No shit. That’s why he’s in fucking prison. But I decide to shrug it off and continue to walk back to the main wing.
It’s the fucking best I can do at this point.
17
Kerri
Forty-five.
That's how many days it's been since Lucien first took me and made me his in the Alcove. We've gotten to the point where we see each other pretty much every day now. To the point where I expect some reason to find myself in the Alcove waiting when the inmates are released for their few hours of free roam. Because it's different days, I've started taking my lunch and breaks at odd times. Guards and other people I work with will look at me as I go for "lunch" at 10 am in the morning. They don't understand that it's because I spent the entire morning dreaming about how Lucien was going to take me. That my panties were literally sopping wet by the time I made it to the Alcove thinking about Lucien's hard cock.
Why is he affecting me so much? Why am I having trouble concentrating on the simplest of tasks without my mind wandering to think of the next time I’m going to see him? Why can’t I get the thought of Lucien taking me, turning me around, bending me over, ripping off my panties and pushing himself into me out of my head?
It’s like my mind is in a fog when I’m not with him. Like I’m in a coma. And then we do actually meet. And I forget everything. The world fades away. The dark surroundings that we’re in become nothing more than a backdrop. We form our own encapsulated universe.
And then we have sex. It’s like nothing I have ever felt or will ever feel ever again. His cock literally stretches me in every direction when he is inside of me. To the point where I’ve blacked out from coming too hard.
And then afterwards, I sit in a sex coma. Somehow I manage to put my clothes on and get to work. Somehow I get to work, walking bowlegged and unsteady. I sit there, listening to a supervisor talking about changes to medication of prisoners who come in with life threatening wounds from altercations. Or listening to our narcotics auditor going over proper handling of controlled substances. But while I’m there physically, all I can feel is Lucien's cum dripping down out of my pussy, literally soaking my panties. All I can wish for is for it to be the next day, so I can head to the Alcove.
Ten.
That’s how many days ago Lucien told me that he loves me. Literally, he looked me in the eyes, and held my hand and whispered, “I love you, Kerri.” Tears came to my eyes and I wrapped my arms around him. We were naked. He had just fucked the living daylights out of me, coming inside me like a fire hydrant blasting on a hot summer day.
I looked into his eyes, returning his gaze. “I love you too, Lucien Stone,” I said. “I’ve loved you for some time now and it took you long enough to say it.”
Lucien chuckled. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me first,” he said with an amused gaze in his eye. “That’s what most women do anyways.”
But I wasn’t 'most women.' At least not to him. I mean, I’ve been through my share of men. I’m not a virginal princess. I’ve been dirty. But that was always scratching an itch. With Lucien it feels more real. Like I was meant to do the nastiest, most indulgent, pleasurable things with him. And there was nothing wrong with it because right after having done unspeakable things, I can cuddle up with him and imagine a life outside of the concrete walls that surround us.
Six.
That’s how many times my friends have tried to set me up with different men from various dating websites in the last forty-five days.
“You’re not getting any younger and if you keep to yourself, you’re going to end up all alone,” a few of them say from time to time.
“I want some grandchildren,” my mother tells me over the phone one day. “Do you think that’s going to happen anytime soon?”
“Besides, if he’s serving a life sentence, how is he ever going to be able to be there for you?” my friend asks over coffee one weekend. “I mean, sure you see him every day, but an hour a day isn’t a relationship, Kerri. It’s more like sex buddies.”
Deep in my heart, I know that what they say is absolutely true. I am in love with a man who has been placed in jail by society for breaking with its social contract. With a man who will never be getting out from that jail. Who is caged up like a beast, his freedoms denied.
What is it exactly that I see in this relationship? Am I going to move in with him? I can’t. Unless it’s in his cell. Are we going to have a wedding? It would have to be in the jail. And then what about my life? Am I really that selfless to be able to give up waking up next to a man, to give up sharing how my day went with a man, and to constantly wonder if he’s safe? Am I content being along for the rest of my life for the sake of love?