Copyright 2011, 2012 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, “In His Father's House” is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at

In addition to numerous articles on the problems faced by juveniles incarcerated in adult prisons - especially those sentenced to life sentences without the possibility of parole - the author is especially indebted to three books: Santos, Michael G., Inside, Life Behind Bars in America (New York: St. Martin's Griffin edition, 2007); Parsell T. J., Fish, A Memoir of a Boy in a Man's Prison (Cambridge, MA; Da Capo Press, 2006); and Gagnon, Robert J. 053803, Life at Fifteen, updated ed. (n.p.; Robert J. Gagnon-Paperback, 2006). Echoes of each will be heard in my story that follows.

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, please respect yourself and those around you by practicing safe sex.


(Revisiting Chapter 2)

Jeb was quiet the next morning, but not particularly withdrawn. He got Cap's coffee without direction. Then he stood in line to get his owner's breakfast and laid it out on his favorite table. When Cap had to answer a call to the library, he followed along dutifully. He wasn't even particularly bothered by passing comments such as "Hey, there's Cap's new bitch." At least he belonged somewhere! That afternoon, Cap fucked the boy - and had him again at bedtime. Still sore back there, Jeb didn't particularly like it, but no one would have known it from outward appearances. He even smiled briefly in Cap's direction. Actually, the fourteen year old was beginning to think: For instance, he wondered if he hadn't gotten exactly what he deserved...maybe what he needed. He had to admit that some of it hadn't felt half bad! The good looking youngster grinned at Cap again...and received a quiet smile in return.

("Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered")

              With thanks to Lorenz Hart & Richard Rodgers

After breakfast, everybody in the dormitory seemed to disappear in one direction or another. In the strangest of moods, the fourteen year old wandered out into the dorm's dayroom. Hands deep into his pockets, brow furrowed...weary...he sat down on one of the metal benches. How could he have enjoyed anything about what had been done to him the night before? Fuck! He wasn't a queer...was he? Yet here he'd been this morning, smiling sweetly at his new black master. (Ha!) would be eaten alive in this place if he didn't have some protection. What do you do when you don't know where you are or where you're going - or whom you can even trust to discuss anything? Fuck!

Fuck, indeed! Suddenly, all of the lights switched on. Closely directed by a full complement of guards, the prisoners in his cell and the cells adjacent streamed back into the dormitory. Cap whispered that someone had reported the event of the night before and that they were all going to the hole! Quick marched to a lower and much older level of the prison, they stripped and were ordered into individual cells - actually, little more than black iron boxes with locked openings in the doors for food and other custodial needs. As the sweat poured off his body in the unbelievably humid air, Jeb lay on the floor of the cell, his back propped up against the wall. Groggily, he wondered how this had happened to him. Wasn't HE was the one who had been raped? With no sign that the walls had heard his question...or cared to answer, several days dragged on. The food - of uniformly poor quality and not much of it - the pots for his body's waste - the lack of light, sound, and motion nearly drove him up the wall. Finally, after that which he thought to be days had passed, there was scraping that promised a key. As the heavy door opened, a rough voice yelled, "Taylor...OUT!" Without ceremony, he was led to a shower and told that he had 20 minutes to get himself together. Fresh clothes and a minimal set of personal items were placed on a bench in the locker room. Shaking due both to the ordeal and nerves, he was quick marched to an administrative office. The unbelievably fat officer who faced them neither rose from his desk chair nor lifted his eyes to Jeb's face. In a monotone, he said, "You're a very new fifteen year old, Taylor. I do not hold you fully responsible for this outrage, but no male is without guilt in such matters. Homosexual acts are against the law in this state. If you come before me again on such a matter, I'll forget your age and help you to realize the immoral nature of your behavior. Now get out of my office!" As he raised his head for the first time, Jeb saw the look of utter disgust in his pig eyes. "Ten showers wouldn't remove your stench!" the official grunted as a humiliated teen crept from his presence.


