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“I hadn’t asked for a transfer!”

Photo by Brooke Cagle on Unsplash

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Part 20
“Pack your stuff, you’re moving.” Yelled the officer, before slamming the door shut and walking away. Where the hell could they possible be transferring me?I hadn’t asked for a transfer! Hell, for the past two and a half months I had been almost begging the Catch 22 caseworker to do my sentence plan so that I knew what was going on and could plan as much as possible what would happen to me.
Having seen Mark’s sudden transfer, and then having heard from him by letter that he had indeed had to start all over again with his enhanced application, I had been madly working to ensure the same didn’t happen to me. I had vaguely talked to Tom about the possibility of transferring closer to NW London, as it was difficult for my friends to come and see me way out here, and as Tom was working in Birmingham during the week, it would have been better for him if I was somewhere like The Mount which was situated in Buckinghamshire, but as I still had not had my interview with the Caseworker, let alone had my sentence plan done, I couldn’t see how they could possible move me.
“Where am I going?” I asked the officer when he returned. “What’s happening to my Enhanced application?” “What about my medical treatment?” I had slipped into panic mode and for the first time in my life I felt myself hyperventilating and couldn’t catch my breath. No-one could tell me anything. The incoherent officer muttered something about the justice department randomly selecting a couple of individuals each month to be moved around between Brixton, Maidstone, Thameside and Ford, so apparently I was supposed to be one of them. How could this be? I hadn’t even been categorised yet! And what about my book? It was sitting on the prison computer network and I had no way of taking a copy or transferring it to a movable device - Hell, we weren’t even allowed movable devices! What would happen to it, and how would I get access to it? I was supposed to be on medical hold owing to the bungling of my appointments at the hospital. I was also about to start Listener training that morning, which would place me on hold for that as well.
“You’re going to Maidstone…” came back the reply a few minutes later. Maidstone? What the fuck were they doing sending me there? It was the arse end of the Universe! I would never ever get visitors again! My life might as well be over! I still had my Proceeds of Crime hearing to come. It had been scheduled for Mid June, in about two weeks time, but two weeks ago I’d had a letter from my solicitor informing me that Georgina Herbert, the stupid Bitch of a detective in charge of my case had without notification, applied to the court for an adjournment, the reason stated being that she was waiting for the Barclay’s bank for information regarding my Bank accounts, but they had advised her that they would not be able to provide the information for 30 days,and that coincided with her annual leave.
I had been furious at this, firstly because I had wanted to get the hearing over and done with so that I knew what I was facing and what I would have to pay,and the other reason was that I didn’t and had never even banked with the Barclays bank, so the reasons had been pure lies! Now, thanks to the useless idiots at Catch 22 who were responsible for my sentence plan, I was being indiscriminately moved to another prison as faraway from where I wanted to be as humanly possible, when if those fucking idiots had just done what they were paid to do, it would have ensured through the sentence plan that they were aware of my Proceeds of Crime hearing which was to take place at the beginning of August, in just 6 weeks time, and now I wondered what would happen with that? Would I have to go back to court? What would happen after that? What was this prison in Maidstone anyway? And what about my categorisation? Was I going to another category B prison? Would I be even less safe than I had been here? And what was going to happen to all the other complaints I had pending. Perhaps they were transferring me because I had complained? This was a distinct possibility, although surely they were not getting rid of me over a couple of hundred pounds?
I rang my Lawyer and apprised her of the situation, but there was very little she could do either. She told me not to worry, that they would come and see me there if they needed to, and that everything was in order with my case anyway, so they would possibly just conduct the hearing via video link, which meant that I wouldn’t need to be transported all the way back to Blackfriars Crown Court again. This did little to allay my fears, with no one to provide any answers for the multitude of other questions I had. I felt sick, but again, I figured I had no options. I felt cheated, as I felt I had been a model prisoner, I’d had no black marks against me, and in fact had had glowing reports from everyone on my references for my Enhanced status, regularly received praise from teachers who supervised me as I taught the imaging software course whilst Louisa was otherwise engaged in her office. I was about to begin listener training, which was a voluntary task, designed to help others, and here I was being deliberately punished. It wasn’t fair, but then, nothing in this fucked up system was fair!
I quickly rang Edd, hysterical, and vented to him for a good ten minutes. He tried to get me to calm down but I was inconsolable! He assured me that everything would be OK, and I organised to ring him when I arrived. I then rang Tom. I’d had trouble getting hold of him lately also, and figured that he was avoiding me because he had decided against the marriage agreement, being too gutless to tell me on the phone, but miraculously he answered. When I told him what had happened, still somewhat hysterical, he laughed with a parting jibe along the lines of “Well, on behalf of her Majesty the Queen we’re terribly sorry you don’t find the service up to scratch.” At that moment I vowed that that would be the last time I spoke to him. Once all my belongings were packed up, I was escorted back to reception where I had come in some six weeks earlier after my sentencing. Alone in the holding room all manner of fears danced around in my head. I was devastated that the book I had worked so hard on would be lost forever, and I would have to start all over again, and worried sick about having to begin the entire healthcare process all over again, which would waste valuable weeks and months until they finally got around to getting me to hospital for the scan. By now it had been five months since the lumps had first been detected, and with cancer, I knew that five months could make a world of difference. What was I to do? There was nothing to be done - I was completely at the mercy of these idiot prison officers who had no interest in my welfare whatsoever, and in fact were going out of their way to make my life as difficult as possible. I really believed that they were deliberately out to get me!
Before long a young black guy was led into the waiting room, and we started talking. “Maidstone’s OK.” He answered when I told him where I was going. I’m going back there too. It’s a Cat C foreign nationals prison, better than here.” When I told him of my fears regarding my Proceeds of crime hearing he just laughed. “Yeah, that happens all the time! Serco get £350 every time they transfer someone, so it’s all just a profit making exercise. I’ve got proceeds of crime coming up too, but they’ll move us back to court for the hearing and then we’ll end up back here again afterwards. That way they get four transfers instead of two.”
Of course that made sense! We as prisoners were of the lowest priority. Never mind the damage it would do to us psychologically, the extra trauma of having to go through the entire induction process all over again, needlessly, when in six weeks we would be right back where we started again and have to go through the whole process all over again. Then of course there was the needless expense once again to the poor old taxpayer, but lets not worry about him. National Healthcare services were at breaking point, Police numbers had been cut to record lows because of austerity measures and the government deficit was spiralling out of control, but fear not, the privatised prison service was ensuring that they got what they were due and more from the government, and simultaneously fleecing it for anything extra they could get away with as well. Serco was making a profit, whilst the government was going broke!
I managed to spy my old mate Terry Jeeves out of the corner of my eye as he walked across reception so I banged on the door and he saw me and came over. “What’s going to happen to my Enhanced status?” I asked “Where are you going?” “Maidstone.” “Oh, OK, don’t worry, I’ll get on the computer when I get back to the office and approve it so it’s on the system by the time you get there.” He answered. Job done! Well at least that was something! It was amazing how one little piece of good news had the ability to entirely change one’s outlook on life. It was one less thing to worry about, and therefore would allow me more time to concentrate on the other important issues such as my book and my medical situation. Surely they couldn’t deny me access to Hospital treatment forever,and surely there must be some way to have the book manuscript emailed over to me at Maidstone?
After what seemed an eternity we were finally loaded into a little sweat box and given a couple of dry looking sandwiches to eat on the way. The whole transfer process was extremely time consuming and arduous. Once your belongings were packed you were escorted over to a waiting room in reception, and locked in whilst they attended to the paperwork, which, on a good day, could take around an hour. Nothing happened quickly here, and God forbid that they would have everything ready before going to collect you!
After this, we were escorted one by one into the search area, where they went through all your belongings, checked to make sure you hadn’t stolen any prison property, library books etc, then everything was re-packed into heavy duty clear plastic bags for all the world to see, and they then went through any stored property you might have had. Then it was into the strip search room where they made you take off each item of clothing one by one and hand it over for inspection, and then once you were down to your underwear they made you sit on this electronic chair, which apparently could detect whether you had hidden anything up your arse, then once they had decided you were clear, you could get dressed again and they took you out to another holding room.
Next, after another half hour’s wait, they would load all the prisoners’ possessions onto the bus, and then we would be handcuffed to an officer and escorted aboard one by one, ushered into a 600mm, by 600mm aluminium lined cubicle with a built in seat, where the door would be placed on a latch, before the handcuff was removed and the door double locked. There are no seat belts or restraints in these cubicles so it was basically a Kamikaze capsule should any of them be involved in a motor accident, it would be curtains as there was absolutely no way of getting out apart from the way we had got in. A sobering thought.

