THE ALMOND LOVER
Short Story

©Breeze Vincinz. This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce his story or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

He told me how he spent his nights with his cellmate, a skinny brother with feminine overtones, big almond eyes and pork chop sideburns. It didn't start innocently enough but as innocent as it could, considering their surroundings. Almond asked to braid his hair. Tiny cornrows like he did with his baby sister, long before his chemical dependencies. He agreed to let him do it.

He told me that he sat on the concrete and put his head in between Almond's legs and let him braid his hair. He could feel the heat from his crotch like a brand new biscuit from the oven, steam rising around them.

Eventually, Almond asked if he could suck his dick. Considering it was an action he was not going to experience for at least five years, convenience won over nature and he fucked Almond in the mouth.

Almond, from the beginning, pretended it was love. From the smacks upon his head while being rammed, to the semen that sloppily dripped through his beard, to being forced to lick it off of strong dark thighs.

”I love you baby", he said.

He told me he eventually fucked Almond. Tied him to the bed and kept him there afterwards; the smell of fresh blood, feces and Ultra Sheen roasting within the cell.

"I love you baby", he still said.

He sits across from me. Tall, Italian, dark olive skin, prison built, college educated, impeccable suit.

He spreads garlic butter on his bread and asks if he has a chance with me. I don't think I could ever be his fantasy. I don't think I could be what he needs. He still wears his hair in cornrows. The last time I kissed him I could feel both his dick and his fists get hard. And with me being a skinny brother with feminine overtones, I don't see him giving me a name outside of a nut any more than he did Almond.

”That was different,” he says. "I didn't love him. I never loved him."

But he did. I know he sleeps every night feeling Almond's heat on the back of his neck.

“You loved him the only way you knew how."