30 July 06

New Arrivals

July saw the return of Long Island who has been housed with Ogre. I am unable to blog his adventures outside of prison until he has resolved certain legal issues.

Today I received a new celly, Smoker, a mild-mannered 49-year old with two years left on a 20 year sentence for fraudulent schemes and artifices.

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

28 July 06

Relentless George

“What do you think about the comment following the Pitch-Black Orgy blog a while back, saying ‘good old George,’ and noting your perseverance?” I asked George.
“That was very nice. It’s the only positive comment I’ve had.”
“What do you expect with your sinister and perverse ways?”
“Oh, I’m Mr. Sinister now, am I? Puh-leeze!”
“If you’re not sinister, what are you then?”
“Practical.”
“And you’re wrong about getting only one positive comment. The glory hole blog had some lengthy comments on your side, suggesting I be more open-minded.”
“Well, that’s true, somebody has to be more open-minded, you close-minded British bigot, you!”
“Why am I a bigot?”
“’Cause you’re a sanctimonious hypocrite.”
“Because I don’t sleep with men?”
“You don’t need to sleep with men, just frolicking around a little bit would work fine.”
“Sexually speaking, males don’t do anything for me. I like curvy bodies."
“Look right here buddy!” George ripped his top off, and cupped his left breast with his hand. “You want curvaceous, I can give you curvaceous. Have a closer look, feel them. Come on! Be willing to try new things. Stop sticking your nose up in the air like a bald-headed British snob.”
“Put your saggy waps away, George. You’re putting me off lunch.”
“What are you talking about! I’ve got at least B-cups. Mine are bigger than Xena’s and you’re fuckin’ in love with her.”
“We’re platonic friends. That’s all.”
“Yeah. That’s your story.”
“What’s wrong with you? Are you in heat or something? Haven’t you been laid lately?”
“No.”
“Perhaps if you had a regular partner, you wouldn’t be so sensual.”
“Sensual! There you go misdescribing me again.”
“You need to get your pent-up sexual energy out.”
“You need to have a fit of bisexual rage, and instead of sticking your nose up in the air, you should stick your butt up in the air for Frankie and me.”
“You’re out of your mind. I’m not into men, or shemales, like that.”
“You’re into male midgets though aren’t you?”
“You can’t say that just because I’m a Bridget the Midget fan.”
George was getting too worked up, so I said, “Bugger off and leave me alone!”
“I’m leaving anyway. You’re abusing my good-heartedness.”

Am I being too mean to George? Does he deserve positive comments?

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

26 July 06

What Royo Girl and Some Sexy Others Wrote

Click here for the previous Royo Girl post.

Excerpts, with Royo Girl’s permission, from a letter she wrote after our first visit:

I can’t describe in words how great it was to see you and spend time with you. As nerve-wracking as it all was in the beginning, it was worth any trouble. I could never have imagined how much I would miss you until I had to leave you behind there. I was overwhelmed with unexpected emotions upon my departure. I was incredibly happy and there was gleeful anticipation of seeing you again and determination to make it happen. I even sat there thinking that I need to go shopping to find the perfect top for the next visit. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and wishing you were out and hanging out with me. I have missed you intensely since the visit.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I am still in the process of analysing and sorting my thoughts and emotions on the matter. I apologize if this letter and its contents are somewhat incoherent and muddled up. I hope you understand the loop you have put me in.

Regardless of a bit of awkwardness due to the irregular circumstances, I still felt the sexual chemistry.
It seems appropriate to remind myself and you that although we could have some wicked times together and that there is definitely something there between us, it is something that shouldn’t happen. I could easily list why you are so wrong for me, but maybe that is counterproductive. At the same time, I feel like you have lit a spark inside me and I’m even happier than I was before.
I will undoubtedly be thinking of you and wanting you so much more than I should. Missing you loads! Hope you miss me too.

Excerpts from Royo Girl’s second letter following the visit:

…and then suddenly I saw you. My heart began to beat faster and I could feel my stupid cold sweaty palms. I tried to wipe them off to no avail. It made no difference.
I watched you walk in my direction and noted you weren’t actually looking at me while you walked. I was thankful for this, as it would have made my already high level of anxiety higher. Then you came over and gave me a hug and kiss. I was incredibly nervous the first fifteen minutes we were sat together at the table. I was acutely aware of what was going on, but my mind was strangely blank. There were no extra thoughts other than I needed to calm down.

