Registered Sex Offender Part 6: A Boy Is Born

"Where in the supreme hell have you been?" Steve asked when he entered the dorm.
"Right here," Chip answered dreamily without taking his eyes from the spot he was examining on the ceiling.
"All day?"
"Uh-huh. All except the four hours or so I was with Ed. He gave me a pass to come back here, 'cause I wasn't feeling so hot."
"I can believe it! You don't look so hot, either. You wanna go to sick call?"
"Nah, I'll be okay. I just need a little time to myself."

"It was Ed, wasn't it?" Steve asked in a knowing tone.
"Yeah, sorta. We talked about some pretty sensitive stuff."
"Uh-huh. He has a way of doing that. You okay now?"
"No, Stevie, I'm not okay!" Chip stated as he finally raised his head. "I'm not okay at all! I'm one fucked-up son of a bitch, that's what! And if you had any brains at all, you'd get as far away from me as you could! I'm nothin' but trouble!"

Stevie laughed heartily. "In case you haven't noticed, you're surrounded by fucked-up dudes. Hasn't anybody told you? Everyone in here's in trouble, or he wouldn't be here! Fuck, Chip! I don't even have hair on my balls yet, and I'm a fuckin' murderer! And You're gonna get me in trouble? Shit, at least your victims enjoyed what you did to them."

"You don't understand, Stevie."
"You're right, I don't. There's a whole helluva lot I don't understand. You're the first white person I've ever known, and you're also the first person I've ever loved. I don't understand that!

"I grew up thinking I couldn't trust white folks, that all honkies were out to fuck us blacks any way they could. And now the first person I've ever trusted, totally, is white! I don't understand that. I'm not outta my last scrape yet, and already I'm planning on living with a white woman that I've only met once, even planning on knocking her up. And I certainly don't understand that! You're fuckin' right I don't understand! But I do understand this: Ya can't let it get ya down, Chip, cause it'll destroy you if you let it. What happened, happened. What's done is done, and you can't change it. You think I'm glad I put a bullet in my own father? He was a maggot, but no one deserves to die with a bullet in him. No one! But I can't help it now, Chip, so the only thing I can do is the best I can. And you gotta do the same."

"I know, Stevie," Chip said as tears threatened again. "Ed told me the same thing. But I was so... so stupid! And I know just as sure as I'm here talking to you, if I had the chance to do it again, even knowing the consequences, I wouldn't be able to help myself. I hate that I hurt all those people, but I'd do it again, Stevie! I'd do the whole thing all over again; from the diapers to the silk panties to the fucking and sucking, I'd do the whole thing again! I'm nothing but a goddam fucking machine, Stevie!"

"Yeah, I know," Stevie said with a grin. "That's one of the things I love about ya." Stevie's little attempt to lighten the situation worked like a charm. Chip was pretty depressed, feeling pretty hopeless; but he was still an adolescent, with all the volatility that comes with it. "You horny spook!" he shouted as got off his cot and poked his friend playfully in the groin. "Don't you think about anything but making out?"
"That pretty well sums it up," he answered as he returned the punch. "That and shooting baskets, that is. Now are you comin' or not?"

"You ever think about dying?" Chip asked dreamily about two weeks later. He and Stevie had just finished making passionate love, and Stevie was thinking it was time to return to his own cot. But lying with Chip was so special, so good, especially on these hot summer nights, when they could lie quite comfortably naked, with no bed clothes covering them. Their frequent lovemaking was a constant source of entertainment for the entire dorm now, but neither cared. They never even thought about their initial reason for these encounters; and even if they did, to claim convenience as their only reason would yield them nothing but cat calls and horse laughs. They were unquestionably, hoplessly, deliciously in love, and everyone in the camp knew and accepted it. Did that mean they had become homosexuals? No one knew, no one cared. For the moment it was wonderful, and even the staff encouraged the boys to live only for the moment.

"What kinda question is that?" Stevie whispered back.
"I dunno. Sometimes I just think that dying... maybe bleeding to death real slow, without much pain, would be a nice way to go, when the time comes."
"You thinking of suicide?"
"Yeah, I guess I am. Not right now, but some time in the future. I can't see myself living to get old. And I can't see myself in here ten years either. Right now I'm kinda okay with the world, but when it comes time to get out, I'm not sure if I want to face all the mess of starting over."

