he screams at Tommy.
Tommy scurries back, grinning at me.
“Stop pestering, Tommy. That guy’s got serious problems, not just that he likes dick.”
“Yeah, like how wide his ass is now.”
I laugh, “Well, who’d want to grow up wanting to fuck little boys? He’s sick. It’s makes him a sick bully.”
“Don’t deny you didn’t enjoy it last night, both fucking and being fucked,” Tommy presses.
“Ya got it all worked out, dontcha?” I challenge him. “I can’t enjoy it, even if I’m gay?”
“You’re gay?”
“Yeah, shit for brains.”
Dad’s old line causes an uproar, with half of us rolling on the floor like Baptists. The guards come in to take us to chow. They give us, especially me, suspicious looks.

After chow, school, chow, school, we finally get recreation. B’ball not being my thing, I sit with my minions in the shade, while the Black kids take it out on the Whites. I tell Tommy to stop running his mouth about me, which shuts him up.
A really young kid sits silently beside me. I swear he wants to crawl into my lap. It is unconscionable that we treat kids like him as criminals, subjecting them to sexual abuse and bullying.  I figure it is time to play Teen Jesus.
“Which of youse has Jesus in his heart?” No one speaks up, but several look downcast.
“Well, who used to have Jesus in his heart?” I look right at the young boy, who seems conflicted.
“Com’n over here,” I motion to him. “What’s your name?”
“Luke,” he barely answers.
“You know who you’re named after?”
“Sure, the gospel of St Luke.”
“Who was St Luke?”
“He was Jesus’s disciple.”
“So they were friends. Why don’t you want to be friends with me and say you still have Jesus in your heart?”
“Oh, but I do want to. It’s just that I hurt him by being bad.”
“Do you feel you’re bad?”
“Why would I be in here if I weren’t bad?”
“You want to be friends with me, so I must not be so bad.”
I can tell he trusts me.
“Look around and tell me who your friends are.”
He points out first one and two best friends, then says, “I guess everyone here’s my friend”
We all smile and mellow out at the bonding. The mood lasts only long enough for the frustrated white b’ball players to notice. At my nemesis’s urging, they march over to threaten us.
“Come for some more of this?” I grab my dick and give it a squeeze.
The boy blanches at my brazen attitude. His backups grumble that he did not tell them about that. The Black players are listening. They start pointing and picking out their next victims.
My minions speak up, “He loved it, cumming all over hisself.”
Confrontation averted. We jump up and high-five the Black players. All of us are laughing at the loser White players. At the rate I am making enemies, I better be transferred soon. Mike Sr. is supposed to be my lifeline. No word yet. Where is Jay? I need a phone call. I better call Dad first, the chain of command.

Later one of the kids, a tough looking Cuban, asks me what if he does not believe in religion and Jesus.
“Well, do you have family or a friend who’s dead?”
“Sure, half the ‘hood.”
“Well, if you remember anyone of them well enough to ask them who to trust, it’s the same thing. They’ll let you know because you hold that person in your heart.”
“Well, I trust you, but I don’t know you.”
“It’s your heart that tells you to trust or not. I figure you know I would never do what these child molesters do.”
“Nah. You’re cool, cabron.”
“Seems like everyone comes in here with a chip on their shoulder. It’s a weakness to show you trust anyone. It robs us of our youth. For me, that’s all I got.”
“Why you defend these losers?”
“I grew up in the military. We always back each other up.”
“S’cool. But these kids ain’t gonna defend their selves, let alone you, in a fight.”
“I don’t need backup, which means they want me on their side.”
“Got it all figured, don’tcha?”
“Yup,” and I smile. It takes him a second to smile back, and then he grins.
“You enjoy fightin’,’” he concludes. “Once you get outta the holding cell, you might enjoy our midnight fight club in the kitchen. Ya gotta fight ta get in.”
“At this rate, I’ll have a couple of real fights under my belt. How long ‘til I get outta the holding cell?”
“72 hours, unless they throw you into solitary.”
“I’ll keep watchin’ my back.”
“Si, si mon.”

72 hours. I should hear from someone by then. I ask a guard about a phone call. I am told not until I get out of holding. So much for rights.

Night comes quickly. We have rec time after chow. The minions are all over me with pestering. I tell them about our band and how we always had fights at our shows. I sing them Elvis’s “Kung Fu Fighting.”

