Doug Ellis Ch. 04

In well funded, well organised prison systems, inmates are able to earn privileges by working in routine jobs such as cleaners, painters and other maintenance. In some institutions these can lead to vocational qualifications.

Work in a prison such as this sometimes brings a small income, a hierarchical system other than that decided by the threat of physical force and other privileges, not least of which is trust from other inmates and staff and something to pass the bulk of the day.

Goodall had arrived on the wing a month before Ellis and had been working as a wing cleaner, a common place to start work. Inmates would fail and lose the job or progress quickly into work requiring levels of trust as the wing staff and security saw fit . Few would actually choose to work as a cleaner, even though they would be out of their cells earlier than the others and get to hear stuff. In prison, as everywhere else, knowledge is power and a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.

Jobs come up which required the men to move into other areas of the prison, always a desirable perk, develop skills such as painting and decorating, carpentry and electrical work and among many others, hospital porters and the gym orderlies. These jobs were highly sought after and the staff could afford to use only reliable, pliable men. Even to be appointed as a wing cleaner with a minimal 'pocket money' wage in return for the work, a prisoner had to demonstrate his ability to follow instructions, his conformity and obedience, a huge barrier for some men. You didn't have to lick arse but a good word in the right place could move things forward.

In due course, about a month into his residency, Doug was approached by his landing Senior Officer and offered work as a cleaner and much to the unusually nervous SO's surprise Ellis accepted gratefully. A lot of the hard men and it was assumed that Doug was of that order, were too proud to work as cleaners. They supplemented their rations by 'protecting' weaker inmates in return for canned tuna, chocolate, tobacco, or other kinds of favour. Doug had already worked out that the clean way to supplement his meagre diet and make his weights sessions worthwhile was to have a wage, however small, and to buy the vitamin rich fruit and protein foods he lacked. There would be no access to sophisticated supplements and performance enhancers in prison though you could get absolutely anything if you were well enough connected.

For years Ellis' workouts had been supported by a carefully implemented regime of natural foods. The freshest fruit and vegetables, meat and fresh fish, bought in the early morning market, still 'suited and booted' on his way home from a late shift on the door of a swanky nightclub. He had no room for regret, none for nostalgia or home-sickness just a small scale, developing plan and a rock solid focus. As it had been on the 'out' his training and the discipline of his body would be the core of his life. For this, he needed the good will of the gym staff, the wing staff and the trust of the security department, oh, and some decent fruit in the shop instead of a few wrinkly looking apples and bruised bananas. He was quick, quiet for a big man and reliable in his first job on the wing. He would see a few things, see a few people he'd missed before when they were escorted off the wing early to work. They'd nod in acknowledgement of the presence of the new cleaner, impossible to miss. Respectful, a bit wary of him and occasionally hint of admiration showing when they see what deltoids, detailed triceps dusted with white blonde hair and those corded upper pecs moving under his tee in time with the mop.

He was always finished in plenty of time when Mr. Bantock arrived with the gym orderlies to take him and the other chosen inmates to their, as Doug saw it, all too brief session on free weights.

Too eager to notice, Doug was with the party and gone, but his eagle eyed cell mate had seen the way that Bantock avoided eye contact with Ellis, that his usually authoritative, assertive manner and dominant body language; high chest; wide, confident stance, changed subtly when the Instructor was greeted by that particular prisoner. Which of his primitive instincts caused that untypical response? Surely not fear? There was nothing overtly threatening about Doug Ellis and there were men on this wing much more challenging, much bigger and with big reputations for unpredictable violence. The silent wheels of Goodall's mind raced.

No gesture was without interpretation in this community, no expression went unnoticed in this environment and the "deaf boy", as he was too often known, apparently staring after his departing cell mate, lost in thought, caused other eyes to twinkle and other thought processes to germinate. Bored, boyish minds make mischief within the interminable beige of the wing walls. Happily, Goodall was sheltered by the task of cleaning the Wing superintendent's office and general 'exercise' was called only seconds later. Like distracting a puppy with a different toy, the threat evaporated and what might have turned into spiteful fun making was temporarily forgotten in the press to get a precious lungful of the open air.

As he dusted the orderly space, and not a speck had dared to land since his work of the previous day, Goodall dismissed a series of explanations for the Gym boss' fascinating reaction without any real hope of getting near the truth.

The 'fear' he had unwittingly seen in Bantock was actually a complex cocktail of incomprehension, apprehension, yes, fear of a kind and most disturbingly of all for the instructor, a physical attraction. The 'fear was fear of himself , what had changed in him and what he might do in response if he could not come to terms with his distracted state.