"You're crazy, ya know that? You won't be starting over. You'll have Janet, and me, and at least one little one. That's hardly starting over."
"You know what I mean," Chip said as he propped himself up on one elbow. "But you can't tell me you've never thought about it, can you?"
"Yeah, I've thought about it. But I wouldn't want to lie there knowing I was dyin'. I'd rather... I dunno, maybe a drug OD or something. You know, go out without even knowing you're going."

"That's gross! I'd never take drugs!"
"Not even to kill yourself? Don't you even wonder what it's like?"
"Nope. I've seen all I need to see in here. I don't need that shit."

"Chip?" Stevie said after a long silent pause.
"Yeah, Spook?"
"You really think you might do it?"
"Yeah, I really do, some day."
"Ever mention it to Ed?"
"Nah. It'd sound too crazy."
"Yeah, well, take my advice. Don't mention it to him, or any other staff."
"Why not?"
"Cause you'll get yourself in solitary, that's why not! They get real sensitive about things like suicide."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. But I'm not planning anything definite."
"Yeah, I know. But you talk like that, and they classify you as suicidal, and they watch you like a hawk, maybe even put you in isolation!"

"I'm sorry to call you out of school like this," Ed said as he and Chip walked to his office, "but... well, I thought it was important."
"Is anything wrong?" Chip asked nervously. In fact he had been seen the night before by a guard, in a very embarrassing situation with Stevie. What they were doing was a definite no-no; and although the staff usually looked the other way, you could never be sure and it was never a good idea to be blatant about it.

"Not exactly," Ed answered just as nervously. Once inside his office, he dialed his phone shakily as Chip lit a cigarette. "You know I'm breaking about sixteen rules to do this," Ed said, "but... oh well, what the hell! Here! It's your sister."
"Hello?" Chip said tentatively into the mouthpiece.
"Chip?" came the sleepy voice of Janet, "Is that you, Chip?"
"Yeah, it's me, Jan. What's wrong?"
"Absolutely nothing, Daddy! We've got a son, Chip! A beautiful seven pound eight ounce baby boy, and he looks just like you!"

"But... I thought..."
"Yeah, I know, he wasn't due for another week or so. But he's just like his daddy, he does things on his own time. He's perfect, Chip! He's healthy and active, and he has all his fingers and toes... he's gorgeous, just like his daddy!"

"J-jan," Chip stuttered, "I-I gotta go. I'm not supposed to be on the phone at all."
"I know, Chip. But Ed said it'd be all right to tell ya. Are you happy, Chip?"
"Course I am, Jan! But I'd be a lot happier if I could see you and the baby."
"I know, Chip. But we'll be together soon. Hang in there, cause you got a son to worry about now."
"Bye, Jan. I love you..."

No sooner had Chip hung up the phone than he began to cry. "Jesus, Ed," he wailed, “I didn't even ask her the baby's name! I'm just not ready for this!"
"Some things come whether you're ready or not, Chip. Don't worry about the name. I'll find out and let you know, or you can ask her yourself Saturday on your phone call."
"What phone call?"
"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Starting tomorrow, you have phone privileges. Two calls a week, up to half an hour each, on Saturday mornings. I told you, keep your nose clean and you'll start getting privileges."
"I can call anyone I like?"
"Yes, but be careful, cause they're monitored. Now you better get back to class."

Needless to say, Chip wasn't very attentive the rest of the day. He had developed for himself something of a reputation among teachers and students alike. He was eager and bright, always knew the lessons well, and cared not who knew it or what they thought. This was hardly the normal way for students to behave in this particular school, nor was it usually appreciated by fellow students; but Chip managed to get away with it, even inspiring some of the other students to participate and try a little harder.

"Chip," the teacher said impatiently after he'd given the third wrong answer, "what's wrong with you today?"
"I'm sorry, sir," Chip said dreamily, "I just can't seem to concentrate today."
"Is anything wrong?"
"No, sir. But... my sister just had a baby boy. He's well and healthy, and she says he looks like me."
"Well, that's wonderful, Chip, but I don't see..."
"It's our baby, sir! Hers and mine! I'm the father!"

