It was a long walk from the doors of the prison to the bus stop. It was cold, not like the spring when he entered lockup. Putting on his track suit and running shoes, he realized how much weight he had lost, and how they were certainly not made for this weather. He had a funky, prison issued, hair cut and pasty white skin from way too much time indoors.

He had enough money for a bus ticket to get to the city where his new life was planned out for the next two years.

His father had said, “You were not thinking clearly,” when his desperation took him to selling drugs. What his father, and no one else knew, was his thinking had been quite clear.

While he was serving three years of a five year sentence, his money had been working hard for him.

He was going to leave the money in the off-shore account until he was off parole. He knew just how to play the system, and was ready to do whatever was necessary to keep everyone happy.

Keeping everyone happy had become second nature to him in prison where he was known not as Joseph, but as Joanne. After the shock of his “initiation”, he realized he actually liked how it felt to have guys fighting over him and he loved the way it felt having sex. Joe still liked women, at least he still believed he did, but three years of daily fucking can make a guy forget. Top or bottom he was good, although Joanne was usually a bottom; but not anymore. 

Today, he was moving in with his Grandpa who was the only person who had ever really shown him any love as he was growing up.  His grandfather was also a perfect cover. Why would anyone suspect anything? The guy was cool; he enjoyed his books, games of chess and conversation.

Of course, Joe really needed to have great sex, well, everyday, if possible.

He met a girl in the laundry room, “She seems nice,” he thought, “and that’s was a lucky break. I might actually have a friend in the building.”  In any case it was just a matter of time before he hit the clubs. He never drank or used drugs; and that is one of the reasons he was let go after three years.  But, while he was on parole, he just had to be sure not to accidentally run into old clientele or suppliers; he didn’t want to be the man giving names; even though it would mean a shorter parole. He was not that person. He would never use another to further his personal gain. He had his principals.

Still his mind kept running, “I’m so damn horny.”

Mondays he could drive the girl to work on the way to his parole office. That would be a nice thing to do. He figured it would be just about lunch time when he was done, maybe they would meet at the café. Then he wanted to find a barber and buy some new clothes, nice clothes, tight fitting jeans, good everyday shoes, that sort of thing. He picked up his running shoes and shorts the first day knowing without sex he better have an outlet. So far, so good. By the time he finished shopping he could drive her home, for at least this week since she had hurt her foot in the door.

His grandpa really wanted a companion; he was a nice guy, and always the kindest in the family. Joe took him for walks in the park and in good weather they would play chess on the outdoor game tables with the other old guys. He liked when Joseph read him the paper, was easy to cook for, and went to sleep early leaving the nighttime hours open for Joseph.

 Everything was almost perfect, except the craving Joe had for sex; not just any sex, hard sex, driving passion—like he had behind bars. He started reading the personals in gay magazines, went to some dance clubs, but nothing happened. He started exploring other neighborhoods and porno shops.  He was getting desperate. Then he ran into Martin, a prison “friend”.

Martin was staying in a transient hotel and invited Joseph up for a drink. Joe said, “Lemme stop in the market here and get some water, can I get you anything?”  Joe grabbed some lubricant, some condoms, a few bottles of water and some kind of canned mixed drink for Martin.

As they were headed to the hotel, Martin asked, “How do you score your cash? And, can you get me a gig too, so I can get out of the flea trap hotel?”

Joe was hesitant to answer too quickly, not knowing what Martin was doing, like drugs, boosting, selling, and back to the old way of life.

Instead of answering him, Joe began to question him, “When did you get out?  What day do you go to the PO? And, have you seen anyone else from the block?”

“I just got out two days ago, and I haven’t had time to do anything but ask my sister for enough money for two weeks rent.  She coughed it up, and then she told me to scram. I have a parole meeting on Wednesday and hope my PO can get me into some kind of halfway house.”

The trouble with places like those houses is that you have to have income: the trouble with being an ex-con is there is nobody willing to hire you unless you have family, or someone to vouch for you.

“I’m taking care of my Grandpa, and staying in his small apartment,” Joseph explained.  “He needs someone there to help out.”

Martin looked at Joseph like he was the luckiest man in the world.

They arrived at the hotel and went through a hallway that smelled of booze, cigarettes and neglect. Martin’s room was really small with one window that opened to a dark noisy alley.

Joseph was ready to get down to business and asked, “Hey, is there a shower and is it private enough for two?”

 Martin laughed, and said “You gotta be nuts Joe, ain’t nothing private here.”

Joe dumped the contents of his bag on the small table and said “How about here and now?”

Martin just stared at him. “Joe, you crazy? No way I’m doin’ a pretty boy when there are females out there”

“How about now?” demanded Joe, throwing a twenty on the bed.

That changed the picture and Martin earned his twenty—and then some.