I even throw in some fake moves, swiveling my hips like Elvis. I catch my ‘boyfriend,’ with a gleam in his eye, watching me from across the cell. I am not sure if he relishes his memory of last night or is just jealous that all the little boys are in thrall of me. He is sick either way.

Tommy appoints himself as my lieutenant and is cracking down on the others. I am the Godfather, Tommy, my Consigliere. The 72 hours are endless.
“Cool it, Tommy,” I admonish.
“Just keeping the troops ready for tonight’s action.”
“You see this as ‘action,’ like a military operation.
“Sure. I heard you’re military. We’re your troops.”
“Com’n over here,” I pat my bunk.
The spark is back in his eye, as he slides onto the bottom of my bed. I sit so my head rests on the wall at the head of the bed.
“Admit that you’re really enjoying our escapades,” I prompt him.
“You, too. It makes juvie almost fun.”
“I got asked to join fight club.”
“You know about that?”
“They say you have to fight your way in.”
“I ain’t seen you throw a punch yet.”
“You ain’t seen me dragged off to solitary neither.”
“Ha,” he laughs.
“Get real. We have to protect these little kids. They will stand up to the bullies if they believe they have back up.”
“Sounds like you want me to fight too.”
“Only to stand up to the assholes.”
“I know you’ll back me up, so look at me, the kung fu fighter.”
We laugh and keep smiling at each other until it is too obvious.
“I do like you, Tommy. I just will not give you no slack.”
“Like that asshole last night. I was creamin’ in my jeans.”
“That was not about sex. I wanted to humiliate him. Sometimes I havta punish my boyfriend with rough sex. We both enjoy it, and he gets the message.”
“You gots a boyfriend?”
“Yeah and a couple of girlfriends.”
“Is he like me?”
“Kinda. He picked me, after smoking out for the first time. It makes him super horny. I let him sleep with me. He had a wet dream but thought it was real. When I told him in the morning, he was so bummed. I said I’d be his boyfriend anyway.”
“So you don’t really love him, just feel sorry for ‘im?”
“Nah, we’s really in love. Pot makes the dick grow fonder.”
We giggle. By then, most of the younger kids are gravitating toward us. I stifle the sex talk with Tommy.

“Listen, everyone. I expect the usual trouble tonight, so let’s swear to protect each other. If you’re attacked, loudly complain until we all show up to help you. We havta protect each other and stay together.”
“Yeah,” they all agree, looking mean at each other. I wonder how tough they can be, most weigh under 100 pounds.

After the lights go out, it does not take long for the perverts to come prowling. The idea that they keep getting rearrested in order to have their way with the younger boys in the holding cell makes me sick. There should not be that many teens who lust for young boys.

As soon as someone starts to complain, we all rush to his rescue. Tommy is the hero who chases the molester away. As he is acting tough, we hear someone else crying for help. I kick the first molester in the balls, hors de combat, for the night.

The sneaky pervert is none other than my previous night’s ‘boyfriend.’
“What’s wrong with you?” I calmly challenge him. “You can’t keep fucking these little kids. You’ll be a dirty old man. Then what?”
“Maybe I want another shot at you, asshole,” he challenges me back.
I grab my dick and indicate I am ready. He lets the kid go and jumps up, thinking I want him again. My uppercut catches him by surprise. The stomach punch puts him down.
“Do you think I enjoyed fucking you?” as I stand over him with a foot on his neck.
He looks pitiful, gasping for air, so I let him up. He is not likely to challenge me anymore.
“Sit,” I order, indicating an empty bunk. He refuses to look me in the eye.
“What’s your name?”
“Charles,” he gasps.
“You mean Up-Chuck,” as he continues to gag. The boys laugh.
“You want to stop lusting for young boys?” I ask. My posse is silent.
“Right now, yeah,” he gets some of his bravado back.
“It’s up to you. If you don’t stop, you’ll be a pervert all your life.”
“Naw. It’s only ‘cause there ain’t no girls in here.”
“How often have you been arrested and thrown into the system?”
“A few times,” he admits.
“And every time you’ve had your pick of boy pussy?”
“Until now.”
“You don’t see how sick that is?”
“I guess,” he demurs.
“Think about it. But until you decide, get over to your own bunk,” I indicate he has to leave our area.

