Dying to Live

Chapter 25 - Thumbs Up

It had all been a blur. The search in customs, my arrest, the charging process and my first experience of a Thai jail, which was the shittiest first impression ever.

I'd gone through what they call induction; a strip search, a cold shower, some form filling and the allocation of an orange prison uniform. Not much different from a British prison, I'd imagine. I was separated from the other newbie inmates and marched off to a separate room. Chains, manacles and what looked like instruments of torture hung from the walls.

"I'm British. You have to treat me well," I pleaded, fearing a beating or worse.

"You drug dealer. You get ankle chain."

I remember buying my wife an ankle chain for her birthday once but I suspected this was something altogether different. A man knelt in front of me like a tailor who was about to measure my inside leg and, before I knew what was happening, he attached shackles to my ankles. If you've never walked with shackles, I can tell you it's a truly horrible sensation. Not only do they restrict your walking but they drag in a way which feels like someone is constantly trying to trip you. I'd only taken a few steps and the damned things already chafed like fuck. The nightmare had started.

"If behave good, shackles off," said the guard, "Even death row prisoners no shackles. You lucky, five years ago all bad criminals shackled."

So, I was lucky, good to know.

They hauled and pushed me to a small cell which stunk of every acrid odour imaginable. I immediately vomited which, in a strange way, improved the overall smell. A thin mattress lay on the concrete floor, the stains on the striped material could probably tell many a story, none of which I wanted to hear. A slop bucket, which hadn't been emptied, completed the furnishings. I slumped to the floor and sobbed.

Fear and despair must have driven my body into sleep, thank God.

The rattle of keys in the door roused me. Five men burst in, all Europeans. Were they here to rescue me; were they hell? One hauled me to my knees and slapped me hard in the face.

"What the fuck?"

Strong arms grabbed me and forced my face into the stinking mattress. I was pinned down and helpless. Helplessness is a sickening feeling, so I was promptly sick.

"That won't save you." There was a hint of a French accent.

"I can pay you," I screamed as I strained every muscle to try and wriggle free.

"This is not about money, this is about who's in control."

I felt my prison trousers and underpants being pulled down as far as the shackles would allow.

"No, please God, no."

My screams must have been audible through the whole cellblock. "NOOOOOOOO."

I felt something penetrate my bumhole. No one was lying on top of me so I knew it wasn't a cock, thank the Lord. When the intruder started to wiggle inside me, I was pretty sure it was a finger.

"This is so you know who's in charge," said Frenchie as he withdrew what turned out to be his thumb and forced it into my mouth. A wiggle or two over my tongue and round the inside of my cheeks completed my humiliation.

"If you haven't learnt from this lesson, I'm sure you can guess what lesson number two is."

The four men who had pinned me down released their grips and moved to the door behind Frenchie. I scooched along the floor on my bare ass, like a dog trying to scratch its itchy bum on a carpet. The back wall of the cell stopped my retreat so I pulled my knees up close to my chest and hugged them tight. My whole body trembled and I heard myself whimpering.