Confessions Of Guys Who Were Raped In Prison

October 12, 2017 | No Comments » | Topics: TRUTH

1. While serving a one-to-two year sentence in a Pennsylvania prison, I received thirty days in the hole for cooking with hot water in my cell. I went to the yard for exercise, and was approached by an inmate serving a double life sentence. Threatening me with a homemade knife, he told me that I would do as he said or he would kill me. Without moving, I told him that I was not into having sex with guys. He pulled the knife to my neck and said, “Today you’re going to be into it.” He grabbed my jumpsuit and tried to rip the buttons off of it. I said, “Come on, don’t.” But he responded, “Don’t you want to see your kids again?” He held the knife to my side as he ripped the jumpsuit off of me, sending it down around my ankles.

The other inmates on the yard just watched as the man raped me. As the knife sliced into my side and I began to cry, he told me to shut up or he’d kill me. That part of the yard was not visible from the guard towers, and there was no guard outside watching the yard. When the man finished, he said that if I told on him, he’d kill me.

I lay in my bed for about five hours after the assault. Then, two guards came to take me to the security office. An inmate who saw what happened had reported the rape. The security lieutenant asked me if I had indeed been raped that morning in the yard. I nodded my head, yes, and the lieutenant told the two guards to take me into the room and examine me. One guard said there was blood and that I was ripped open, but that it wasn’t anything unusual. I was never taken to medical or examined by a doctor.

The guards moved the inmate who assaulted me to the hole. The security lieutenant told me that the inmate had received a misconduct, but that suing or pressing charges would make the papers and would be embarrassing for me.

The next day, the inmate who reported the assault came to my cell. He told me that he would protect me in return for my giving him sexual favors. He said he had helped me by telling, and that if I didn’t do as he demanded, he would have my assailant brought back over to kill me — he had that kind of pull. I said that I just wanted to go home to be with my kids and make it out alive. I had no choice but to have sex with him.

I found out later that the man who raped me had done it several time before. I will never forget November 5, 1989. It was snowing that day. I love the snow. I try to forget what happened, but I can’t.

 

2. I’m a 28 yr. old black male. I first came to prison at the age of 19 yrs. old. I was place in a max joint. Now at that time i wgt. maybe 128 pd. soak and wet. Well anyway i was given four ears for breaking itno someone house. I was place in the max. joint and put in a cell with another young kid he was white….Other prisoners…would bug me everyday for sex which i refuse to do with them. About a month after being in the joint i came back to my cell after working….I walk in my cell and it was full with black guys and my cellie was on his knees sucking them off. I should of got the fuck out of there but i didn’t. The next thing i knew i was hit in the face by someone when i turn to run i was grab by the back and they started beatting the crap out of me. Then i was told to strip which i did and they threw me on the bed and someone got on top of me and ram his dick in me i scream from the pain of it what a fucken mistake i ended up getting my face pound in for it. Then each one of them took turns fucking me. They kept beatting the crap out of me at the same time Hell i wasn’t even screaming and they hit me. Well then someone ram him dick in my mouth and i choke on it but they didn’t care. I had to suck him off and one by one they either fuck me in the ass or ram there cock down my throat or both. Than one of them decide to piss in my mouth and told me i better drink it or else so i did. Then more guys kept coming in and out my cell doing the same shit. I lost count of who was doing what. Then when i thought it was over they started in on my cellie beatting the crap out of him too. I kept getting kick in the face and punch for no fucken reason….Then i pass out and when i came to they was gone.I couldn’t moe but i was on the floor in my cell next to my cellie. He was crying…We just ball up together holding each other. I wasn’t sure if it was i couldn’t move or i was to scare to move but i stay like that til the officer’s did count….I told him we need to go to the hospital he said what the fuck you say faggot I told him again and i said we was rape. He started laughing saying yea right. Hell there was blood all over us and t he cell but this cop thinks i’m lieing. I told him to call the Lt. but he wouldn’t….Than when i woke up i had a [male] nurse over me calling my name. I got scare and jump back and start screaming Don’t touch me please don’t hurt me no more….Than i talk to the warden he act like i was lieing for he kept asking me who did it. I said i don’t know…So he order them to take me to the hole. I stay in the hole for two weeks. [then was sent] back in the hospital…..The officer’s kept laughing saying come on tell us the truth you wanted it you didn’t get rape. I couldn’t take it so i just kept quiet and tried to block them out. Than the next day this female cpt. came to see me. She never ask me what happen she just sat there next to me saying she understood. I started crying and she held my hand and i told her no one will believe me that they all believe i wanted it. I said ask my cellie he would tell you what happen. Thats when i foudn out my cellie was dead he kill his self over it…..I keep feeling if only i gave t hem what they wanted in the first place this would never happen.

