C24 Pablo

The worst part about being stuck was certainly not being able to leave the cell in situations like that; in which a call girl was starting her workday precisely with my cellmate. The worst part was that if I still took the courage to go out and stand next to the bars outside, I would end up coming face to face with the guards who monitored the basic rights of call girls, and would end up being taxed as homosexual.

Not that it really affected me. A long time ago I had stopped paying attention to what my hateful cellmates talked so much about me. Many thought that my approach to Ramirez had some love issue, but, for God's sake, it was not just because I was stuck that I had to surrender to the arms of a prostitute. Those women weren't there for pleasure or for money. Most of them had been forced.

In fact, there was an occasion that would haunt me until the end of my life, when we received a girl who seemed too young and who had moist eyes. She let some guys take advantage of her body. She didn't react at any time. He didn't even do anything of his own free will. Worst of all, the girl was beautiful, and caught the attention of those beasts in the form of inmates. Even the guards took advantage of the girl.

Just like I did at that moment, I just watched while she was on her workday. There was a moment when she ended up in my cell, and Ramirez also had sex with the girl. He should be the tenth, or much more than that, I don't know. Anyway, she didn't react, but her eyes found mine and I've never felt so disturbed. She looked at me in depth, without judgment, only with an empty and distant expression.

You should be drugged. They all had to be. No prostitute could stand that life without something in her head. Even outside the prison, the men were despicable, especially when they were paying. I remember looking at the girl, I remember murmuring: "Do you want me to do something?", but she denied it with her head, still having her body penetrated by Ramirez. She kept looking at me, while my cellmate's moans echoed, and around, all the other cells emitted the same sound in common.

After that night, overwhelmed by the sudden empathy for the girl's life, I tried to persuade some guards to tell me more about her. Not out of interest in your body or any kind of shit. But to know if she would be fine after that day. I had the feeling that she was inexperienced. The guard didn't even know who I was talking about. The prostitutes had no names. And I shouldn't be dumb enough to keep asking about one of them.

However, some nights of intimate visits passed without the girl returning. I knew it was stupid, but when Ramirez finished his work with one of the women I was always seeing in that place, I ended up calling her in the corner and asked for the information. I wanted to know if the girl with brown and sad eyes was better. The woman asked for more characteristics, because, according to her, it was very difficult to find a girl with happy eyes in that life. I didn't remember much.

It was dark that day, as in all the others, when the only light in the cell area was coming from a lamp in the center of the space. But I remembered that she was thin, short, and her brown hair was also short to the chin. I warned the woman about what the girl should be like, and she gave me an expression of pure sadness. That day I found out that the girl had taken her own life by returning to her pimp.

So, before I always had an aversion to giving up the desire for any prostitute, knowing that they were forced to obey, and after that day, I became celibate when it came to call girls. I never knew the girl's name. The friend who told me about her destiny didn't know either. She was just a face that I would never forget. In my rare prayers during the night, I mentioned the unnamed prostitute, asking for her peace. Somewhere, I expected her to be happy.

At the moment, the woman who was heading to Ramirez had nothing of that sadness in her eyes. It was visibly altered, whether by alcohol or drugs, it made no difference. In my head, sex with a woman without being in her most perfect and sober state was the same as rape. The penalty is that not all the men inside the prison thought the same way. Including Ramirez. I was surprised that the man talked so much about his wife to end up doing that. But each one with their own problems, and I had too many things to think about instead of dealing with the lives of others.

I lay down on the bed and put my hands behind my head, closing my eyes for a moment. Even if I left the cell, I still wouldn't have any peace. The sounds multiplied in every corner of that prison. Men and women moaned. I knew that some refused the prostitutes, but they had sex with each other that night. It was insane without size. The prison had its laws. And sex was still an offer that few were willing to give up.

Even though I was against all kinds of sexual activity with women in that situation, I couldn't help but feel the excitement by the sound of their moans. God forgive me, but it was hard. Especially when I closed my eyes. Because in those rare seconds, I could imagine the scene happening to me, just as if I were watching a porn. Worst of all, you could really feel that sound on your skin.