My Daily Journal in Federal Prison

Day 54

After last night’s chicken fiasco, I thought I had heard and seen it all.  Dead wrong.  If what I’m about to share with you is common knowledge, I must be incredibly naive, but this revelation quite literally blew my mind.  Obviously, I am aware of the lengths that people will go through to ink, pierce, and otherwise mutilate their bodies, including their most holy (hole-y?) and wholly private areas.  However, I at least like to convince myself that these “procedures” are performed in sterile environments by licensed and semi-literate professionals.  And while it may seem like NBD to some people to get ink work done behind bars (even IF every needle and ink pot is fresh and not cross-contaminated), those illegal tattoos seem like the equivalent of getting your ears pierced at the mall compared to what I just learned, and what I’m about to share with you.

I wish that this “thing” had a name, and perhaps on the street it does, although no one in here could help me out with anything official.  Let’s start with the raw material in question — a common ivory-hewn domino that is easily available from one of the infinite sets found legally on the compound.  Some “crafty” inmate then whittles (with what, I wonder?) the whites of the domino down to small, pea-sized (and sometimes larger) shapes that will either by completely spherical, like ball bearings, or sometimes in the shape of more meaningful symbols — like hearts.  Cute, huh?

Guess what happens next….Give up?  While the inmate who has elected to receive this procedure drops his pants and holds his limp outstretched dick in his hands, another (non-surgically trained) inmate makes a tiny incision in either the top or bottom (sometimes both) of the shaft’s foreskin and inserts the clever little foreign object(s) inside.  He uses a disposable shaver dispensed freely by the prison itself to make the cut.

A couple of quick sutures later and the dude has a permanently embedded sex toy in his member which will (allegedly) drive his partner crazy in the throes of deep thrusting, as the little nub rubs her G-spot.

Let’s forget, for a moment, the potential merits of this rather horrifying procedure and, instead, ponder…what the fuck?  Where to begin.  Apparently the guys who perform this procedure in here, and those who get it done unto them (a surprisingly large population), learned about this from the “streets,” where the little surgical enhancement is doled out in parlors of both ill and reputable repute.  I guess this whatever-you-call-it can often be found within the pages of many modern tattoo rags available on the newsstand.

I can stomach the fact that this phenomenon exists (just like I can tolerate “stretchy” ears…if you know what I’m talkin’ about), but shouldn’t this sort of thing be done somewhere sanitary by someone who…I don’t know…specializes in cutting dicks?  A master of penile domino insertion, if you will?  And what happens in the event of an infection?  Wouldn’t that be difficult and embarrassing to explain to the prison nurse, especially with the obvious bulging of a shillelagh beneath the skin?  It has been argued that on the “streets” this invasive procedure can cost many hundreds of dollars…so why not throw caution to the wind and get it done for only 30 STAMPS BY SOMEONE WITH AN 8TH GRADE EDUCATION?

And what’s the fuckin’ hurry to get this done?  With all of the macho posturing around here and the homophobic commentary, it seems rather “GAY” to me (not that there is anything wrong with that) to get this done when your release date is still several years out.  Who are you looking to please?  While this entire concept would still seem bizarre, you could at least convince me that you were truly getting it done for your “lady” if you were in fact only months, or weeks, from getting out…or maybe those primal grunts originating from the showers aren’t actually of inmates working the makeshift bench-press after all.


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