That he had impregnated his sister was a little piece of Chip's history that he had chosen not to share with all but selected members of the population. Those on the staff who had a need to know had been told, but no one else. The reaction to Chip's news was to say the least mixed; but Chip was far too stunned to notice. He was so relieved, so thankful that the baby was all right, was not the monster that some had predicted, he could hear only Janet's voice over and over in his mind as she told him the baby was well and healthy, and beautiful. And he was already planning a brother or sister for what's-his-name; no, two: one black and one white. He was invincible, the great white stud! His manhood had been proven beyond question, and he had overcome even the danger of interbreeding! He would show them all!

A week after the baby was born, Chip got another surprise. He was sitting in the dining hall with Stevie as usual, just finishing his supper, when the pain struck. He gasped as he felt what could easily have been a knife entering his groin, except there was no knife. He grasped his side and stood up, then sat down again heavily when his legs refused to hold him. "Jesus, Stevie," he gasped, "I..." Then he fell sideways on the boy next to him.

When there is a ruckus in a correctional facility at meal time, it usually means some sort of disturbance is breaking out. When the inmates are teenage boys, it is immediately assumed that there is a fight, someone has been attacked, or simply engaging in horseplay. All of the above are against the rules and, of course, not tolerated. So when Chip fell over in a dead faint, all the boys close to him, with the singular exception of Stevie, got the hell out of the way. Dishes clattered and fell to the floor as they made their retreat, and in seconds there were only two forms at the table: Chip slumped over sideways, and Stevie, his white eyes filled with terror as they grew wider and wider, contrasting with his black skin.

"What'd you do to him?" one guard demanded as two more grabbed the frightened boy, one with a choke hold, the other frisking him roughly for the weapon they were sure he had.
"N-nothin!" Stevie wailed helplessly, "He... he just keeled over!"
"Yeah, ya little black bastard, just like your old man just keeled over. With your help. Now what'd you do?"
"Nothin', suh! Honest!" Stevie was unaware of it, but his speech had reverted back several generations to the broken English of a black slave, about to be whipped (whooped?) by his master. "Ah din't do nuthin'!" he kept wailing.

In less time than it takes to tell, two more guards had Chip lying flat on the floor and had slipped a knife the length of his body, removing all his clothes in one swipe. As he lay on the floor naked and moaning, they inspected him for knife wounds. "Maybe he's sick," one suggested.
"Yeah," the other answered, "Sick o' livin'. My guess is, he's fakin,' and that nigger's in on it."

Chip was coming to, still moaning loudly and clutching his side. "I-I'm all right," he grunted as he felt four rough hands still probing every part of his body. "I just had a cramp."

He tried to get up, but at that moment a guard's hand pushed hard on the site of the pain and Chip went down again, screaming in pain. "Christ," the guard exclaimed, "I think he's got appendicitis!"
"Really?" the other questioned, "How d'ya know?"
"He can't fake a scream like that. He's hurtin' bad! And the location is right, It's right here, see?" Another rough poke, and Chip screamed again.
"Yeah, the other said, "we better get him over to sick bay."

It's probably just as well for Chip that he was hauled off to sick bay, because right now he would win no popularity contest among his colleagues. Still not sure there wasn't some sort of conspiracy going on, the nervous guards herded the entire contents of the dining hall back to their dorms where they were unceremoniously strip searched, then locked down for the night. Stevie, still a prime suspect for whatever was going down, was locked in solitary for the night. There were no suppers, no desserts, no movies, no exercise, no nothing! There had been rumors of restlessness, and the powers that be were determined that there would be no incidents at this prison.

"Goddam!" the male nurse said as he examined Chip, "this kid's really sick! We gotta get him to a hospital right away!" He instructed a guard to summon an ambulance, while he got on the phone to make arrangements for what appeared to be emergency surgery. "From what I've been told," he said into the phone, "it happened real sudden, so it may be ruptured." There was a pause, then Chip heard the nurse say that he'd try Wake.

"Hospitals are all tied up," he said when the guard came back, "We gotta take him to CP."
"Christ!" the guard groaned. "They hate that. Turns the whole place upside down when we take surgery there!"
"Can't be helped," the nurse said neutrally. "He’s still classified as max security and none of the local hospitals will take him. Besides, he'll probably be there some day anyway, so he might as well get used to it."