Unable to see through this fog of complex emotions. Goodall packed away his imperfect, incomplete investigation. Why, he thought, was this enigmatic, when his view of Doug Ellis himself was simple enough. There would be plenty of time to work it out. One resource they all needed to use up in constructive activity.

Once again that night, loins pulsing and boiling over, as unbidden images of Ellis flickered across Bantock's half waking, half dreaming. The loaded bar across those chiseled 'traps' and rear deltoids, the massive, deeply cleft, tightly controlled back muscles through perspiration and stretched white T shirt, the power of the flexing gluteus in prison-issue navy shorts. Steely hamstrings, quads and calves as the years of expert posture development lowered into a practiced, perfectly paced squat, directly, at least in this imagination, over the tortured groin of the perspiring, ejaculating P.E.instructor. The huge, slow exhalation as the tremendous potential in tense muscle fibre, sinew, bone and gristle tantalised and then raised that great arse back to a confident standing position for the twelfth time, leaving the rock hard erection twitching in time to the spasms racking Bantock's body. So real, so close, he could almost reach out and touch...Inscribed on his visual memory forever, impressions of the magnificent animal that was Doug Ellis, repeating in Bantock's retina. Every blood vessel in his eyeballs straining to focus on the imagined details of physiology his newly born lust enjoyed. He wanted Doug Ellis' body to somehow open up to receive his own yet had not ever conceived of copulating with another man, Fucking another man? Where had that concept come from? Of all the men who might have triggered an inclination, why this unattainable near-superman. Perhaps it was his silent hyper masculinity, maybe it was because he was more than just manhood.

Bantock's fear that his secret was written on his face was justified but as yet the script was so cryptic only 'subtle difference' could be read. In the climate of self conscious, ego driven heterosexual male paranoia, honed by starvation of sexual or just reassuring bodily contact, that was enough to make people notice under the microscopic examination of the wing and to question his authority. Bantock knew above all that authority was everything and indiscipline meant failure and a risk to prison safety and security, as he saw it, total humiliation. As it was, he knew it was a threat to his work, his whole life.

Just a few hundred meters away from the dreaming, tormented officer, Goodall, awake in his own bunk in the lifer unit. He had, with near miraculous accuracy, extrapolated such deductions from his brief, minute observations of body language when he saw how the Gym crew convened? He couldn't possibly know how that manifest in the erotic imaginings of the P.E. Instructor but he knew alright that it was lust. The first member of staff he'd seen that reaction in. Not the first on the faces of fellow inmates to the Ellis phenomenon though. Goodall had seen that there were plenty of men around here that admired Ellis in ways that would be unacceptable if another man new of it. The ever cautious observer kept it to himself.

For now, Goodall had no reason to use his assumptions in any way. The gentle purr of his cell-mate's contented rest accompanied these thoughts. He felt safe in Ellis' company, marvelled at his quiet strength and enjoyed the reactions the man provoked in others.

Cutting across his thoughts, Goodall heard the spy-hole cover in the door open. Moonlight cast across the sleeping form in Ellis' bunk falling on his bristled head, cheek, and the square toes sticking out from under his blanket. Unusual, thought Goodall, for an officer to look in where there was not a bed watch order. Was he bored or could Dursley have fallen under the same spell as Bantock. For sure, the man was not looking in on Goodall, the little deaf guy in the corner that nobody noticed much and who never spoke. Why was Dursley even on duty? It was common knowledge the man was a courier and favours could be bought from officer Dursley. He was widely disliked and distrusted by colleagues including his boss and among others P.E.S.O Harry Bantock. Officers gossiped about the man, his dark glasses, his black Mercedes with tinted windows, a pimp or drug dealer or more likely both on the outside. He was built and cut, his ripped flesh beyond natural. An obsessive in the gym. He liked the place to himself and that suited everyone else. It was assumed that someone in the security department was as crooked as Dursley. How else could he operate? Saturday night of all nights Dursley was on the wing. Another puzzle.

Enough mystery for one day, Goodall needed to sleep. Much like Ellis, Goodall had a blindspot in his mind where affection and warmth used to reside, where past friendships and love were stowed in deep freeze but he was aware that the big guy and his occasional signing warmed him and he knew from his cold grey eyes that their brief communications were good for Ellis too.

Dursley closed the spy-hole but stood without moving away, his dark, intense eyes only inches from the cold steel door. Transfixed by some thought. Goodall didn't turn over until he's heard the officer slowly walk away down the landing. He opened no other spy-holes but went straight down to the landing office and sat down to write an official report to the head of security, another career sadist.