Going to prison made me a little gay

I never understood how some men liked taking it in the ass. The thought alone—something sliding into there—made me cringe. But prison changes a man. One year in a concrete cage, stripped of everything that made me who I was: my wife, my kids, my home, my dignity. Survival becomes the only currency. And the leader of the Garrison Kings, a man named Mark, held the keys to that currency.

The idea of having something shoved up there—pain, shit, submission—none of it made sense. I was a regular guy, married with kids, a wife who loved me and a suburban house with a white picket fence. Then I got sentenced to a year in state prison for a bullshit white-collar crime, and everything flipped.

The first month was hell. I was bullied but I kept my head down, till one of the gang leaders noticed me in the yard. Mark. He was built like a brick shithouse—six-three, solid muscle, a thick neck that looked like it could snap a man’s spine. He started with small gestures: a nod, a shared cigarette, then a hand on my shoulder during chow. I knew what he wanted. Every new fish knew. But I had a wife, kids, a life. I said no, politely at first, then firmly. He just smiled, a predatory glint in his dark eyes.

Weeks passed. The privileges he offered—extra food, protection from the wolves, a better bunk—gnawed at my resolve. I was tired of being scared, tired of the thin mattress and the cold metal toilet. One night after lights out, he cornered me in the shower block. Steam curled around us as he pressed his body against mine, his cock already hard through his thin gray shorts. He whispered, “Suck it, and you eat hot meals for the rest of your bid. Stay stubborn, and I’ll let the others have you.”

I dropped to my knees. Not out fear: Mark was nice to me. It was out of something else. The first time I took his dick in my mouth—thick, salty, musky—I gagged. He held my head, not forcing, just guiding. I learned to breathe through my nose, to relax my throat. He tasted like pre-cum and soap. He came down my throat, hot and bitter, and I swallowed because I didn’t know what else to do. He patted my head like a dog. “Good boy.”

That went on for a month. Every few days, I’d suck him off in the laundry room, the utility closet, or behind the weight bench. The privileges were real—extra trays of food, a clean blanket, a spot in the yard where nobody bothered me. Even the guards respected me. But his demands escalated. One evening, he pulled me into his cell, locked the door, and said, “Tonight, I’m fucking that ass.”

I told him no, that I wasn’t ready, that I had a wife. He didn’t argue. He just stripped off his pants, his cock already fully erect, and laid a towel on his bunk. Then he looked at me. “Get on your back. I’ll make it good.”

I hesitated. But the hunger for approval, the craving for safety, the memory of his cum in my mouth—it all blurred together. I stripped, my hands trembling. I lay on that thin mattress, my legs bent and spread, my asshole exposed to the cold air. He knelt between my thighs, a tube of KY jelly in his hand. He squeezed a generous glob onto his fingers and rubbed them together, warming the gel.

His first finger circled my hole. I flinched. “Relax,” he murmured. “Breathe.” He pushed in slowly, just the tip of his middle finger. The sensation was alien—pressure, a deep fullness, not quite pain but close. He worked it in and out, stretching me, adding a second finger when I stopped clenching. I gripped the thin blanket, my knuckles white. He scissored his fingers, opening me up.

Then he withdrew, slicked his cock, and positioned the head against my hole. “Look at me,” he said. I did. His eyes were dark, focused, not cruel but intense. He pushed.

The initial breach was like having my guts shoved. A sharp, searing burn radiated through my pelvis. I gasped, a choked sound. He paused, letting me adjust. His hands gripped my hips, thumbs pressing into my flesh. “Breathe through it,” he whispered. I did. The burn faded to a deep, intense pressure. Then he began to move—slow, deep thrusts that rocked my entire body.

The friction was raw. His cock slid in and out, each stroke hitting something deep inside me that sent sparks up my spine. I started to moan. Low at first, then louder. The pain transmuted into pleasure, a heavy, visceral pleasure I had never imagined. I arched my back, my legs wrapping around his waist. He fucked me faster, his balls slapping against my ass.

“Yeah, take it,” he grunted. “You love that cock in your ass, don’t you?”

I couldn’t deny it.

"Yes" I groaned, loud, animalistic. The entire cell block probably heard. I didn’t care. The friction, the fullness, the dominance of his body over mine—it was intoxicating. He pumped into me, sweat dripping from his chest onto mine.

"So good, so tight." He said. I was hard as a rock, my dick leaking pre-cum against my stomach. He reached down and stroked my cock once, twice, in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Come for me,” he ordered. And I did. Cum shot across my belly in thick ropes as I cried out. My asshole clenched around his cock, and he groaned, slamming deep, his own release flooding my insides with hot, thick cum. He stayed inside me for a long moment, breathing hard.

He did not other me for a week. But I got a cell of my own. Better meals and even a phone. But I had no desire to call my wife or anyone. The next week, he wanted a different angle. He turned me onto my stomach, then pushed me onto all fours. My knees pressed into the mattress, my ass up in the air. He rubbed his hand over my ass cheeks, then slapped one hard. The sting made me yelp. He laughed.

“This is my favorite,” he said, lining his cock up with my hole. He pushed in easily. The angle was deeper, his cock hitting that spot inside me with every thrust. He grabbed my hips and fucked me with punishing rhythm. His hand came down on my ass again and again—slap, slap, slap—the sound echoing off the concrete walls. The pain melted into raw, desperate pleasure. I moaned into the pillow.

He reached under me and gripped my dick again, pumping it in time with his thrusts. “You like being my whore, don’t you?” he grunted.

“Yes,” I gasped.

“Say it.”

“I’m your whore.”

“Louder.”

“I’M YOUR WHORE!”

He came with a grunt, filling me again. Then he pulled out and watched his cum leak out of my loosened hole onto the towel. He slapped my ass one more time, leaving a red handprint. “Good boy. Now clean up.”

Word spread. I was the talk of the prison: Mark's bitch. Apparently Mark wasn't known for such. Was I special? The whispers, the looks, in the chow hall as Mark sat protectively next to me. I should have been ashamed. Instead, I felt a twisted pride. I had survived, and more than survived: I had discovered a new carnal truth about myself. This is how I survived prison. I looked forward to the nights he'd send for me.

When I got out, I swore I’d go back to normal. I hugged my wife, played with my kids, went back to my desk job. I even fuck my wife regularly. But the craving never left. The feeling of being filled, of surrendering control, of taking a thick cock deep in my ass—it haunted me during the day and woke me at night with a hard-on.

Now, I meet men in cheap motels, in back rooms of bars, in online hookups to satisfy this new need. I tell my wife I’m working late or going to the gym. I drop to my knees and suck strangers’ cocks, then lie on my back or bend over a cheap mattress and let them fuck me. I never tell them my name. I never tell them about my wife or kids. I just take it, moan, cum (an orgasm more powerful than anything my wife can give) , and leave.

I never understood how some men liked taking it in the ass. But I understand now. It’s not about pain or degradation. It’s about the raw, primal act of being completely possessed, of letting go of every inhibition, of feeling the weight of a man’s body and the heat of his cum inside you. It’s a secret I’ll carry to my grave, hidden beneath the suit and tie, behind the wedding ring. And every time i bend over for a stranger, I remember Mark’s hands on my hips, and I know exactly what I am. His Parole hearing is coming soon and I will not dare to hope.