We moved to a table away from the guards and began our long conversation. It was odd how normal it felt to sit and chat with you. I felt like we weren’t in prison at all. It was almost as if we were having coffee in some small café catching up on old times. I can remember thinking that you had not really changed at all and I loved it. You were the same Englishman that I remembered and was quite fond of. I am still amazed at how remarkable our conversation felt given the circumstances.

The rest of our visit does not need retelling to you. I cannot wait for you to get out of prison and see you in the outside world. I am looking forward to our future conversation and banter. Hopefully your prison exit is sooner rather than later. I miss you and will be waiting for you on the outside. Until then, keep safe and stay healthy.


Can any of you help translate Royo Girl’s statements? She wrote that getting together with me “is something that shouldn’t happen,” but she also wrote that she “will be waiting for [me] on the outside.” What’s going on here?

Addendum

Here are some excerpts from letters I’ve recently received from women other than Royo Girl.

When you get out, I’ve arranged my sis to meet you and me, then we are going to strip into thongs and step into a container, and my sis will pour jelly and water over us. We will wait for it to set, and then the task is to be the first person to fight their way out of the jelly. When we get out of the jelly we will blow up an inflatable couch and look at naked pictures of my mother. Then me and my sis will lick the remaining jelly off your body and you will return the favour before we settle down in our flannel PJs watching Last of the Summer Wine, drinking Scrumpy Jacks.

That came from a lady in Norfolk.


I am writing you because your story has touched my heart. I want to get to know you no matter what you done in the past. I am a 6 feet 1 inch tall single white attractive mom of two boys. If you want a good girl in public and a whore in the bedroom, I’m her. I am looking for a long-term thing and I hope you like kids…I want more.

That came from a 26-year-old blond in Nevada.


On the bed lay the items she was planning on wearing for him tonight. A thick steel collar engraved with line drawings from the Karma Sutra, heavily padded on the inside so as not to damage the skin around her neck. A pair of vibrating nipple clamps joined with a fine chain. A pair of thigh-high boots with impossibly high spike heels. And her perfume.

That came from Sweetest Sin in Essex who should be freelancing her stories to Hustler, Penthouse and Playboy. She has given me permission to share her stories with the inmates.


Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood


Postscript, Jon’s address has changed slightly to:

ASPC-Tucson
Santa Rita Unit
Shaun Attwood ADC#187160, 1-B-10
PO BOX 24406
Tucson, 85734, Az.
U.S.A

(All mail in the pipeline will still get there)

24 Jul 06

Do I have a Haemorrhoid? (Part 1)

While wiping with one-ply, I felt something that set off the voices in my mind: Oh no. What's that? It can't be. A lump? Not a lump. It's definitely a lump. Your run of having a flawless south side is over. What type of lump could it be? A haemorrhoid? A cyst? Cancer? Please not cancer. Is it really there? Touch it again. Gross. The nurse, Odd Job, is going to have fun with this. I can't report it. But you must get it seen to before it gets out of hand. True. It might get bigger if you don't have it seen. But they might want to look at it, and do things to it. Ewww. Face facts, sooner or later someone would be taking a good look down there anyway. Don't be controlled by the lump. Take control of the lump. How? Get a mirror and take a look. It might just be something you can pop.

I had to wait for the count to do an inspection as I didn't want passers-by catching me in a naked yoga position, or to receive a major disciplinary ticket for violation B10: Engaging in any sexual act, including indecent exposure and sexual advances or stalking another person.