Without another word being uttered, by anyone, he was promptly marched to an upper tier of the main building. A short white haired man, probably in his 50s, sat on the bottom bunk in the open cell. Shaking, but still the child of his middle class upbringing, Jeb said quietly, "Good afternoon, sir." "Good afternoon, Jeb," the man replied. "I'm Kent Foster. Relax." Speaking much more quietly, he continued, "You're probably safer in this cell than you would be in almost any room in the prison. Everyone knows that I have long arms, that something done against me or mine faces...extreme consequences. Even the warden leaves me alone...unless pressures in the state capital become irresistible. In return I do not push him...too far...and never publicly. In a rare exercise of racial good sense, Henry Jackson, the man you know as "Cap", asked me to look out for you. Various interested parties have agreed...if you are willing to live here in relative peace. That is, check your hormones at the door and behave like a young man who has at least a small measure of self-control. Are you willing?" Swallowing noisily, Jeb stuttered, "Yes-s-s, s-s-i-r." Foster replied, "Good. I wouldn't have enjoyed withdrawing my protection. Believe that wolves are nearby and always hungry. Very well, Taylor, take the top bunk and get yourself ready for supper."


As they marched to dinner, Foster kept Jeb close to him. Nevertheless, as soon as they had been widely seen together, he quickly relaxed. For instance, he only smiled benignly when two of his youngest "assistants" (young men probably in their mid 20s) asked the lad to join them at the next table. Jeb wondered how that was possible given the fact that at least 85 percent of the men in the dining hall were black. Only two of the long tables held white inmates, while a third held those he suspected were Hispanics, American Indians, and Asians. It was a measure of Jeb's increasing prison-savvy that he never inquired about the specifics of why Kent Foster was able to exercise such power.


After supper, the young men wandered around the tier, introducing Jeb, chatting with friends, watching inmates playing board games, and the like. The noise level was markedly lower than that of other tiers. There, 24/7, it was nothing but shouted obscenities, the sound of fights, crashes, screams, competing music so loud as always to be on the verge of being ordered off by a guard, and yelled rather than spoken conversations. "How does a man think?" Jeb asked himself. (This section of the prison did not have satellite dayrooms. Rather, there were simply long rows of cells that opened onto open corridors. Steel gates at both ends of each corridor barred further access unless you had an official pass for one or more purposes. Even then, you had to sign in and out when passing each gate.) Finally, a young guy nicknamed "Popeye" loudly asked Jeb if he'd like to check out the exercise room in another part of the building. "Hear tell you're interested in bodybuilding," he drawled in a thick East Texas accent. Given Jeb's enthusiastic acceptance, four of the younger men included him as they headed out.


Jeb was impressed by his first look at the room. He did become uncomfortable when the guys immediately headed for a small locker area and began stripping down to don their gear. "Er...Popeye... Sorry, I don't have any stuff," Jeb mumbled. "No sweat, Bro. Strip down...I'll get you some." Minutes later he was back with a pair of shorts, a couple of muscle Ts, a jock, two pair of white gym socks, and a two bottles of pills . "Whoa!" he exclaimed as he saw a naked Jeb waiting for him. "You're just fifteen?" he asked. "Yep," replied the embarrassed teen. As they shaved him down below the eyes - the Club's badge of membership rather than tattoos - Mase, one of the other guys, broke in: "Man, you've got plenty to work with, but it doesn't look like you've done much with it." As he spoke, he walked around the table on which Jeb was lying, prodding the numerous body parts where there was a lot of beef, but little definition. Turning redder with each passing moment, wondering how long it would be before his six soft inches would abruptly turn into nine rock-hard ones, the teen closed his eyes and just tried to maintain control. "Easy, Mason," Popeye drawled, "You remember what it was like when you were fifteen. You'd worked up a pretty good body. All of a sudden, you gained some inches - and lost a lot of the definition overnight!


"If you want to work out with us, Jeb, you gotta realize that we take it seriously," Popeye continued. "Fuck that three times a week crap! We're at it seven days a week - and we have rules for diet and supplements. I can tell you though that if you stay with us, you'll have a body that you can be proud of. Interested?"


