David Goudreault - Mama’s Boy Behind Bars

For perpetuity

Ive killed two people now. Im a serial killer. So maybe a body count of two isnt exactly serial, but its a start. Im still young. Who knows where opportunity might lead me? Opportunity makes the thief, or the murderer, or even the pastry chef. Its well documented.

For the last four days, my world has been shrunk down to the size of an isolation cell. My lawyers just been by to bring me paper and pencils. He claims itll help me kill time and might come in useful to us at the trial. Apparently my writings of great interest to the legal guys and all manner of specialists. I seriously dont know what they get out of it, but my lawyer, all dressed up in his Sunday best, swears itll be psychiatrist catnip.

Last time I murdered someone, I wrote down the whole story. The experts took inspiration from it when they wrote up their psychological reports. Which means that reports using my own sentences played their part in decisions about my sentence.

They said my story was disarmingly transparent and frank. It should have worked in my favour. Seems the verdict was that I have minimal capacity for introspection even though I express myself richly. Thats because of all my studies in nothing
whatsoever. Im self-taught from head to toe. At the trial I swaggered about, feeling pretty proud of myself.

But then they started listing off a whole string of diagnoses: dysphasia, flexibility, and adaptation issues that might point to autism, and anti-social and narcissistic personality disorders. The specialists teamed up to make me out to be a complex psychopath, even though I was so young. That was less flattering.

I got sixteen years in the slammer. Clang! They told me it could have been worse. Itll be worse this time, for sure, now Ive reoffended. I might never know freedom again. But freedoms all in your head. And I have a huge skull.

As I wait for them to finish their inquiry and decide what degree of murder Im going down for, Im stewing in isolation, so I might as well write.

Ill tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but my truth. This manuscript may be submitted to the judge, the jury, the psychiatric experts, and a publisher. Odds are itll be a long trial and a good book.

When it comes to sodomy, Im a passive kind of guy; I mostly just wait for it to be over. When I ended up in prison, I soon realized this would be the best attitude to adopt. Trying to argue only turned my attacker on. And if I wasnt getting a kick out of it, I certainly wasnt going to give him one.

Society is so prejudiced about people who take it up the ass. But were not doing anything wrong. The ones doing the ass-fucking are the ones getting their hands dirty. Or other parts of their anatomy. Especially in the kind of sexual assaults Ive been subjected to since my first few hours in prison. But the social prejudice weighs heavily on the back of the person being taken up the ass. I never wanted to be that person, and Ive never done anything to make it happen. Being fucked up the ass is bad for a persons self-esteem. But nobody ever criticizes the person doing the fucking. Its a deep injustice. I dont think well be seeing groups standing up for buggered people any time soon. Sad.

The giant sodomizing me went by the pseudonym of Butterfly. Dont let his delicate nickname fool you. He got it from his first conviction: he blinded his girlfriend with a butterfly knife. He caught her looking at photos of an ex. Butterfly didnt appreciate that kind of nostalgia. The broad survived, minus an eye.

So for the last six months, this brute Butterfly has been working hard to increase my sphincter flexibility. Its been tough, but you can get used to anything, especially if it goes on for long enough. The butterfly in question needed to make out with me every day. Over time, it became irritating but tolerable. For the body, anyway. The head never gets used to being raped.

Optimists like to say that things could always be worse. If Butterfly hadnt chosen me for his boo, I wouldnt have benefited from his protection. Every other prisoner in the joint would have had a claim on my ass. And Butterfly was a high-up dude in Big Dicks gang. So even if his libido was suffering from morbid obesity, and even if he used to make me wax my crack and balls, just by being under his command, I too, by extension, was a little bit part of the gang. I aspired, in some nearish future, to establish professional rather than sexual relations.

I should explain that in prison its not homosexuality. Its simply managing the surplus testosterone in a closed circuita very complicated intermittent circuit. Unless you have a history of it before you get here. And even among back-door connoisseurs, theres a whole spectrum of differences. There are gays, queers, fairies, and homosexuals. You shouldnt lump them all together, even though they sometimes overlap. But Im none of those things. Im just a virile hetero in an unfortunate position. Even though hes bald, Butterfly is also a very virile hetero, but after four years in the slammer hes gay for the stay.