Officer Lewalski looked through my window, and ticked my name on her clipboard. As she continued down the run, I sprang into action. Where the toilet met the wall, I placed a sock. On the sock, I slanted a mirror. Using an extension cord, I positioned my reading lamp on the floor, so it would shine upward.
I took a few deep breaths, and thought, It's now or never. Look down the run to make sure no guards are approaching. Ok, all clear. Here goes.
Topless, I lowered myself into a half-squat position above the toilet. With my ears on alert for walkie-talkies, I yanked my pants and boxers down. I was about to part my cheeks when a wasp flew into the cell. The mud dauber buzzed and swooped and had me doing the Macarena so quickly there was no time to pull up my pants. As a defensive measure I grabbed a book. The wasp zigged and I swung. The wasp zagged and I dipped and prayed that the security camera aimed a Building D wasn't filming my performance. The seconds we spent failing to resolve our differences stretched into an eternity, during which the reading lamp soothingly warmed my behind. The wasp radiated perseverance, so I dropped to the floor and pulled up my pants. It then briefly established a holding pattern in the center of the cell before flying out of the window.
It took several minutes of yogic breathing to manifest the courage to resume the inspection. Lights. Mirror. Action. I almost fainted when I saw a blue lump in a place it didn't belong.
There was no holding back the voices in my mind: Gross. What is that? It’s nothing pimple-like you can squeeze. Pop that and you’ll bleed to death. Is that what a haemorrhoid looks like? You've definitely got to go to Medical now. You'd better get rid of it before it gets bigger. But how? Will they lance it? Or freeze it? Ouch, that's got to hurt. Get it seen to before it multiplies. There could be more lurking deeper inside. And what if they can't do anything about it? No one will ever want to marry me while I've got such a grotesque thing on my behind. And I can't blame them. Would I marry someone who had such a lump? What have I done to deserve this? How do I describe it to the nurse? You’ll be the laughing stock of the Health Unit. Don't be a wuss. Man up. Fill out a Health Needs Request form.

Draft 1: When wiping my behind, I noticed a lump. Upon visual inspection, I saw a blue protrusion on the rim of my anus.
Anus sounds too obscene, I thought. I've got to mellow this out a little. Wiping is superfluous. Try again.

Draft 2: Requesting haemorrhoid cream. I have discerned a lump.
Too brief. How do you know it's a haemorrhoid? But if you sound unsure they're going to want to look, and we know what that means: out come the probing instruments. Add more detail.

Draft 3: There is a blue pea-sized lump that I suspect is a haemorrhoid. Requesting cream or whatever will make it go away.
There you go. That sounds better. Far more professional. None of that anus talk. Let's hope they don't think I'm joking, or even worse: that I'm one of those prisoners who gets jollies from coming out of his cell every once in a while to show his behind to somebody - to anybody. Surely they'll know I'd never pull a stunt like that. I'm an ex-stockbroker. I'm a professional. Everything's going to be just fine.

22 July 06


Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright S.P. Attwood 2005-2006

20 July 06

Jealous George

“I got to hug and kiss a young woman at visitation, George,” I said.
“But governor, governor, what about me?” George said. “Have you traded me in for a little floozy?”
“She is in no way, shape or form a floozy. She’s an intellectual force to be reckoned with.”
“Then let her come and do your fuckin’ laundry, tidy up your room, wipe your royal arse, and count your scrotal moles!”
“What’s that got to do with anything? Aren’t you happy that I’ve had some female company?”
“You’ve got female company: Xena and Mochalicious! What’s wrong with them?”
“There’s nothing wrong with them except the fact that they have penises.”
“But neither of them want their penises, so, it’s like not having one.”
“It’s not the same, George.”
“So that’s why you spent thirty minutes in the shower when you came back from visitation!”
“Actually, I didn’t shower until the next day.”
“Then during lockdown you whacked your tallywacker. I bet you went to town on it, you little perv.”
“It wasn’t about that.”
“Puh-leeze! I bet you got a boner out their.”
“I must admit when she leaned towards the vending machine, I couldn’t help but admire – .”
“Huh! That musta pumped up your Prince Harry. What would the Queen Mum think if she knew you were running around visitation with a trouser tent pitched? She’d cut off your monthly stipend and British Consulate privileges.”
“The visit wasn’t about sex, George. Royo Girl is really intelligent, and wonderful to talk to.”
“If she’s such a good conversationalist, why were you gawking at her ass?”
“’Cause I’m only human, and she’s an attractive woman.”
“You make me sick! What kind of a woman likes pale, bald-headed, persnickety Englishmen?”
“I’m hurt, George. I thought you’d be happy for me, but instead you’re trying to put my good day down.”
“I wish you all the happiness in the world, but I don’t wanna be hearing about her all the time, or to find you staring into space, daydreaming about her ass, getting boners, pitching trouser tents.”
“I’ll try not to. It’s hard not thinking about her though. I certainly won’t bring her up around you again.”
"All kidding aside, I’m happy for you. It’s nice a person visited you who floats your boat. I would never stand in the way of the governor’s happiness.”

