For the uninitiated, Reid Fleming (World’s Toughest Milkman) is the baddest mofo ever to make a daily liquid bovine delivery. I highly recommend checking his scene out. Just don’t tell him I sent you.
Probably the worst part about being locked up at the age of 16, and spending my entire 17th year in a minimum security institution, is that I lost out on more than a few amorous adventures. By the time I was shuttled off, I was making steady progress with coitus time-extension techniques (involving regulated breathing and conjuring up horrific anti-libidinous mental images). Being uprooted from the sweet stank that early in the game was akin to drafting Muhammad Ali in his prime. Ali didn’t want to fight no VC (just like I didn’t want to lick the sauce). Luckily, while in the lock-up, I had my memories and a bottle of lotion to stave off the insufferable threat of nocturnal emission (Once, I had awoken in a sheet-stained puddle of my own gizzum [I think], and swore it would never happen again).
I kept my business discreet as possible, unlike many of my fellow incarcerees. Some blokes would fashion a device they had termed a “Fifi”, which consisted of a latex glove filled with lotion stuffed in a tube sock. They said if you bled enough air out of the glove and tied it just right it would recreate the sensation of a female reproductive organ. I couldn’t be bothered with obtaining the supplies, or worrying if “Fifi” would successfully fulfill my carnal urges. Besides, being caught with one would get you a lengthy stay in the Investment unit.
A lot of cats took a perverse pleasure in the open display of their milking behaviors. There was mop-headed Texan named Eubanks that had a real problem with that shit. He kept a crusty wash cloth under his pillow that he refused to have laundered which reminded me of Linus and his dirty ass blanket. I renamed Eubanks “U Spanks” (and alternatively “Spew Banks”) due to his blatant masturbatory habits.
Unfortunately, there was a dearth of attractive female stimuli to download for later masturbatory fodder. There was a girl’s campus across town and they would bring a batch of them over to our campus from time to time to graze. I rarely made my way over to talk to any of them because if I couldn’t take it to the next level, I didn’t want to antagonize my satchel with the blues. Until liberty could be achieved, I managed with a semi-nude black and white Cindy Crawford bookmark.
The Legend of Scarface
I cannot remember Scarface’s real name, but that isn’t important. He was one of a very select few who successfully managed to escape from our teenage prison. Scarface was a handsome bronze-skinned surfer who hailed from San Diego. He earned his moniker due to an evil looking scar running down his cheek. Although he was 17, he could easily have passed for 25. He was a doper and a bloke of few words. Scarface stuck to himself and quietly plotted his exodus.
One day Scarface came up to me and a couple of mates one Saturday afternoon while we were hanging out in our living quarters. He was holding a bottle of Aqua Velva aftershave and had a simple request. Scarface told us he was go into a bathroom stall to drink the bottle (attempting an SD alcohol buzz). He wanted one of us to go into the stall in a few minutes to check on him to see if he passed out. If we found him sprawled out on the floor, he asked that we drag him into his bunk to avoid being found by the unit counselor. We agreed and Scarface set off to alter his mind. He emerged a couple of minutes later a little groggy-eyed with the acknowledgment of a failed experiment.
Scarface had been sending secretly coded letters to his surfer mates back in San Diego in order to effectuate a covert extraction. To this day I cannot figure out how he managed the timing and the logistics. Given that we were hundreds of miles away from Southern California, and all correspondences were reviewed, redacted, or trashed, the likelihood of a successful escape was near zero.
I remember the morning vividly. We were led down to breakfast on a weekday morning per our schedule. One or two of the kids were chosen to take out the dirty clothes to the laundry unit right outside of the lunch hall. I dunno how, but Scarface made sure that he was gonna be the cat to take the duds out that morning. The last glimpse I caught of him was toting that duffel bag out into the foggy morning. He bolted down the long driveway and managed to meet up with his waiting buds.
I am still in awe of this daring escape. We talked about it for weeks and months afterwards, always expecting to see him back among us. The thing was is that Scarface straight didn’t give a fuck. I learned a lot from that cat.