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SECRET DIARY OF A LONDON RENT BOY



The cell was gloomy, like most cells, I supposed. I’d been in a few, well, maybe half a dozen. A steel toilet if you needed to take a crap in full view of the screws, who spied on you through the peephole in the door. Take a good look, lovely, a nice, juicy young body, tasty little arse. Enjoy it while you can afford it. When I get out of here, I’ll be way outside of your price range. There was a steel bed, bolted to the floor, and that was it. Did they expect prisoners to spend all of their time sleeping or crapping? A radio or a TV wouldn’t be asking too much, after all most people who came here were still supposedly presumed innocent. Probably a damn sight more innocent than those pervy screws who raped you with their eyes as they stripped you for a search. In the arse. They loved that, on with the rubber gloves, probing and checking with a little torch. Bastards.

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