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In Prison

Andy Heath

    The hospitalization had been unbearable. For months I had languished under the care of doctors and nurses trying to save me from myself. I don’t know if they felt they succeeded, but after three months, they finally released me. On my last day there, my psychiatrist said to me, “One day you’re going to regret your sick behavior.” Even with his twisted criticism, he had tried to teach me that people loved me, but I never believed him. He had also taught me techniques I could use to avoid the thoughts that he said would lead to my downfall.
    He was a moron. I never understood how a doctor could pass judgment on his patient. To think he had the audacity to accuse me of trying to destroy others and myself! My God, I was only 15. How terrible a person could I be? Maybe he didn’t like me because of my frequent encounters with the police. Maybe he just didn’t like me because I was gay. But I was living a life that I knew was right for me, a life that made sense to me even if it didn’t make sense to the medical community. I was living a life that gave me freedom. Why would they wish to deny me freedom?
    A few days after my release, I found myself attending a new high school. I was glad that no one at this school knew me and figured they would just leave me alone. I finally decided that I just wanted to put my past behind me. I had never done anything to anyone. And even if I had, it’s not like anyone ever cared about me.
    My psychiatrist had told me that my mother needed to discipline me, though she never did. Although she screamed at me all the time, she hadn’t even spanked me since my dad left us when I was seven. But even she had offered her bitter comments on all the “sick things” that I did. At first those comments had bothered me, but eventually I got beyond them. I was able to stop caring about those remarks or anything else. Regardless, I was going to give up the behavior that others had said was so destructive. I was going to be good.
    Yet I couldn’t help but notice all the cute guys that attended my school, and I knew it would be easy to seduce any of them. Even many of the straight ones would succumb to my advances with the right amount of alcohol and sweet talking. There was nothing like fucking a virgin straight boy, but I knew that would not be enough. I wanted the high that I had had before, and these boys would not give me that. I wanted a worthy conquest.
    But I was determined to fight that urge. I didn’t know how I could change, but I would try to be good for once. Maybe.
    As the weeks passed, though, I noticed Mr. Wilk, my geometry teacher. His movements were soft and fluid; they mesmerized me. He was beautiful, a handsome man in his early 50’s with silver hair. And he was married, which made the challenge even more appealing.

    I studied Mr. Wilk. I carefully listened to every word he said. Because I had decided to be good, I would do nothing more than plan this conquest. Perhaps if I played this familiar game in the realms of my mind, I would be satisfied enough. I would go over every detail as I had done before, only this time I would not carry out the plan.
    One interesting observation I made about Mr. Wilk was that his wife frequently came to visit his classes. Sometimes she brought his lunch to him. The two were obviously in love, and I watched him talk to her near the door of the classroom when I was supposed to be studying some concept of geometry. Yet I could not help but notice how his hand brushed against hers whenever he sat at his desk and she stood over him. Yes, their hands always touched.
    “Oh my husband is so sweet!” she said to us one day. “Even though he’s obsessed with geometry, he still writes me love letters. Can you imagine that after all these years? Love letters are so much more interesting than math!” Yes, Mr. Wilk was clearly a loving man; so loving, in fact, that I felt he might have enough love to give more than one person – physically, that is. And so my mind games continued.
    The fantasies danced on the surface of my brain as I considered that perhaps Mr. Wilk lusted after me too. After all, I had noticed him staring at me in class. Every day Mr. Wilk’s eyes met mine, and we shared a connection, a spiritual bond that he didn’t share with anyone else in the class. I trembled thinking about him, nightly masturbating as I pictured him taking my body and owning it.
    I passed the next several weeks without any spectacular interaction with Mr. Wilk, though my fantasies had begun to overwhelm me. I fought the urge to carry out my plan as I had done so many times in the past, but I remembered that my conquest would be nothing more than a fantasy this time.