"What's CP?" Chip grunted weakly.
"Central Prison,' the nurse answered. "Max security for adult offenders. That’s the only hospital in the prison system. You're in the big time now, kid!"

Two hours later, Chip was lying on a gurney in the hospital inside Central prison. He had been given something for the pain and was feeling much better; but coming into a maximum security adult prison , naked, on a stretcher had raised his anxiety level more than his sickness had done. He'd been covered with a blanket of course, but he still felt very, very naked and vulnerable. He had thought the atmosphere in the youth center to be alien; but after all the clangs and bangs in here as steel doors opened and closed, Chip started thinking of his old stamping grounds of the youth prison as home, and one that he missed already.

"I really don't care what you think," Chip heard someone saying. "The law says no one can be housed with a chicken, and that's all there is to it! All five in 'C' wing will have to go! If they're too sick to go back to their cells, then they'll have to stay on a stretcher in another room. But they all gotta be outta there before he comes outta surgery!"

"Okay, little buddy," a man dressed in blue said cheerfully, "time to get you ready to get cut."
"Cut?" Chip questioned groggily.
"Yep. You're gonna say good-bye to your appendix."

"They're talking about me in there, aren't they?" Chip mumbled as the man fussed with something on a table.
"Uh-huh," he answered as he came alongside Chip's stretcher.
"What's the big problem?" Chip asked.
"We gotta clear out a whole wing, so you'll have a place to stay for the next few days."
"Clear 'em out? Why?"
"It's the law. I guess they're afraid a sweet lookin' thing like you'll be too much temptation for old inmates like me. They're afraid we might do something like this!"

Chip felt the hand move under the blanket covering him, then fondle his genitals. His first reaction was to move away, which is when he realized he was strapped down, with straps around his wrists and ankles, and another around his chest. He was helpless, to say nothing of the pain he felt every time he tried to move. As the man continued his game, Chip realized that he really was gentle, and he certainly wasn't doing any harm. "Like that, do you?" the man grinned.
"Not exactly," Chip answered, more of a posturing remark than anything. "But help yourself. I'm certainly in no position to stop you."

The man laughed. "I won't hurt ya," he said, "You're far too pretty for that. But I do have to shave ya."
"Shave me?"
"You got it. All that lovely crop o' hair on them pretty little balls has gotta come off."
"Why?"
"Well, I could say because I get my jollies from doing it, and that'd be true. But mainly it's because that's the way it's done. Doctor's orders."

"By the way, my name's Dennis," the man said as he whisked the blanket off and started sloshing shaving cream around Chip's crotch.
"Hi," Chip answered. "My name's Chip. I'd shake hands, but I seem to be a bit tied up at the moment."
"No problem," Dennis chuckled. "I'll just shake this instead." Without apology or hesitation, Dennis grasped Chip's limp penis and shook it gently, then pulled it a bit, then shook it again and released it.

"You really an inmate?" Chip asked, ignoring Dennis' efforts.
"Yessir. Been in for twelve years."
"Wow! What for?"
"That's not exactly a question you should be askin', Chip. But I don't mind. I'm in for life, for murder."
"Really? Who'd you kill?"
"Storekeeper. I was robbing him when he pulled a gun. It was him or me." Chip flinched as Dennis began to shave. "What about you?" Dennis asked.

"Rape," Chip answered slyly.
"Really? You mean that thing works?"
"I think so. It's made four babies already."

Dennis said that he was suitably impressed, and promised that he would treat Chip, and his pecker, especially his pecker, with a little more respect from now on. "That mean you're gay?" Chip couldn't help asking.
"Naw. But beggars can't be choosers."
"I am," Chip said before he realized he was going to.
"Don't sound to me like you're very gay, if you've already got four girls knocked up."
"I guess I meant to say I'm bi," Chip corrected.

"Could it be you don't have any idea what you are?" Dennis observed. Chip was watching with utter fascination now as the shaving progressed.
"I probably don't know all the facts," he answered. "At least that’s what my shrink says. But I do know I sure love... well... getting off."

"Well," Dennis said as he wiped the area down with alcohol, making sure certain parts were well rubbed, "we'll have to see if we can keep you happy while you're here."