I still cry so much over it and wish i could die.

I meet guys all the time now whos been rape and its unreal. The storys may be defference but one thing all of us has and thats the kowledge that we didn’t ask to be rape….I still perform sexual acts but not cause i want to or i enjoyu it I do it out of fear of being gang rape again… Se xuse to be a pleasure now its a way to survive for me. Before i came to prison i always felt only females get rape boy was i wrong. Now i know the pain they go through. It’s more mental and emotional than anything else. I feel the only reason the courts and outside world doesn’t want to get involve is cause no one wants to hear the truth. Everyone turns therre head and clsose there ear until it happens to them.

I have forgiven them it’s forgiving myself I can’t seem to do. A man lost his life at the hands of some sick people who wanted to get there rocks off and show they’re bigger than he was….How i almost took my life over it. Many people say they would have to kill me before i ever get fuck. Thats a lie they only say it cause they’ve never been there.

I know deep down the rape wasn’t my fault but knowing it and really feeling it is two different things. I fight everyday the pain i feel inside and the things i go through. What bothers me most is i fine myself shaking all over at times and i cry a lot when i think of the rape.

I have not been rape since then. Well not in a painful way anyway. The only reason why is cause when a black comes at me with it i get to scare to say no and just do what he wants to get it over with. I’ve tried to say no one time to these guys but they just laugh at me….So i got scare and just did it i didn’t want to go through what i went through before….then i end up feeling dirty and guilty afterwards.

– Lorne E.Williams, Menard, Illinois

 

 

3. I was raped by a prisoner while serving a one-year sentence in a Massachusetts jail. I froze the moment I was touched. Suddenly, I was five years old again, unable to move. At age 43, I never considered being raped. I was 295 pounds — strong and able to fight. But my past trauma had a say in the matter; PTSD prevailed over the instinct to survive. The prisoner pushed me into a chair, then overpowered and raped me. All I recall is crying and begging over and over, “Stop, please don’t!” I went to sleep, believing in my mind that it did not happen.

The next day, I awoke to find the same prisoner sexually assaulting me. Again unable to react, I managed to say, “Please don’t. Please stop.” Crying, I looked at him and asked, “Why are you torturing me?” He replied, “Torturing you? I’m not torturing you. You are enjoying it.” And then he jumped off.

I lay there for hours, unable to move. When I finally focused, I decided that I was going to kill myself. I put a plastic bag over my head and the perpetrator returned. He took over and tightened the bag, cutting off my air. Now a suicide would look like murder, and I did not want to die that way. He told me that no one would believe anything I said about him. Then he released the bag.

Later, a corrections officer found me in the fetal position under the table. I was questioned and, recalling the threat, told him I had been exercising. He dropped it.

I told a trusted friend what had happened, and then 10 days later I had the courage to tell the jail’s Catholic priest. Well, all hell broke out. Priests in jail do not have to maintain confidentiality. My room was locked down. Every item I had was confiscated and held for approximately 20 days, pending investigation. All linen and clothing had been washed twice, leaving no evidence, and the fact that I had taken at least 10 showers did not help.