    Still, I fought my thoughts night and day. I racked my brain over the ways that I could deny myself this intense pleasure and spare Mr. Wilk and myself the misery of another of my twisted affairs. I could tell once again that my fantasies were getting out of control and that I had to take drastic measures to stop myself from the activities that I had enjoyed so much. After all, I still fed off the previous affairs I had engaged in, and perhaps those past affairs would be enough to get me through the rest of my life.
    So I clung to the obvious concept that the purpose of a geometry class was to learn geometry. Therefore, I devoted myself to the study of geometry while in Mr. Wilk’s class, and I would give no further thought to this man outside the capacity of an instructor.
    The next day I walked into his class, and his eyes met mine. Immediately I looked away and found my seat. Then I opened my book and poured myself into the study of circles, those shapes that go round and round, those shapes that have no end. As Mr. Wilk lectured to the class, I continued staring at my book. I looked at pictures of circles and read many dull details about them. In that class, I practiced the formulas for finding the circumference and the area. And I wondered, after pouring myself into the study of circles, if I could ever really understand them or even care about them.
    Then the bell rang, and I stood with my classmates to collect my things. After the other students had left, I decided to be responsible in my pursuit of knowledge. I realized that I hadn’t understood anything I had read during that class and that I needed clarity. So I stopped by Mr. Wilk’s desk on my way out.
    “Sir, can you explain this formula to me?” I asked. Mr. Wilk peered at me for a moment and then held out his hand to take my book. Positioning his glasses on his face, he studied what I had been reading. “We haven’t even covered this yet,” he said. “You must really like geometry.” He looked at me and smiled. His face glowed. It radiated with beauty.
    “Yes Sir,” I said. “I’ve always liked it.”
    “Come here,” he said, “and let me show you how this works.” I walked over to him and listened, but I don’t remember anything he said to me as he explained this complicated formula to arrive at a conclusion that I couldn’t imagine would ever matter. But as I stood there with my hands on his desk, he looked at me, and his hand brushed against mine. I gasped.
    “Does that answer your question?” he asked.
    “Yes Sir,” I replied as I grabbed the book and ran out of the room. It was at that moment that I realized fantasy would be insufficient.
    After that encounter, I stayed after class every day for a few minutes with Mr. Wilk and listened to him explain the complex concepts of geometry. I don’t remember a single thing from those discussions except for the passion he showed not only for the subject matter but also for its explanation. He loved geometry, and he loved teaching. It was those passions that captivated me.
    “I have some yard work that I need done since the weather’s been warming up,” he said to me. “I don’t want to do it this weekend because my wife is out of town and I can actually enjoy being inside for a change.” He laughed. “If you’d like to earn some extra money,” he continued, “you’re welcome to come do the work for me.”
    “Yes Sir,” I said immediately. “I’ll be there this weekend.” When I went home that evening and told my mother that I planned to do some yard work for Mr. Wilk, she said, “This is crazy! You need to stop!” Yes, I needed to stop, and I would try. But it seemed there was no way to keep myself from these conquests. They fed me and consumed me at the same time. The following Saturday morning I got dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and made my way to Mr. Wilk’s house. It was small but clean, and from the looks of the place I figured all he would need me to do was mow the lawn. How long could that possibly take? Perhaps I could just mow the lawn and be on my way. After knocking on the door, Mr. Wilk invited me in.
    “The lawn mower is in the garage. Do you need anything to drink before you get started?” he asked.
    “Yes please.”
    He prepared a small glass of ice water for me, and I gulped it down as I viewed my surroundings. While the outside of the house had been neat, the inside was cluttered with papers throughout.
    “The place is a bit of a mess,” he said.