"Popeye," Jeb said sadly, "I couldn't be more interested, either in working out or in working with you guys. But I'm busted...not a penny to my name. I...I..." The rangy redhead broke in, "Fuck that, Jeb. We turn down three or four guys a month who want to work out with us. Fact is, we want you to join us. As a general rule, I think my old WPA granddad was right when he used to say, 'There ain't no free lunch'. Nevertheless, how about takin' a chance on us...and, maybe, on lettin' us help?" Blushing as he looked down on his bare, size 13 feet, Jeb suddenly looked up at the young men, bobbed his head, and said, "Yeah. I'm grateful...but I still owe you." Yelling and pounding each other, the young men congratulated their new member. Chaz, another one of the boys, produced a wooden bead necklace and hung it around Jeb's thick neck. For the first time, Jeb noticed that they all wore similar necklaces. "Got permission," Chaz laughed, "but only for in here." They still wouldn't let him dress until they'd gotten some measurements! Would you believe that he'd shot up to nearly 5'-8" and weighed in at 155 lb? [Author's Note: If you've worked and/or lived with this developmental group, you'll have little trouble believing it!] His equipment? Well, they noticed it - as almost anyone whose heart was still pumping blood would - but they managed to keep themselves under control. When Jeb returned to his cell for the night count only to receive a brief hug from Kent and a question about whether he had fun, believe that the teen slept like a log!"


(Doing Easier Time)


The first year in his new location had moved along so much more smoothly than the chaotic period that had gone before. All sorts of exercises were incorporated into his regimen as were muscle-building supplements. His diet was strict, but he usually felt a great deal better physically and mentally than did many of his peers. He fulfilled a requirement by earning his GED. Naturally, he also learned a great deal about living in a penitentiary, including avoiding the "Goons" (the most brutal guards who often traveled in packs) by trying to stay out of their sight and show little initiative. Though he claimed he didn't like it, he was also developing the skills involved in controlling the younger and weaker inmates. He was clearly fitting in, learning the skills needed to live for a lifetime in the pen. His new friends actually threw a party to celebrate his sixteenth birthday. Yep, the kitchen workers produced some alcohol. In truth, Jeb still had some really mixed feelings when the bag was set down next to him in the corridor. Planning time had expired, however, for a fairly large group of whites soon gathered round. Jeb gave an audible sigh of relief when Popeye announced that the "Exercise Gang" had to wait until later. All things considered, It was still a great party!


In any case, all of the men were still feeling...good as their section trudged down to the showers later that evening. That birthday "punch", now sampled by all, was really deadly stuff. Once it had set its claws into your body, it didn't let go easily or for some time! Maybe that's what led Chaz and Mase to decide that they would "help" Jeb with his shower. Using a bar of really smelly soap that one of Chaz's friends had given him on a recent visit, they soon had the birthday boy lookin' g-o-o-d! Jeb was beginning to squirm a bit and turn a tad pink under the soap suds when Mase called out to the group, "I ask you. Does this guy look great...or does he look great?" A great shout went up, and about a dozen cons joined the Exercise Gang in giving the lad a thorough cleansing. (The guard checked what was going on, but simply grinned and said nothing.) The unanimous answer to Mase's question? Jeb looked fantastic! [Author's Note: Ok...So his promise was only beginning to be visible early on, but believe that the transformation was well under way.] They even fisted his...upper arm, before rinsing him off and carrying him over to his locker! "A real hunk and a special kid," Chaz thought. He also caught a note in Jeb's exuberant voice that no one else seemed to catch. Later, he concluded - and, indeed, he was correct. For the first time, Jeb asked Kent for it later that night.


Kent Foster never did figure out what had awakened him so early on that Tuesday morning. It was still very dark in the cell; one glance out the narrow cell window told him that only the earliest flush of morning was visible in the eastern sky. He was about to turn over and fall back into the arms of Morpheus when his eyes suddenly began to adjust to the darkness. Dimly...ever so dimly...he was just able to make out Jeb's form sitting on the floor across from the double bunk. Fully nude, his back was propped up against the cell wall, his muscular legs stretched out in front of him. What a glorious sight... Kent rose up on one elbow, staring intently, trying to see more. Yes! The big blond's chin was pressed downwards and his shoulders were visibly shaking. Curiously, the teen's massive cock was fully erected. What could be made of this?