I felt alone, frightened, unsupported, scared, and confused. For a month, though alone in my cell, I slept fully clothed. I questioned what I did to cause this to happen. I lost 60 pounds in three months. Now I can’t stop eating. I go from compassion to hate in seconds. To say I’m better is a far cry from how I feel. I’m not better and I’m about to be released with no support at all, except from God.

 

 

4. Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don’t understand is that rape in prison isn’t like it is on the outside. It’s not random or chaotic. It’s planned and methodical. It’s business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be with whom. And other inmates didn’t dare touch me without clearing it first with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me “Coco.” When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the same thing would happen to me if I didn’t comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff Brown that he and his gang had “bought” me. That’s when the prostitution escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates — white gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral. Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter. They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn’t matter. They told me to “fight or fuck.” The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn’t face the constant humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own apartment as I try to move my life forward. I’m getting counseling and the medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I’m always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms. And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed out of trouble, I wouldn’t have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.

 

 

5. I’ve always been gay, but I’ve never been overtly effeminate. Coming from a family of several positive male role models, I never had to hide who I was, so I never did.

Like everyone, I had heard the stories about men being “turned out” in prison. As I was being booked into Orleans Parish Prison in November of 2004, I realized I was a target.

During the processing I was placed in a holding cell with nearly fifty other prisoners.

I was terrified going into the cell. So I found a quiet spot on the floor in the corner. I sat with my knees in and my arms folded with my head down, so I’m not sure how they knew I was gay. Still, a man sat next to me and put his arm around me. I attempted to spring up but another man stood over me and forcefully pushed me back down by my shoulders.

“You ain’t fighting back, is you, sweetness?” he said. I looked at him in horror as tears welled up in my eyes. The man who was standing exposed himself while the other aggressively forced me to give his friend oral sex. Out of fear, I performed oral sex on them both. Even with several people in the cell, no one said or did anything. I don’t know why I expected them to do anything.

I was too petrified to fight back. I was too embarrassed to ask for help. I just complied. This was my first time in jail and, as a scrawny 23-year-old, I was afraid to do anything but obey. Besides the original two, I was intimidated into performing oral sex on two other men. During the acts, I mentally dissociated. I pushed that night so far back into my head that it’s hard for me to even remember the faces of the men. Yet I very much remember the feelings of fright and trepidation.

After that first night I was placed on a dormitory style tier with about 30 other inmates. It was three ten-man “cuts” with a two man shower in the far back. It was not long before the other inmates discovered that I was gay. During my first few hours there, I didn’t see two men take a shower together. That all changed when I went to take mine.

A man entered the shower with me and ordered me to face the wall or he would “break my fucking neck.” This man was literally twice my size and so I faced the wall without question. I felt his hand on me and I tried to move away. He ordered me not to move as he sexually assaulted me. I cried silently.
I was repeatedly sexually and physically assaulted in the shower. I never felt so much shame, embarrassment, and humiliation in my life. I felt degraded and low. The feeling of worthlessness was only amplified when the first man who assaulted me in the shower sold me to another inmate for $20 in commissary items. I became his “ho.” This meant that I was his property and available to him for sex at his beck and call or risk being “put in a ho’s place.”

It was enslavement. I had been bought and sold. With the threat of more violence, I was intimidated into giving up my manhood. I was raped repeatedly. I was used to pay off my “husband’s” gambling debts. I was forced to act like a woman. I was forced to grow my hair and nails and shave all the hair off of my face. I had to arch my eyebrows and wear my clothes two sizes smaller to appear feminine. I had to talk soft and never raise or put bass in my voice. I was forced to wear a tucker — a handmade garment that pulls the genitals back, giving the illusion that the penis is not there — all the time. It is excruciatingly painful. It is punishment for being a man. This was the most demeaning thing aside from the actual sexual assaults.

The forced enslavement and sexual assaults permanently altered my life and my perception about everything. I became disassociated and depressed. I lost touch with reality. I lost my sexual identity and began referring to myself as “she” and “her.” I often do not see myself as a man. I began to take offense at being called “he.”