Chip wasn't particularly attracted to Dennis; in fact he didn't find him attractive at all. But he knew he'd been coming on to him, probably because Dennis had come on to him. Chip had no desire, no intention to have sex with the man, but being desired and wanted was a terrific feeling! He wondered how he'd react if Dennis kept his promise; but he didn't have very long to think about it, because he was being wheeled into the OR.

"Get a gown on him, fer Christ sake!" the doctor growled. "He's an inmate, Goddammit, a human inmate, not an animal! Let's show him a little dignity!" Chip's opinion seemed to be neither needed nor welcome. He felt the prick of a needle in his rump, then the straps being released as a gown was draped over him and his arms being threaded through the sleeves. He wanted to say something: hello, good-bye, kiss my ass, something! But it wasn't long before he was far too drunk.

"You're gonna be fine, son," the doctor said kindly. "We just gotta stick a needle in your hand, then you'll feel like you're floating around the ceiling somewhere, then it'll be over."
"I'm... Already... f-floating..." Chip answered with a great deal of effort. "I'm... I'm... dru... I'm... Jeeezzz! I feel... uh... I... feel... uh... good!"

The last thing Chip remembered was the doctor laughing heartily. To him it sounded a little like Dr. Frankenstein laughing gleefully as he started to carve up a body, HIS body! But he didn't care. The doc could cut his dick off right now if he wanted, and Chip wouldn't mind at all. But before he had time to think about getting his dick cut off, he felt a wave of numbness moving up his arm, then enshrouding him.

"Where's Stockdale?" everyone was asking the next morning. Stevie wasn't asking, because he didn't even know Chip was missing. Stevie was still in solitary, still trying to convince whoever would listen, namely no one, that he was innocent of whatever sin he'd been accused of. Finally, in mid afternoon, someone did a count and discovered two missing. After a bit of a tizzy, someone remembered the black kid in solitary.

Solitary in the youth prison was not the black hole that it is in most adult prisons, but it was no less dreaded and hated by its occupants. The kids were kept in individual cells with cinder blocks between, bars in the front, and a small window in each one. They were sent here for disciplinary reasons, as well as to protect them or others. In some ways, the occupants were better off here. They had a private room, their own toilet and sink, and had their meals brought to them. But when you're a teenager, isolation is a punishment no matter what your circumstances. Stevie had spent three days here for fighting when he first arrived, and had vowed never to return. Only thing was, he hadn't the slightest idea why he was here this time. He also hadn't the slightest idea where Chip was, what had happened to him, or if he was alive or dead.

"Okay, Jordan," a guard said as he unlocked the cage door. "Looks like you're innocent this time."
"Yes, sir!" Stevie said sarcastically.
"Or at least you got away with whatever you did."
"Fuck you! Sir!"

"Keep that up and I won't tell ya what happened to your little sweetheart."
"I'm sorry, sir," Stevie said pleadingly. "Really I am. Is Chip all right?"
"I don't really know."
"But... Where is he?"
"Took him to CP last night. By ambulance. By now he's probably cuddled up to a real man, not some little black faggot like you."

Stevie wanted to deck the son-of-a-bitch, or at least call him a name or two; but he had Chip to think about, and he still didn't have any information. It was time for suckholing, not ruffling feathers. He swallowed hard and said, feeling dirty before the words were even out, "I may be more of a man than you think. You never know till you try."
"Don't care either," the guard laughed. Okay, so it didn't work! It was still worth the try.

Suppertime that night was a solemn affair. The policy was, once the place was locked down it stayed that way for twenty-four hours. So everyone was hungry, surly, and unsociable, having been locked in their dorms all day without even knowing why. The warden had announced on the PA that he was sorry, but the disturbance in the dining hall had at first appeared to be a fight or worse. But to make up for it, he said, they would all get extra portions of dessert if they wanted it. Big fucking deal! They could have two servings of plastic ice cream instead of one! Wonderful!

Before he was through with his little speech, the warden did manage to get the attention of all concerned. "By the way," he said as if it were an afterthought, "for anyone who's interested, Stockdale had an attack of appendicitis last night. He was taken to the hospital at Central Prison where he had surgery. He'll probably be there at least a week. But he will be back, unless of course he decides he likes it better over there. We aim to please, ladies."

