Chapter 99: Chapter 99

Chapter 99

~Sexual satisfaction or sexual starvation~

Winter was heavy in the air with wisp cold wind that easily wet his ears and looking out to prison inmates playing basketball at the court amidst innumerable murmuring, Mr. Fanny could see the day was white out and could remain thus in the days to come; regrettably his night would be featured with fantasies about his wife; her mind-pumping gorgeous body that commanded lasting erections to his penis whenever he earned the chance to behold her full nakedness.

In those days that Mr. Fanny was denied opportunity to bathe with her, he would stay back in the room, lay still in the bed, and await his momentary naked wife to dash out from the bathroom, lustfully looking attractive like mermaid that lost her way. Smart and calculative, Mrs. Fanny would disappoint her beholder by stepping out of the bathroom with a towel tied across her bust, and in few of such drama, when Mr. Fanny lacked the audacity to solicit for her nakedness, she only gave him the opportunity to steal a stare at her healthy jumbo buttocks which would be in display whenever she had her back to him while oiling her skin. This and a few more evocative memories would trouble his nights with stiffened penis that yearned for a susceptible available vagina to cool off.

As he entertained himself with the basket ballers, he snorted and his thought was shifted to the G-string , the blonde’s sister, that lady of easy virtue, Lucy slid into his pocket a few days ago in the private room. He parted the bars sat, on his bed, and recalled he hid it between his orange jumpsuit before he glared around for any onlooker and then dug his hand underneath his bed frame, between the jumpsuit and once he felt the silky G-string, he pulled it out and squeezed it into his palm. With eyes still darting for onlookers and feeling safe to glare at the thong now, he stroked it, and brought it to his nostrils to feel what her vagina smelled like. With his eyes shut, he breathed from the thong and could tell it smelled of fresh rose water. He squeezed the thong into where it came from when he overheard an oncoming shuffling walker. He had not felt a thing for a woman except his wife, who, earlier in their marriage accused him of infidelity but later realized that Fanny was too busy to waste his time and energy on prostitutes. He knew that was the only factor his wife could vouch for him- he had never had a mistress.

But may likely have one now. The oncoming shuffling walker was a prison warden who halted at his cubicle, stared at him briefly and smiled, “Fanny!” he called.

“Yes, yes,” he groaned, and came at the bars at once like a fox.

The warden raised suspicious brow. “Why the haste? Are you in expectant of something?” he asked, still kept to his smile and slamming his sizeable log into his arms.

“Everybody under the sun is in expectant of something, life or death, good or bad, cool-headed or motherfuckers.” he said.

“Yeah,” the prison warden said and shook his head before adding, “Sexual satisfaction or sexual starvation.”

At the mention of that Mr. Fanny raised a brow and tilted his head an inch backward in amazement. And the prison warden was thrown into a serial jestful laughter that left Mr. Fanny argue within himself if he had a twisted sense of humor.

“The prison boss says your wife will visit soon at the private room so you should get ready, “the warden uttered after recovering from the laugh. “Some asshole wants to fuck.”

“My wife?” Fanny said with more of the emphasis bordering around his fallen gaze, “My wife,” he said yet again even more thoughtfully now and gaped hugely upon the lively prison warden, who may have a different explanation to the news. If someone had told him this earlier before the divorce papers got to him, he would have believed it in its totality than now. His wife Mrs. Fanny coming to pay him a private room visit was a feat not meant for the living.

“Ok,” he replied conclusively as a faster way of discharging the prison warden so he could retire o his corner to ponder over the message and sniff at the black G-string of the lady of easy virtue.

“Happy meeting with your wife,” the prison warden said jocularly, and turned to leave.

Nothing woud have made her change her mind; Mr. Fanny thought, gazed into the space and scavenged for what could inspire her move to obey what seemed to be a war some days ago. On a contrary thought, he believed the prison warden played a fast one on him. Prison wardens had never been up to any good. He was yet to believe that his wife could back off from her plans of settling down with Ken and trace her step back to him even as to have a breath-seizing moment with him in private room in the in the prison block. Snorting and blinking furiously, he decided to save himself the stress of pondering over the impossible, curl back to sniffing at the G-string and courting lustful imagination about its owner; he would not say he was having soft spot for a whore who earned her reputation from tasting different sizes of penis . But he would own up to feeling for her- that she had experienced similar marital problem with her ex-husband, also that she had come to agreement that they were even.

Night was almost falling and the rigorous chilly wind of winter troubled Fanny’s spine so much that he seemed to have exhausted his lustful fantasies. He followed the ticking clock on the central wall in the yard, monitoring the passage of time and the arrival of the long awaited moment with his wife and if of a truth there was a sense of validation in the message. Why would she choose a prompt visit at the private room instead of meeting him on a visiting day at the visitor’s yard for a peaceful dialogue and reunion. If indeed it was Mrs. Fanny the prison warden was talking about then it called for caution and carefulness; she could be out to ruin him and put an end to his life; she could be fully equipped for destruction. She and her lover boy lawyer Ken might have prepared a last –breath broth for him, sensing he could pose danger and trouble to their union in the nearest future; he thought and made up his mind to turn her down and order an official restriction on her throughout the period of his jail term.

Losing total interest in gazing upon the clock on the wall, he hissed and perched back at his bunk, fondling at the G-string now.

“Fanny! Fanny,” the prison warden appeared at his cubicle and mumbled. “Your wife arrives.”

Mr. Fanny stared at him gaping, wishing he could ask him what the female visitor looked like; if she was his wife or the prostitute that the prison president gifted him.

“Come and enjoy your fuck, Fanny,” the prison warden said idly…