Free Straight Boy: A Short Story by Alessandra Hazard Page A

from others—if you suck my dick well. Believe me, other guys won’t be as nice as me.”
    “If you aren’t going to force me, it’s not happening,” Sage said, trying to keep his voice firm. “Sorry, but I’m really straight. I have a girlfriend I love.”
    For some reason, that made Xavier chuckle. “You’re lucky it’s boring as hell here and I love a good challenge.”
    Before Sage could say anything, Xavier climbed onto the top bunk and before long was asleep.
    Sage stood still, staring at nothing for a long time.
    He barely slept that night.
    The next morning came all too soon for his liking.
    But it wasn’t as bad as he had expected—and feared.
    The day passed normally enough. Yeah, he was ogled at and groped more than he had ever been in his life, but it wasn’t that bad. No one tried to attack him. No one tried… anything else.
    When his work day was over, it was shower time—something he’d been dreading all day.
    Once in the showers, Sage didn’t know which way to turn. He didn’t want other inmates to ogle his dick, but he didn’t want to turn his back to anyone, either. So he washed, awkwardly shifting and turning. There were guys groping each other and some doing more than that, but the guards didn’t seem interested in stopping them as long as it seemed mostly consensual. And even if it wasn’t, they didn’t seem all that eager to do anything. There was a big guy in the opposite corner forcing his dick down another guy’s throat. Sage tried hard not to look that way. His heart beat so fast he thought he was going to be sick.
    He saw many other guys eyeing him interestedly, but no one tried anything. Sage suspected that it had something to do with Xavier, who stayed close to him, silent and stony-faced.
    Deciding that no one was going to attack him, Sage relaxed a bit.
    It was a mistake.
    Halfway through the shower, he felt it: a hand on his ass.
    Sage froze and then looked at Xavier. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he hissed. He knew better than to make a scene. Sage might not know much about prison hierarchy, but he knew enough. He knew Xavier would have to demonstrate who was in charge here if Sage made him look weak.
    Xavier looked at him calmly, dark eyes unreadable. “I need to show everyone that you’re mine,” he said quietly. “If I don’t, other guys will get ideas. You don’t want that, do you?”
    Sage glared at him, but as much as he hated it, the guy was right. If he had to choose between being considered his cellmate’s plaything and being gangbanged, he knew what he would choose.
    So he didn’t move away, letting Xavier keep a proprietary hand on his butt. His face was probably bright red—it was a huge blow to his masculinity. He wondered if this was how women felt when men objectified them.
    When shower time was finally over, he shook Xavier’s hand off, dressed and walked back to the cell quickly.
    Xavier didn’t return immediately.
    When he did, Sage tensed involuntarily, gripping the book he was trying—and failing—to read.
    “Relax, Pouty Lips,” Xavier said with a snort.
    “Don’t call me that.”
    “I’ll call you whatever I want.”
    Sage felt a surge of helpless anger, but he said nothing. Truth be told, Xavier unnerved him. He was different from other inmates: quiet and intense in a strange way. He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t boast like other inmates did, but from what Sage had seen that day, Xavier seemed well-respected, even feared.
    “What are you in here for?” Sage asked, unable to suppress his curiosity.
    “Killed eight people at a mall,” Xavier said, looking him in the eye.
    Sage blinked. “You’re joking, right?”
    Xavier made a shrugging gesture that could be interpreted either way. Sage really hoped he was joking.
    “How old are you?” Xavier said suddenly, eyeing him.
    “Twenty-three.”
    Xavier studied him for several moments before getting into his bunk. What a strange guy.
     
     
     
    * * *
     
     
    Days