Double Bubble

Double Bubble is the third book in The Chemsex Trilogy - a series of books written by Cameron Yorke about his experience with Chemsex, addiction, and imprisonment in the UK.

We are serialising Double Bubble on Mainly Male. This is the 20th instalment in the serialisation. Go back to read earlier instalments.

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How do you masturbate?

We ask men to share with us their jack-off techniques.

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I caught up with Twitter buddy Suffolk Lad and asked him a few personal questions.

Can you remember the first time you jacked-off?

I’d probably just turned 13. I can remember I was still sharing a bedroom with my brother. We had bunk beds. I remember I was rubbing my hard penis on the duvet.

How did you feel when you first jacked off?

The very first time I came was quite a shock.

Did you talk about it with anyone?

It was never spoken about. Wanking felt like my dirty little secret. I never discussed it with anyone. That was over 20 years ago — it’s just how things were.

Did you try any different techniques in those early years?

I tried a few different ways but ended up sticking with what gave me the most pleasure.

Can you remember the first time you talked to someone else about jacking off?

The first time I spoke about wanking was with a guy that I met online — we’re great friends now. We chatted for ages about the pleasure it gave us and how we did it. Obviously we had a bit fun from there.

What’s your preferred way to jack-off currently?

I enjoy I straight forward wank. I play with myself a bit — balls, nipples — and I have a bit of porn to hand. Then I just bust one out — it’s the best way.

What jack-off hints or tips would you give a young guy just starting to explore his sexuality?

Enjoy yourself. It’s all about self-pleasure. Do it as you feel you need to. There’s no right or wrong way.

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