When Chip awoke, it was three a.m, though time still meant nothing to him. He was sore as hell, he had a pounding headache, and he couldn't get his eyes to focus. What he could do, though, was feel Dennis' gentle hands as they wandered through his hair, wiped his mouth and chin with a wash cloth, and felt his pulse and took his blood pressure. Killer or not, Chip thought he had the touch of an angel.

"Is... Is it over?" he asked through a mouth that tasted as if it were full of shit.
"It's over," Dennis said quietly. "I think you're gonna live, sweet cheeks. But it was a close one."
"It was?"
"Sure was. Little did I realize, but while I was playing with your dick, you were dying, little buddy!"
"D-dying?"
"Yep. Your appendix had ruptured. What a fucking mess!"
"You were there?"
"Uh-huh. I haven't left you since you got here. But unfortunately we've never been alone long enough for me to do my thing... or your thing!"

"You wouldn't!" Chip giggled. "Not while I was out... would you?"
"I guess we'll never know," Dennis said with a sigh. "But that's all right. In a place like this, it's not very often we get to look at a sleeping chicken... especially one as pretty as you."
"Fuck off, Dennis! I'm not pretty."
"You're right. You're gorgeous!"

“Why didn’t they just let me die?” Chip said almost rhetorically as Dennis busied himself putting away instruments, tidying up the ward.
“What’d you say?” Dennis asked with alarm.

“Nothin’, I guess I was just thinking out loud.”
“You said you wanted to die! Ain’t that what you said?”
“Well, yeah, somethin’ like that. Why the hell not? What good am I?”
“According to your chart, you aren’t quite 15 yet,” Dennis said as he sat down by Chip’s bed and took his hand. “That alone is enough to live for. It also says you got no family, at least none that cares about you. Well, I know that can be depressing, but at the same time it means that you got no one to answer to. You can be anything you want to be. Assuming you serve your full sentence, which is doubtful, you’ll be 24 max when you’re free. Shit man, you got a whole lifetime to look forward to!”

“You don’t understand,” Chip said weakly.
“I understand a whole hell of a lot more than you think I do,” Dennis said. “But you need to get a grip, my pretty little friend. It don’t matter who you are or where you are, you can be happy or you can be unhappy. You can fuck up your life or you can make something of it. It’s all up to you.”
“You sure don’t have a lot to be happy about,” Chip observed.
“The hell I don’t,” Dennis argued. “That’s my point, my little friend. “I’m in her for the rest of my life. I have no hope of ever getting out, no matter what I do. Now, I could sit in my cell and feel sorry for myself, but I’d still be here for life. So why not make the best of it? Why not look at the good points? There are good points, you know.”
“Yeah, right! Good points about being in a max security prison, no freedom, bein’ told when to eat, what to eat, when to sleep, when to shit; sounds like a lot of fun to me.”

“I also don’t have bills to pay, hassles of where to eat or sleep. I don’t have all those pressures that got me in here in the first place. You think you don’t have any freedom inside, Chip, but you’re wrong! You got freedom to choose whether to be happy or not. You got freedom to decide if you’re gonna make the best of your time in here or just waste it. And you always got freedom to make somebody else happy. God knows we all need all the happiness we can get, in or out of prison.”
“That why you’re here in the hospital?” Chip asked.
“Now you got it,” Dennis replied. “On the outside I would never get to do the things I do in here without a lot of training. I’m proud of my job, and I do it the best I know how; and hopefully in the process I make some people feel better. I could sit in my cell all day and no one would bother me, but I’d only be hurting myself. The time goes faster in here, and maybe, just maybe, when I get to that big Court in the Sky, I’ll get a little credit for what I’ve done here to apply against the awful thing I did to that storekeeper. I’m in no hurry to die, my young friend. I got a lot to make up for; more than I can ever make up for really, but I’m gonna try. So I don’t wanna hear any more talk about dying. Believe me if I’d had a ten year sentence when I was your age, I wouldn’t be doing life for murder now. This is your chance to make a new start, Chip! And if your family wants nothing to do with you, it’s THEIR loss, not yours!”

To be continued...