“I do a lot of writing, as you can see.” He walked over to a stack of papers and held them up. He stared at me intently. “These are very special. Perhaps I’ll show them to you some day.” The last thing I need to see is some treatise on geometry or pedagogy, I thought to myself. So I went outside and started the mower. As I pushed the thing over the tall grass, I quickly broke a sweat. From time to time, I looked back at the house and noticed Mr. Wilk staring out the window at me, and since it was very hot, I took off my shirt. I pressed on with my work, my body glistening with sweat. I frequently wiped my brow, and I wished I had drunk more water. Perhaps I could get some more. After all, he surely knew how hot I was, as he continued staring at me from the window. I’m not going to do this, I said to myself. I swear to God I’m not going to do this. I’m just getting some water. I walked back to the house, and Mr. Wilk was waiting for me.
    “Awfully hot out there,” he said with a warm smile.
    “Yeah.” “More water?”
    “Please.”
    He got another glass of water and handed it to me. As he did so, his hand brushed against mine. I looked up at him, and he stared deep into my eyes. My God, why had his strong, beautiful hand brushed against mine? “Shall I show you the house?” he asked.
    “Sure.”
    I followed him through and listened to him banter about pieces of art or sculpture that he had collected over the years. He was clearly proud of his collection, but I don’t remember anything much about it really. When we got to the bedroom, he stood in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. “No one is ever interested in geometry. You’re very special,” he told me. Again, we stared for what seemed like years. I felt his hot hands on my shoulders, and my breath became short and quick.
    I can’t do this, I thought. I’ve been taught not to. “Are you okay? You look tired,” he said.
    “Yeah, I guess I’m just a little dizzy. Let’s go in your bedroom, and maybe it will be more comfortable in there.”
    “Yes, I think it will,” he said. I started to follow him, and then I stopped. I had to think of some way to stop myself, but at that point I didn’t know if I could.
    “I need to make a quick call,” I said. “Do you mind? It’ll only be a minute.” “Of course you can,” Mr. Wilk replied. “Just go back downstairs into the kitchen, and you can use the phone there undisturbed.”
    “Thank you Sir,” I replied turning and walking away from him. How could I have done this yet again? Now there was no turning back. I walked into the kitchen and stood staring at the phone. For several minutes I considered simply walking back upstairs and doing what I knew Mr. Wilk expected of me, what so many others had expected of me before. I picked up the receiver and dialed. Then I hung up and went back upstairs.
    Mr. Wilk was lying on the bed staring at me like a ravenous demon. I started to unbutton my shorts, and a moment later I stood naked before him. He stood up in front of me and helped me onto the bed.
    “You just don’t know how special you are,” he said, his hot breath on my neck.
    He grabbed me and pushed me further onto the bed, exciting me just as my fantasies had foretold. The sex didn’t last very long. Perhaps Mr. Wilk was too excited by the beauty of my youth, but I didn’t mind. I was content at having conquered yet another man. And it would only be a short time to my victory.
    “You have no idea what you’ve done for me,” he said as I stared back at him with big, innocent eyes. Perhaps we would have time for another go before he had to leave. I didn’t know how long that would be. But I didn’t have to wait too long. A loud and powerful knock came at the door.
    “What was that?” he said as he quickly threw on some clothes. “Wait right here,” he said before running downstairs. I listened from the bedroom as I lay naked on the bed. Not even a minute had passed before the officers walked into the room and found me. Soon, they slapped a pair of handcuffs on Mr. Wilk and led him away. But before they did, he had one solitary moment to look back at me, the betrayal burning in his eyes.
    I smiled. My soul was cold.
    The officers walked around for a moment and routinely looked through some of his things while others took my name and address. “He must have really liked you,” said an officer approaching me with the same pile of papers Mr. Wilk had promised to show me. “Looks like he wrote you a lot of love letters. Did he ever give you any of these?”
    I gasped. “Love letters?” I asked.
    “That’s right,” the officer said eying me with suspicion.
    “No Sir,” I replied, a single tear forming in my eye. Love letters! How dare he! How dare he view me with affection rather than cruel animal lust! No one had ever done that. The men that were in prison because of me had never cared about me before.
Why did this one? Why in the name of God? Why?

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