Tiffany sat in her living room, staring at the letter in her hands. A tv reporter, talking about the weather, chattered in the background. Her small apartment was sparsely furnished, laid out in dull colors, with few decorations. She stared down at her hands, tears welling in her eyes. Her brother, Casey, had finally written to her. He had gone to prison, for life, 10 years ago. Tiffany had written to him multiple times over the years, with no response. His letter was short.
My beloved sister, it has been so long. I am writing to tell you that I have finally won my appeal, and have been re-sentenced. My sentence has been commuted, it has been reduced from murder to manslaughter. I will be eligible for parole in 5 years. I have avoided you, because I did not want you seeing, nor thinking about me in this way. I feel, for the first time in a long time, hope. "Possibility of parole" Can you believe it? I am in a state of shock. I was resigned to living the rest of my life inside of this cage. I know it must have hurt. I should never have avoided you. I felt, and feel, like I failed you. Immensely. I regret not being able to be there to help you into adulthood. Please accept my most sincere apology. With my commuted sentence, I have additional privileges, the most important being conjugal visits.
We could see each other, face to face, no shackles or guards. I could hug you.
Come see me little sister, please.
In the envelope was the necessary forms for her to fill out for conjugal visits with the California Departments of Corrections.
Tiffany was 18 when Casey, at age 25, was been convicted of murder. They had been really close. So close, that when her 24 year old boyfriend, had sexually assaulted her and taken her virginity. Casey had swooped in like an angel to protect her. The two men clashed like hero and villain in folklore. Casey had been brutal. The judge had been harsh, saying that he had never before seen a crime so violent. Sentencing had been the last time she had seen him. He had smiled at her, a special smile, as they led him away in cuffs.
Life had not been easy for Tiffany. Her mother had passed when she was young, and she'd never known her father. Feelings of abandonment and betrayal coursed through her veins like a living entity, her own internal, self destructive demon. She had floated around aimlessly all these years with a chip on her shoulder. Partly, she blamed herself. The other part blamed her brother for leaving her. She wrote often in the beginning, but when the letters started returning to her marked "Undeliverable" she had quit. Furious, she raged through life, lashing out at anyone and everyone. She was close to no one, and had no friends. All alone in life, she walked her own path.
It was afternoon, nearly bedtime, she worked some odd hours, being a Wal-Mart assistant manager. It was not glamorous, but it paid the bills. She took off her blue vest, then peeled off her jeans and panties all at once. She unbuttoned her light grey blouse, tossing it unceremoniously in a pile with the rest of her clothes. She unclipped her bra, sighing, in contentment.
She stood in the bathroom, looking at herself in the full length mirror. Long legged and narrow waisted, her hips flared, giving shape to her round and full bottom. She cupped her breasts, letting them bounce a little. It always felt good letting the girls out of captivity. She always wore a C cup, even though it was a little small. It kept her heavy breasts pushed up higher, hopefully making her look a little younger. But the discomfort could be tiring after a long day.
She showered letting the hot steam soak into her. She shaved, toweled off and rubbed in some lotion. Naked, her hair wrapped in a towel, she padded out of the bathroom.
Her bare feet slapped a staccato on the tile floor. She didn't have to travel far to her bed, the apartment was a studio. The one real luxury she had was her king bed, it was soft like a cloud. She was taller than most women and preferred a king bed with room to stretch out. At 5'8" she didn't look gangly or too thin. Her weight had never been an issue either, she stayed around 130lbs no matter what she did, or ate. Most of her weight was in her hips and ass, she wasn't sorry. She knew it made her more attractive, men tripped on themselves looking. She basked in the power she had over men, though she never took advantage. Not even bothering to date, as she preferred her more solo and simple life. Sometimes it was the most simple of things that were worth the most.
Tiffany kept a mirror by her bed, it was one of those simple things she most liked. She found pleasure in front of it. She really enjoyed watching herself. Often pretending she was watching someone else, or someone else watching her. It was a guilty pleasure of her nightly routine, that and her stories. She propped it up now, on the headboard, and sprawled out naked in front of it. Her hands roamed her body, massaging and probing at her favorite spots. Propping her head up with some pillows, she snagged her laptop and opened it up. Most people liked porn, and that was fine with her, but she loved her stories. She knew she was probably fucked up in the head, who wasn't though. The stories took her beyond her own imagination, and into the realm of naughty, and perverse. Logging into a new site she had just found, she settled in and began clicking through the pages. Almost immediately at the top of the screen was a title and description that caught her attention. Beginning to read, an anxious wave washed through her, electrifying her. She crossed her legs to help calm the energy between them.
It had been read over 130 thousand times, and had a very high score. Looking at herself in the mirror, legs crossed. She could see the bottom of her feet and toes, she grinned a wolfish grin, wiggling her toes. She had her long blonde hair pulled up in a bun, and her small pink nipples stood erect like little soldiers, dwarfed by the mounds they stood guard over. Just looking at herself made her feel hot and sexy. She wasn't vain by any means, maybe she just had some latent lesbian tendencies, as yet unexplored. She smiled to herself at the thought.
Not that she would ever act on any of these fantasies, some of her fantasies were pretty bizarre, like this incestuous tale.
She began reading. It was a beautiful story, she fell into the world of Olivia and her alter ego Bethany the prostitute. She read through it, fascinated and heavily excited. When she finished she lay back and closed her eyes. Imagining she was Bethany, naked on the bed. Showing off for her john, showing him how she pleasures herself.
She opened her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror. Her legs were spread wide, feet pressed together. Her complexion rosey, starting from her chest it burned up into her cheeks.
Placing her hand, palm down, against herself, she pressed her middle and ring finger inside herself and groaned. It was glorious, she let out a stifled moan and tightened her grip. Fireworks. Marveling at how her pinky and index finger dug into each side of her outer lips, she rocked her hand. Everytime she tightened her grip, her palm pressed against her clitoris, while her inserted fingers clamped down on her G spot. She squeezed and pushed against her pelvis, sending rivulets of liquid fire through her veins. In the mirror, she watched her brow bead in sweat as she kept to a rhythmic motion.
"Do you like what you see?" She said aloud, feeling sultry. Her voice ended with a moan of pleasure.
"You've imagined this before haven't you?
She felt dirty, and naughty. She felt explosive. Her body arched compulsively, lifting her pelvis into the air. She whipped her hand away as she quickly became too sensitive to continue. Her fists balled up the sheets. And with her pelvis still thrust into the air, she came in one massive release. She collapsed into the bed convulsing, and rolled onto her side. Tucking her knees to her chest as she wrapped her arms around her legs. The convulsions continued, as she let her imagination run astray. She drifted off to sleep imagining Bethany and her john, laying together naked, arm in arm. Safe, and together at last. Never to be alone again.
It took six months. A very long six months of waiting and writing letters. Today she was on her way to Salano prison in Vacaville. Finally, it was happening, she was finally going to see her big brother. Tears began to fall unbidden, she choked back a sob. The waiting list had been long. And the paperwork extensive. But in the end she had been approved for a conjugal visit. 40 hours. She sighed, 40 hours! She couldn't believe it.
The strumming from a guitar came on the radio, a familiar soulful song. She turned it up, tears began to brim in her eyes.
"So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from hell?
Blue skies from pain?"
She wanted to just push her foot to the floor and go as fast as the car would take her. The air felt thick and the lyrics of the song carried her back in time. Back to when she was 15 and all alone. No father, and her brother taken from her.
"How I wish, how I wish you were here
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year
Running over the same old ground
What have we found?
The same old fears
Wish you were here"
The song finished, its finale bringing her back to the present, her GPS saying she had arrived. She sat there stunned, her reverie having made the world feel plastic and incredibly surreal.
"I'm going to see my big brother." She said aloud, while making eye contact with herself in the rear view mirror.
She looked at the prison, it looked so cold and ominous. Roll after roll of razor wire adorned its multiple layers of fences. Guard towers jutted up into the air with ill omen to anyone who might want out. It was a terrifying visage to behold. At the visitors parking lot, a guard stopped her. He walked around her vehicle with a mirror, looking under it. Another guard let a leashed dog sniff her car.
She was terrified. Her hands began to tremble.
"Suck it up buttercup" she breathed to herself. "Waited forever for this, don't chicken out now."
They waived her through and pointed to an empty row marked for visitors. She parked, grabbed her duffel and walked to the entrance. Her hair trailed in her wake. She looked past the fencing as she walked, seeing a painted sign that had been posted everywhere. It said "WARNING NO WARNING SHOTS". A chill ran down her back. The CDC meant business.
"Step over here to the left please, follow the line." Said a hawkish woman in uniform.
"Follow the line on the floor mam and place any belongings on the belt… Do you have anything in your pockets… miss… your pockets?
Do you have anything in them?"
Tiffany looked from officer, to tub, to the line, and again at officer, complying sluggishly, feeling a little overwhelmed and a bit disoriented. She placed her keys in the bin, along with her phone.
"These items.." the lady was saying. "Will be returned to you after your visit… if you wish to bring your bag you must consent to searching it…"
"I consent," Tiffany said woodenly.
She was so anxious. Meeting her brother for the first time, in years, all this security. And no warning shots? Her tension continued to rise. She watched as they removed her clothing from her bag, item by item. Shaking out such things as her underwear, and placing them in a clear plastic bag. Her toiletries and makeup were left in the bag, only her clothing items were placed in the plastic bag.
"You can get the rest of your items when you return." The lady drawled. "Here at Solano, we only allow the bare minimum to go in. We provide everything you will need. You can purchase approved food items at the commissary. Do you have any questions mam?"
Tiffany responded. "No.. I don't.. sorry."
Should she? Was she supposed to negotiate for her makeup back? Her palms were sweaty and she felt like a criminal for some reason. This was awful.
"Step through the metal detector please."
The lady waved her through.
Tiffany walked through, relieved that no alarms went off. She wondered if her relief was visible. A male officer came up with a dog that sniffed her thoroughly. He began to whine and whimper.
The guard barked "Mam the dog has detected the possibility of contraband. Sometimes it's just a false positive, however we are required to investigate. Come with me"
Tiffanys blood went cold, she broke out in a sweat, she wiped her palms against her legs. What does that even mean, contraband? She was ushered into a room, it was bare and empty, she looked inquisitively at the female officer, reading her badge. "Collins" it said. Another female guard came in and shut the door.
"I have to perform a strip search… mam" officer Collins drawled. "make sure you're not smuggling anything in… You have the right to refuse, but you will forfeit your right to this visitation, do you understand your rights?"
Tiffany stood there dumbfounded. What was she supposed to do? Refuse?
"I understand," she said weakly.
"Please start by removing your shoes, and socks." Officer Collins said.
The lady officer by the door just stood there nonchalantly staring at her while the other one gave instructions.
"O-o-kay.." Tiffany stuttered.
Removing her tennis shoes, she took off her socks. Feeling silly for having just had her toes done, she stared at her feet. The floor was cold and felt damp, sending shiver up her legs. Her skin broke out in goose pimples.
"Your shirt next."
The lady sounded bored, as she picked up Tiffany's shoes. She inspected them in and out, removing the laces, and shaking out Tiffanys socks.
Tiffany complied, removing her shirt, handing it over. She was embarrassed beyond anything she had ever felt before. She stood there in bra and jeans, determined to get through this. The floor was so cold and her feet felt like they were freezing.
Tiffany stood there completely naked and humiliated. Feeling the heat flush in her cheeks and neck. She had her arms crossed over her breasts, standing there, feeling like a fool, while the officer searched and shook out her clothes.
"Please get dressed" the guard at the door reached for her radio.
"We have one, cleared for visitation."
They stood and watched her dress. They had kept her belt and laces.
Her dress slacks she had been wearing barely stayed up without a belt. She had to hold onto it with one hand to keep them from falling to her ankles. Her white blouse had dainty buttons and she struggled trying to get them buttoned, her fingers felt numb. She knew she must look a site. Holding her pants up with her right hand, and her left arm across her chest clutching her plastic bag and shoes, she followed the guard.
"Hey so.. is that all? Do I get to see my brother now?" Tiffany asked as she trudged along, still feeling humiliated.
"Yes, he's in unit 22b, just up ahead." The guard said as she opened the door to the outside.
Ahead just up a small hill there were several almost quaint cabins. They were cute, except that each was surrounded by fencing and razor wire. Tiffany had decided to forgo putting her shoes on, just wanting to get this over with. And rocks dug into the bottoms of her feet.
The guard held a gate open for her, leading to one of the cabins. Tiffany drew a deep breath and stepped through. She didn't look back, even as she heard the gate click shut behind her. She was locked in, it had the feeling of finality. If she had had any reservations, there was no going back now.
She walked up to the door. Should she knock? She decided that knocking was pointless, she reached out, turned the knob and walked inside.
He stood in front of a small kitchenette, wearing a white shirt and khaki pants. Casey had his arms across his chest. They were massive arms, covered in intricate tattoos. He was barrel chested and his shoulders sloped like mountains. He exuded strength, his aura that of absolute violence, her heart fluttered. He had a short stubble of hair on his head which had been shaved. He had a square and muscular jaw accented by his bright blue eyes. They were deep and soulful eyes. She stared into those eyes, a chill creeping up her back. She stood there nervously, not knowing what to do or say, frozen in fear. He seemed to glower at her, that is, until his stony face broke into a boyish grin. A smile that melted the coldness in his eyes, opening a window to his soul. His special smile, that he always reserved for her.
Tiffany melted, tears ran like rivers from her eyes. Her shoulders slumped forward, as if they had been carrying a great load. She dropped everything she had in her hands, her arms falling to her sides. He unfolded his arms and stepped into her. He wrapped her in an embrace. His chest was rock hard against her, but still warm and inviting, powerful and protective. His massive arms made her feel like a little girl. His strength, was one that was hard earned, from a very hard life. He towered over her, and she knew everything would be alright, everything had been worth it. She buried her face into his chest, and sobbed uncontrollably. He held her, gently but with the firmness of a giant that holds a delicate flower. She trembled and shook, sobbed and poured her soul out into her tears. Years of pain, sacrifice and loneliness, draining from her all at once. They stood there like that for what seemed like an eternity.
"You will have to tell me…" his voice had the clear and heavy timber of a mountain brought to life.
"Why my little sister showed up, carrying her shoes, and barefoot. Also… your pants are around your ankles…"
He laughed out loud. But not at her, it felt conspiratorial and comforting.
She laughed as well. It had been so long since she laughed like this. The sound in her ears felt pure and melodious. They laughed together, in harmony. She told him then, about her terrifying experience with the guards. About her humiliation, and determination. She told him everything.
"Well it's over now, and you're here. That's all that matters." He said, all mirth had faded from his eyes, leaving the dangerous glint of steel.
She didn't argue, he was right. She felt however, that were he given the chance, he would crush her oppressors.
Looking around, she saw it was just a cabin. A single room with a bed, a kitchenette, TV and a table with some board games on it. A couch, more of a loveseat, a couple chairs and a door leading into what she assumed was a bathroom.
She sat down on the couch, drained. She stuck her feet straight out examining them, they weren't pretty anymore, they were all dirty, she wanted to cry again. Without warning her brother knelt before her, taking her feet in his giant soft hands. Gently, with a warm washcloth, he began washing her feet. She groaned in pleasure. He massaged her feet gently, washing them with the warm cloth. He wound the rag between her toes, it felt so good, being touched by him. It felt so intimate. She felt safe and never wanted it to end.
"I'm sorry, you had to go through all of this just to see me." He said, very solemnly. "I'm sorry it has to be under these circumstances.."
"You left me" she accused him. Tears hot on her face again.
"You fucking abandoned me and left me all the fuck alone. You fucking… you could have written me back… you could have told me you loved me…you left me… I was so alone."
Hot tears continued to run, but she was at a loss for words.
"I was so alone" she whispered.
"You could never know what I had to do to survive"
"Nor you, me." he choked out, as his eyes seemed to defrost into deep blue watery pools.
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