We settle down until we hear sobs coming from the other side. The kids who came in that day are unaware they need protection. We march over and pull the molester off his victim. Tommy kicks him the balls, which, unfortunately for him, are hanging out. We tell all the kids to move to our side.

In the morning, the guards come in to get us for chow. Seeing almost everyone on one side, they quickly became suspicious.
“They’s all yer harem, Castle?” The friendly guard jokes.
I laugh, at which, he just shakes his head. A jerk guard gives me a look that means he has it out for me. He will be the one who fucks with me when the guards decide to have their own party. 72 hours. Where’s Jay?

The regular chow, school, chow, school routine keeps me busy until it is rec time in the late afternoon. My posse/harem gather in the shade, laughing at the b’ball players. Some of the Black kids join us. We decide to sing the Kinks, ‘Apeman” to make them feel welcome.

“You callin’ me a monkey?” one of the Black boys challenges me.
“My song’s called ‘Monkey like Me.’ Don’t I act like a monkey?”

I do our band’s monkey song chorus:

“Ha ha ha
Hee hee hee,
Cha cha cha
Chee chee chee’

Jumping around like a chimp, scratching under my arms. My boys do the same, mimicking me. The Black b’ball players take instant offense, running over to defend their black brothers. Luckily one of the first Blacks to sit with us understands.
“Chill, boy. They’s jist sayin’ we’s all monkeys.”
“Don’t I look like an ape?” I respond.
“More like a great White clown,” their leader counters.
I started mimicking him, like a mime. He takes a swing, missing wildly. I do the same.
“Fight. Fight” they all yell.
We kept mirroring each other, missing wildly. Everyone is in stitches. The guards come running over and separate us.
“No fighting,” they warn us.
“We wasn’t fightin’, officer. We was doin’ the monkey dance,” I answer, at which everyone starts jumping and scratching and singing the monkey song chorus around the guards.
Infuriated, they start chasing us around the rec yard. The bell rings for chow. We all calmly line up. The guards have red faces and can hardly breathe.

After chow we are back in the cell. The jocks are angry over their multiple humiliations. They lack the energy to challenge us. The kids hang around my bunk, asking me about the shows I played with the band. When I mentioned Max, several know who he is. As always, I play second fiddle to my dog. They love that they have done the monkey dance, as I tell them about all the times at frat and roadhouse shows where we used it to escape riots. By lights out, I feel confident that there will be no trouble from the molesters. Shortly after I fall asleep, my assumption proves incorrect.

Before I know what is happening, several sets of hands grab me, roll me into a blanket and kidnap me out of the cell. It is the guards extracting their revenge on me with a blanket party. I lay still as they kick and punch my trapped body. Except for a couple of real blows, it seems like they are pulling their punches. Once they stop, I free myself from the blanket and scurry into a corner.   It is the mean guard who organized my beating. The three others stand around while Meanie yells at me and calls me a fag. The friendly guard pretends to be punching me.
“Just go along. He’ll run out of things to say soon,” he whispers.
“Thanks, but let me get a chance at him. I’ll fuck his faggot ass good.”
The guard laughs.
I jump up to meanie’s surprise, knocking him down, while the others just watch. I have him pinned from behind. I m not surprised to find his miniature dick is rock hard when I give him a reach around. I give it some strong jerks until I feel it erupt. He is barely struggling, unsure whether he should enjoy his own orgasm or should be struggling against me. I quickly have his belt undone and uniform pants down. Taking the still leaking cum from his piss-hole, I lubricate myself and mount him in one thrust. Without lubrication he screams, which makes me pump even harder. More violent sex for me. I swear to keep pumping without pleasure until Meanie is totally submissive. It does not take long before he slumps face down and waits for me to be done. I pull out and stand over him,
“That’s all you deserve, sir,” I spit out the word. “Now you’re just a piece of shit.”
The guards grab me again, as I pull up my pants. I accede to their authority and am dumped back on my bunk in the cell.
“He deserved it, but don’t tell anyone,” the friendly guard again whispers to me. I nod and am left alone.

All my kids sneak over, wanting to know what happened.
“Blanket party,” I tell them.
They are crestfallen that their hero has been defeated. I so want to tell them how it played out, but I keep silent, although I wink at Tommy. He sleeps that night at the end of my bed.

Next: https://timatswim.com/4-blog-02-up-the-river/