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

19th July 06

Frankie Spies Royo Girl

Click here for the previous Royo Girl post.

“Dog 11, you’ve gotta visit.”

It’s been eight days since I saw Royo Girl, I thought. Enough time to shake my infatuation. I can feel the excitement building again. But there’s no point in getting too excited when I’m stuck in here.

Walking to visitation, I was stopped by Frankie.
“Where do you think you’re goin’, Englandman?”
“Visitation.”
“Whattcha got crackalackin at visitation?”
“It’s kiss time again.”
“I thought I told you, I’ll dee-cide who you kiss and who you don’t kiss.”
“You’ve got it wrong, I’ll dee-cide who I kiss and who I don’t kiss!”
Frankie’s entourage laughed at my imitation of Frankie.
“I’ll tell you what, Englandman,” Frankie said. “I’m gonna do laps around the big field. If you guys walk Lovers' Lane, I’ll be able to scope her out, and then I can see if she has my approval.”
“I’ll dee-cide whose approval she needs or doesn’t need,” I said and walked away.

My heart leaped when I saw Royo Girl. We hugged, kissed, and sat down. While she busied my prefrontal cortex with intelligent conversation, I became so enchanted that she needn't have said a word. She could have sat there in silence and I still would have been the happiest person in the world.

Outdoors, Frankie and his crew, reconnoitering the visitation for Royo Girl, eventually spotted us holding hands on Lovers' Lane.
“I’m givin’ ya,” Frankie yelled, “a thumbs-up, Englandman. But I still wanna bathin’-suit shot…no…let’s make that a G-string shot. I’m also gonna need a letter from her askin’ for permission for any more kisses.”
“That’s Frankie,” I told Royo Girl. “But I can’t yell to him from visitation because I’ll get in trouble. I think he approves of you.”
Royo Girl laughed.
“Did Englandman tell you,” Frankie said, “we’ve been doin’ these tongue exercises together? I showed him how to kiss you behind the neck with my magic tongue. Ask him how Frankie tastes?”
“I worry about you and Frankie sometimes,” Royo Girl said.
“He’s bonkers. But he’s got a good heart,” I said.
“Mmmm-mmmm-mmmmmm! Englandman knows what time it is!”
“What time it is!” Royo Girl frowned. “What does that mean?”
“That I’ve got it going on because I’m with you.”
“How funny,” Royo Girl said. “Why do I feel like I’m being paraded around prison?”
“I can’t deny there’s an element of that to Lovers' Lane. You don’t mind do you?”
“No. It just feels strange.”


“There’s Xena.” I pointed. “She’s the long-haired giant playing volleyball with tattoos all over her body.”
“Xena’s my favourite blog character,” Royo Girl said.
We eavesdropped on the volleyball players.
“Come on, Miss Priss,” Little Wood said to Xena, “hit the ball. Dontcha like playin’ with balls?”
“That’s fuckin’ queer stuff,” Xena said.
“You’re a fuckin’ queer,” someone yelled.
Xena yanked up his shorts and wiggled his hips, revealing his enormous penis (with a tattoo of a wasp on it) to the players. Xena yelled, “Queer this!”
“Are they the balls you practice on?” Little Wood said.
“Come to a cell with me,” Xena said, “and I’ll show ya how to hold balls. The only difference is mine are hot and sweaty.”
Royo Girl's hand was sweating, so I suggested we go indoors.

Our parting kiss was longer than the others. And more passionate. It left me hungry for her next visit.

The visit was fun, I thought, and I'm all excited again. So much for keeping cool. She’s so intelligent and charming and I feel so good around her. Why can't I feel like this all of the time? I'd better just make the most of it while it lasts.

Descriptions of Royo Girl were circulating on the yard. Some young homies approached me.
“That’s Big Pimpin right there.”
“A fine-ass ruca’s been comin’ to see him.” ( ruca is pronounced rookah.)
“Big Pimpin’s no joke, homey. You shoulda seen him mackin’ out with his ruca.”
“You’ve got it like that Big Pimpin?”
“I’m working on it,” I said.
“Englandman’s mine,” Frankie said, “and he knows he is.”
“I’ll dee-cide whose I am,” I said, “and its gonna be a ruca I get together with, not a guy.”

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood