Prison Bait: Bryson: Recovery

Chapter One

Prison Bait: Bryson: Recovery   
Was my life always this complicated? I don't believe so, or perhaps it was because I was the little chubby nerd that never had friends, growing up in the ghetto of Mississippi with a drug coma mother and a half-brother that moved to stay with his father at ten. I was forever a loner and eventually, silence was all I ever wanted in my life until around the age of fourteen, that's when I started high school. Teachers, principals, and counselors started to hound me about what I wanted to be when I got older, and because I knew college wasn't an option, I never focused too much into my future. Everything was going day to day, year to year, lifetime to lifetime. 

Senior year rolled around in a blink of an eye, at the fresh age of seventeen I was smart but not smart enough to learn that men weren't nothing but assholes, and they expected me to be an asshole cause I was a man too. I never paid attention to the sex talk all the other teenagers did, jocks fucking cheerleaders, teachers fucking students... nerds jacking off to sate their pleasure. None of it interested me until I had turned seventeen and even with the lust of a grown man, I didn't have anyone to take that pleasure with. That was... until I started prostituting like my mother, she'd fuck for drugs and I'd go behind to clean up the mess but somehow, I got tied into the lifestyle as well. Drugs became my new hobby, sniffing was one of the things that I hid perfectly by ignoring the urge to rub my nose while I was sitting in class. 

But... my addiction started to get out of hand, I couldn't control the urges to sniff twenty-four-seven and would have mini withdrawals until they passed and I'd be able to think straight again. I was a complete wreck until I could go home, change into something more appealing then call one of my mom's friends that was gay, and set up a deal for that day. And the days repeated, over and over, everyday I'd go through the same thing and never once thought about getting help, and it was because I didn't want help, I wanted to sniff. Five months before graduation and only one month after I had finally turned eighteen, I had caught the attention of a jock when I was assigned a project with him and that was how him and I started our little rendezvous. It was little flirty remarks, me rubbing his tattoo covered arm or him throwing his arm around my waist whenever we were in private. He was a sexy eighteen year old, nice caramel skin with muscles to die for because he played nearly every sport offered during the high school year, from basketball and football to hockey, and even baseball for a few months. He was a hunk of a teenager, and all cheerleaders had a taste of him... Freddie, his name was Freddie.                      

       

"In the case of Newton v. Maroon, we find the defendant: Bryson Maroon guilty of prostitution and drug paraphernalia possession." I felt my throat tighten but I stayed completely silent as I knew I was in very much trouble. 

This was my third offence on prostitution so it was very likely I would be facing jailtime, if not a little prison time as well. I was scared to speak up as everyone stared at me as if waiting for me to cause a scene in the courthouse, but I couldn't find the will to yell that I was innocent, because I wasn't. I was guilty of sucking off an undercover cop that promised me a small baggie, even when he showed me his badge, I didn't believe him because he hadn't told me until after I had finished him off with oral. His snug smirk told me that he knew he wasn't supposed to let me do that to him, but he had because he wanted to let me, and plus he was an officer and they're always privileged. The sound of a chair scrapping caught my attention as I looked beside me at my public defender, who had rose up and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair as if he had accomplished something. There was nothing to accomplish, I knew from the moment I saw that badge that I was in huge trouble and I was going to be going straight to jail with no chance of a slap on the wrist this time.