“That hit the spot,” sighed Joe, “I’ve been looking for some guy to fuck me.”

“Joe, you ain’t gay, and everybody knows it. What’s up?”

Joe sat on the edge of the bed and told Martin how he learned to really like the way it hurt to have sex and could not imagine anything that would change that or give him such a rush.

Martin thought for a moment, and finally stated, “I’m sorry man, but I’m gonna be looking for a chick to take care of all my needs, not just sex.   You don’t really look the part of a S&M guy…maybe you should get some leather or hit the biker bars; they would hurt you real good. 

Joe said nothing.

“Joe, you sure you wanna go down that road, it can get crazy—fast. It ain’t like the joint where there were guards every fifteen minutes; you could get killed doing that kind of stuff.”

 Joe finally said, “OK I’ll make a compromise with you, I’ll give you a twenty every night if you will do me.”

Martin knew a good situation when he saw it and bargained for more money, up front, every week. Joe agreed to it, set a date for tomorrow night, same time, same place and he would have some cash for him.

Martin agreed and said, “That’s not gonna work when I get a girl and a job.  I don’t think fucking a former cell mate will qualify me for the half-way house.”

Joe agreed, “It’s a temporary fix for both of us.  You’ll probably be able to clean up and get a real job through the system.

Now, at least for the time being, Joseph had handled his entire list of what to do first when he got free.

Tonight he would go to a leather bar, well that or maybe go shopping and think about what Martin had said about the danger.  “Somehow that turns me on even more!”

The magazines were all kind of California queer. That didn’t work. He tried looking at western wear, but he had never been on a horse, so that felt like Halloween. He got an idea and went into a costume shop and looked at a biker costume. Now at least he had some idea of what to shop for. Only problem, he had never owned a motorcycle. He didn’t want to be a poser, he needed to be authentic.

“How can I be authentic when I don’t know who I am? I’m used to being invisible,” though clearly not invisible enough. He had been caught by an undercover sting that had him on their radar for months. Before he was a dealer he was a college dropout, an office temp, and a huge disappointment to his family.

Joseph really only knew how to make money as a dealer and in that occupation he wore black. Black jeans, black shirt, black cap, black running shoes, and black bicycle. He didn’t want to go that route either. He decided to look like James Dean, not the 50’s hair, but the pretty machismo.

“How far has this all taken me so far?  Well, not too far, but I’m still above ground.”

The deal for sex with Martin was going to get old fast. Joseph was beginning to want something new. He also was looking at women again and remembering how soft skin and sweet kisses felt.

“Maybe I’ll change my style and look for a more traditional relationship.  I’ll go shopping again soon.”

The next time he was doing laundry, he saw the new manager, it was a chick.  She was kind of sad looking and she quickly closed her door when she locked eyes with Joe. He guessed she was shy, crazy or both. No worries, sliding the rent envelope under the door was hopefully all he would need to do. He hadn’t seen the other girl since that first time; he was kind of surprised to see how easy it was to switch from men to females, sex was the common thread and he was ready. 

“Aren’t I always?”  He chuckled to himself.

The money he had allotted himself for his monthly allowance was slipping through his fingers pretty quickly. The clothes he bought were all wrong, too bad he took off the tags or he could return them. He just needed a pair of Levi’s and a couple of decent shirts, nice slacks maybe a sport jacket, well some kind of jacket. Just so he could meet the right kind of woman. Why would a nice girl date an ex-con he thought moodily, might as well skip the slacks and sport jacket, just get some everyday clothes for an everyday kind of girl.

He kept his desire to meet women from the old man. He didn’t want to get the guy thinking he would quit him for a chick. No need to worry Gramps. He would just do what normal people do; go to lunch counters at noon when the secretaries were out in droves.  He would have to get to be a regular someplace so he would become the familiar stranger, he liked that idea. Joe gave the old guy lunch at 11:30, by 12:30 he was dozing in his chair.

“This plan just might work out.”

Not too far from the other side of the park was a financial district. Lot’s of young women in and out of lunch counters. He sat at the counter and ordered a hamburger and strawberry shake from someone who looked like she had been taking orders there for 40 years.  He gazed around to see who was eating, nodded hello to a group of giggling office types—that was a start.  He asked for a newspaper and was directed to the end of the counter.

“Cool, he thought, I’ll just show those girls what a nice a body looks like.  Maybe even some guys… no, I doubt there’ll be my type of man here.  These guys are all bottoms, like me, if they’re working in an office.”

He got a good idea if this didn’t work, he could cruise construction sites, might find some ex-cons there.

On his way back through the park he noticed a crumpled form that looked female lying on a piece of cardboard kind of hidden by a bush, maybe he’d bring her something warmer for tomorrow, probably a junkie from the looks of her.

End of Chapter 3