CELLS D2 AND D3

I recognized a couple of the names on that list. I counted them lucky. A way out is a way out.

First instance, for every cell, one person was taken away for torture. For our cell, Ginger was chosen.

It was obvious what Robotnik was going for. Seven guys, one girl, one cell. Duh. Honestly, I was waiting for it to happen, either by accident or by force. Ginger isn't the type of person you respect for her mind, and these walking skin tubes didn't seem the type to ask questions before shooting.

A group of guys alone together, they talk about women more often than they should. My cellmates had to wait for her to take a shower to do it. "Respecting her privacy."

Charlie and Sparky didn't talk much about her at first, but they eventually loosened up, and preached the word; what they wanted to do with her, to her; what ways, what moves, in what situations.

I suppose the guys discussed it to let off steam. They had no intention of making any of their fantasies true, not at first. Like escape, it was more talk. That's all.

However, since we were all crammed into this confined space, I had to listen to them. And the thing is, I was thinking the same things they were.

Ginger. Ginger, Ginger, Ginger. Thinking about sex without also feeling disgusted just isn't like me. Sure, I want it just as much as the next reproducing biped, but I couldn't help but feel… typical. Weak. I considered it a weakness to want to fuck.

Not this thing with Ginger. Here, there was strength. The fantasies were downright mean, driven. I wanted her, and I didn't care about the consequences. Hell, I would have fucked her in front of the others as long as I was first.

Wanting to fuck is one thing; needing to is another.

The guys, they surprised me. They exercised an admirable amount of restraint. They acted like gentlemen in front of her and kept the talk behind her back, kept one another in check, calmed each other down.

And there were all kinds of X-factors. The cell next to us, for one. D4 and D5. They had a girl of their own (well, two at first, until the torture list). Their group was much more… unreserved. They gave into their urges early in the game, and every once in awhile we'd get a free show.

When something like that is going on right next to you, there's no way in hell you can ignore it, not in these circumstances. Every time there was a fucking session in D4, we knew about it, and it pissed us off about as much as it made us hard.

And there was Ginger. She became more and more flirty as time wore on. She steered conversations to sex and laughed about it like it was all one big joke. I guess I can understand, if it was her way of dealing with the situation. After all, she had no one to talk to about it. Only, guys take talk like that differently when it's coming from a girl.

Between her talking about sex and actually seeing it in the neighboring cells, we didn't have much time left. It was all one big powder keg, and soon, it was going to explode and Ginger would be the one at ground zero.

This was all part of the plan, naturally. At no point were we ever in control, and he made sure we knew it, every night he gassed and every morning we woke up to less and less food. If any of us ever had the chance of fucking her in one of the showers, it was gone. Now all she wanted was comfort, someone to hold onto.

She could have chosen anyone, but she ended up choosing Donald.

Make no mistake: it isn't cute. The best way to piss someone off is to exclude them. Donald was alienating his friends, trying to make it to the finish line first, where previously they had discussed that they would all do it together. They saw it as betrayal.

And Ginger might have thought that she was gaining a friend, but she was really gaining seven enemies. The gloves were off. There was no way Donald was going to win.

Night fell and the two lovebirds stayed close together, sitting on the same bed. Charlie and Kern played catch right next to them, to make sure they didn't try anything under the covers. Marsh and Oscar stood in front of the bathroom in D2 under the pretense of having a conversation. Frank guarded the other bathroom by taking a shower. No one was getting laid that night, not on their watch.

A gassing and a headache later and it was morning. Ginger was gone. Her bed, too.

We kept talking like she would come back, but we knew she was a goner. Oh well. Disaster averted. Things became things easier.

The urge to fuck something didn't disappear, oh no, all it did was change addresses. Now, we all wanted to fuck the girl from next door.

Yes, we got to keep the slut. How nice. And she was still fucking her six male cellmates, one at a time, mostly. We had plenty of material for keeping the urge down, thanks to her.

A return to an edge of normality. Even Donald was being treated like a friend again.

A week must have passed, but it was impossible to tell one way or another. I had woken up with the urge, the sign painfully obvious and looking up at me with its sad, vacant, lonely expression. Lipstick dick. I tip-toed into the D2 bathroom to jack it, turning the hot water on full blast.

Guilt came first; system peripheral. I swam past and let go, getting right into the swerve. I wasn't in the mood for anything fancy, just a quick aerobic workout. A minute was all it took, and I watched as the leftovers swirl down the drain, guilt coming back with a vengeance.

Sex. The sex thing. I sure missed the fucking boat on that one. While everyone else experimented and grew into caring about it, worshipping it in some cases, I kept to myself and wondered about it until I was afraid of it. But it didn't change the fact that I still wanted it. And I wasn't so disgusted about it anymore. No longer scared. I didn't hate myself for changing.

I turned off the shower.

I came out of the bathroom to find that everyone had woken up, and they were gathered around something in D3. I came close to see what it was, and when I did, I knew that we were in trouble again.

Ginger was back.