This was my second time in a holding cell.
The first time was for drinking under the influence of alcohol, Dad had to come in and get me, with that special look he reserved for the homeless, or street beggars. I heard him grind his teeth the entire drive home and only a few words were spoken. He'd given me a bit of a random story about growing up in 'tough times', where you had to work hard for the smallest meal, and how ungrateful the new generation of kids were. Pretty sure that was aimed at me. I'm aware it can take a hammer and nail to drive a point home with me occasionally.
My favourite teenage conversation to have with my father as we left prison in those innocent days, with my hangover threatening to make me puke in his new Volvo.
So the next time I found myself in a holding cell was for indecent exposure, but luckily, Dad wasn't around to bail me out this time.
I put my face into my hands and started to believe I belonged in prison while Jackson started recounting his favourite porn movie.
"What?" I glanced at him, more than a little confused and bewildered he would be talking about such things at a time of crisis.
You would be forgiven for thinking that Jackson and I had taken a holiday to some random island by the cheery smile and mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
"I think it was an old Falcon porn flick I watched. The guys were in prison and the sex was incredible!"
As I looked around our tiny, cramped cell, I wondered if he'd snapped. Gone all the way around the bend into complete, fucking lunacy.
The whole thing had been a blur. While blood was pumping into my ears and drowning out the sounds around us, Jackson and I were cuffed and carted off to a police car and driven the short distance to the central police station.
Yes, we'd been given a few seconds to zip up and tuck the naughty fellas away.
Our details had been taken, and then we'd been thrown in the tiny cell that featured three grey cold walls, and one cell door with bars. It was barely big enough to hold two grown men, and the cold concrete bench did nothing to calm me.
There sat Jackson, comfortable like we're on holiday, a smile on his face, and a disposition that had not changed since before the police came in and busted our arses, while I, wild-eyed and distraught, read my own obituary over and over.
"This one scene, the guard comes in with a baton, starts shoving it up the younger guy's arse as he bends over and sucks the other prisoner's dick..."
"Jackson..." I stared at him.
"What?" he looked genuinely confused.
"Are you seriously talking about your favourite sex porn in a prison while we're in a prison cell? You know..." I looked around, but it was really quiet beyond the steel bars, and I was certain nobody was around, "our lives are in the balance?"
He actually rolled his eyes, slapped his knee, and then put an arm around me. I tried to move away, but he gripped my opposite shoulder and pulled me in.
"Where's your sense of adventure?!"
I chose not to respond.
The cops and the guard who'd locked us in had been gone for a while. I stood, walked to the bars, and tried to look left and right, see if I could make anything out. I did recall when we came in that the corridor was narrow, and I think there was only one other door and it appeared to be a cleaning cupboard.
In the far distance, beyond the doors at the end, I could make out some sounds, but they were hard to decipher and quite distant.
I turned to sit, and stopped.
Jackson was wanking.
"Jackson!" I whispered, aware I sounded like a scolding wife and that my whisper was probably louder than my normal voice.
I doubted anyone would hear us anyway.
"Nobody's around, relax!" he said, with a tongue flicking at me to try and seduce me.
It was impossible not to laugh. Jackson had a way of turning a dire situation into a comedy sketch.
But still he wanked.
And nodded for me to come to his cock.
No way
.
I looked back at the bars and the quiet, dark corridor beyond.