Slipping out of bed quietly, Kent got down on the floor beside his cellmate. So gently as not to be noticed, Kent put his arm around the muscular body of the youngster and drew him into his shoulder and chest. For a second, the proud teen resisted. Then, need trumping pride, he crumpled into the arms of the counselor, the mentor whom fate had provided to guide him. (They used to talk about "angels," but it's really difficult to see how an old East Coast Mafia boss could qualify.) For several minutes, the older man simply held Jeb, his hand rubbing the heavy muscles of his back, running affectionately through his hair, teasing the nipples that punctuated hard pecs, reaching down to grasp the boy's powerful quads and stroke the flesh of his quivering inner thighs. The heat...the pungent scent rising from the lad's groin held him prisoner as surely as if he were chained. "Sir...please," Jeb gasped, his mouth and throat desert-dry. The white-haired figure hesitated for a moment before moving so as to allow his mouth to seek the pale pillar that throbbed before him. Holding it wide, he could do no more than encompass the top of that magnificent pillar. Fortunately, that was enough to push back the last of the foreskin from its rosy surface and allow his tongue to capture the sparkling liquid that flowed down its sides.


Instinctively understanding Kent's signal, Jeb struggled to change positions, not stopping until his muscular thighs straddled his cellmate's lower abdomen. As the older man reverently held the lad's muscular buttocks, he pivoted forward on his knees until his stallion's cock was poised at the edge of Foster's lips. The tip of Foster's tongue appeared between his lips. Tickling the opening of his urethra signaled Jeb to swing his massive cock over Kent's lips and into his mouth. Well serviced by Kent's tongue, Jeb gently pushed forward until his glans reached the entrance to Kent's throat. Given his size, he hesitated. Kent's scratching on his butt and then thrusting the finger into his anus conveyed his wishes! As Kent vigorously swallowed, the teen thrust forward. The first time was unsuccessful, and Jeb retreated as his partner came close to choking. Buoyed by a tongue that was spreading precum and saliva onto his glans and a throat that was strongly swallowing, Jeb again pressed forward. He was still unsuccessful, but Kent's tongue vigorously worked his tool. With a cry that had to be heard, the young man came with a great rush.


Lying silently beside each other, the two men listened carefully for the guard who would surely be on them before they could return to their bunks. He never came. They remained lying side by side for another couple of minutes. "So, mio giovane amico (Italian: my young friend)" the older man began. "You are very quiet...and extremely tense. I would not pry, but, perhaps, I can be of some assistance."


"Please, sir, don't think for a moment that I don't appreciate your kindness and your protection". Jeb said in a rush. "You are a super guy, and I'm really grateful for all you have done!" (Spontaneously, Jeb deeply inhaled.) "I'm not sure that anyone can help me. I'm so confused, and I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a great, bottomless pit. I've been thinking that I'd be better off - and so would everybody else - if I just got up on that railing outside and did my best swan dive." Kent began to softly rub the youngster's forehead and face. Almost whispering, he said, "Pretend that I am the father you always wanted and never really had. Pretend that you can tell me anything. You know from experience that the more difficult and complicated the problem, the more love and support you will receive. You also know that I will never force my solution on you, as much as I might think you are paddling up the wrong creek. Can you give it a son?" (Long Pause.)


Digging his head into Kent's chest, the boy began. "Dad," he said shakily if a bit sarcastically and on the verge of tears, "I've been fighting a battle since I was eleven or twelve. I feel so alone. I've been fighting it dirty, and I've been fighting it hard. But I'm losing. It gets harder every day to hold it off - and now I'm in deep shit. There's a guy I know - and I like him...a lot. I dream of taking his face in my hands and showing him how much It's a lot of work to get along in this place, at least for me. Lately, most of my energy is going into dreaming about him...and what we could do together...and jacking off five or six times a day, on a light day. I can't keep it up, Dad! Even though the alternatives are scary, it's driving me nuts! I could show him what I feel, but chances are he's not going to like it. That's likely to tell him and others that I'm gay. And, Dad, they don't seem to like queers very much in these parts. What can I do?"



(To Be Continued)