I still have nightmares and have trouble sleeping because of that gruesome time. I have been suicidal. My psychological stability has been taken away. My self-worth and self-esteem are non-existent.

Hopelessness, depression, and utter despair are constantly overwhelming and abundant. I have hated myself. I have lost myself and forgotten who I was. I have not forgiven myself for doing nothing. I regret not fighting back more. My life has been permanently altered and I am only in jail for check fraud.

I often hear that homosexuals just love being in jail. That it is akin to a kid in a candy store. That cliché is so far from the truth. When I choose to be with someone, it’s personal and intimate. Being raped is anything but. Jail is a nightmare for anyone. But for a gay man — the target of sexual assaults — it is pure hell.

– Rodney, Louisiana

 

 

6. Having read the literature sent to me I can help some of the first timers to prepare for their stay within prison. I know that I can’t do it all myself, but they say the first step is the easiest way to get to the end of a long road.

When I first came to prison [at 16] I tried to stay to myself and do my own time. I held other inmates in check for a while, but the perrsure started to build up. I was at Cummins Unit…and another inmate came in my cell and demanded that I service him sexually. I told him I just wanted to be left alone. He kept on demanding that I service him and he hit me and called me a “Bitch”. He pulled out a razor and when I saw it I pushed him against the wall. He drop the razor…I ended up cutting his throat and jaw….For the first 2½ to 3 years I had to fight to keep from being “turned out.”

I got tired of fighting all the time. I started to look for a partner to “hook up” with. Someone to look out after me. A “Man” as well as a friend. Someone to talk to. I did not know the first thing about being a “Boy”….After about a year we are still hooked up.

You were right about when you said that over time that you start to develop feels for the person you are hooked up with. I did. I am only 20 years old.

The administration within the Arkansas Department of Corrections does alot to also add to the perrsure. For example, if a…first timer does something that “Rocks the Boat” against the administration they will put him in a barracks or block that is for trouble makers. He is almost certain to be rape or is made to hook up with someone that he know nothing about. And the only way he can go to P.C. (Protective Custody) is if he is raped or beat up real bad.

Rapes happen about one two per week in each prison within Arkansas. Those…are only the ones reported to the administration. There are many more rapes that they never hear about because the victims are threaten to keep the mouths closed.

Your handout on hooking up [protective pairing] is very good. It is very informative…..If I would have read it before I got my time it would have made my time easier.

When I first came to the [juvenile] penitentiary I had at least one fight a day. When a confrontation would come my way it would scare me half to death. I felt like a cat trapped in a corner…I would fight to cover my fear up….I could not show the inmates any other parts of myself. I was finally transferred to an adult prison I told myself that I was not going to fight no more. [After the cut throat incident] they locked me up in Administrative Segregation in a two man cell with a dude a hell of alot bigger than me….The next thing I know he was rubbing my arms and back. I was uncomfortable with this but was afraid to say anything. Needless to say, with grease he fucked my ass. It hurt real bad.

On the streets I only mess with girls….I learned that it is easeir to adapt to the role as a punk instead of fight it. My `life’ is a hell of alot easier now. When I first started out as a punk I had mixed feeling. I was angry at myself for becoming a punk when I fought so hard not to become one. Gradually as time when on I became more able to cope with these feelings. I was able to start ignoring what people said.

I would like to write inmates in other prisons that have been through the same experiences and that have adapted to prison life as punks….I realize some of them have no one to write to that can understand them and won’t put them down for being punks.

When the inmates here sending request to the chaplain or the “shrink” we never get an answer back….Being a punk means I can show my feelings. I don’t have to hide them. I do care for people….At one point I had a boy and I “played the man role.” But anyway that’s the past. Sometimes I sit back and think to myself “I am a man and I am letting another man put his dick in my ass.” But the closeness, intimacy and the touch are things to be tressured in prison.

– G.H., Arkansas. 

 

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