Martin Bayer got busted selling LSD at a Grateful Dead show. After pleading no contest to two counts of felony possession of a controlled substance, with intent to distribute, he received a mandatory minimum sentence… 24 months confinement. No less than 12 to be served.
When he was transferred to CCA Penitentiary, there was no stereotypical movie type scene where everyone hooped and hollered and threw toilet paper at him as he entered.
In reality, it was far more methodical and routine than that. After being stripped, probed, and issued a dark blue jumpsuit and other prison clothes at intake, he was escorted casually, w/o any boisterous fanfare, to his cell, to begin life as inmate #528668.
His celly was far older, maybe 60, and Mexican American. A lifer. Had a couple teardrops tattooed on his face. After explaining the rules of the cell and the joint, his celly never spoke to him again. He'd just keep quiet, sitting in his bunk, reading.
Martin also kept quiet. Kept his head down. Didn't talk to anyone. He did all he could to avoid trouble, but trouble found him.
A group of Aryan Brotherhood members, three of them, kept on staring at him during meals. The staring soon escalated into them strolling by his table and stealing away his milk or fruit.
But Martin didn't say anything about it. Just kept his mouth shut and head down.
The food swiping continued, and the AB guys began to taunt him as they passed, lewdly commenting on his “long hair and eyelashes.” Still he didn't respond or even look at them.
The prison assigned him a job mopping the mess hall after meals. His second day on the job, he noticed the guard in charge of watching the cleanup crew abruptly disappear. Then the three AB guys burst in through a door near the kitchen.
They chased him into the corner of the room and tackled him to the floor. One of them stuffed a dirty pair of underwear into his mouth to muffle his screams. Then another of them punched him in the head repeatedly, subduing him.
The men propped him up to the wall and restrained him. His sweatpants and underwear were twisted down to his rubber sandals. One of the men stuck a shank to Martin’s neck and forced him to finger himself up the ass for a few seconds.
The shank remained to his throat and strong, tattooed hands clutched his hips from behind and Martin suddenly felt a horrific jolt of pain as a warm, thick, slippery object pushed into his anus. There was laughing and catcalling and the thick object thrust forcefully in and out of him for around a minute or two before shooting several spurts of hot liquid up inside him.
The other two men took their turns and as it happened Martin wept softly and worried about catching AIDS or some other disease. Then his feelings turned to vengeance and he wanted to violently kill his attackers, but soon enough, he himself just wanted to die.
Once the last one finished, the men pushed him to the floor. Before they left, he heard one of them whisper into his ear, w/hot breath, not to say anything to the hacks or his throat’d get slashed.
It took him a couple weeks in the infirmary to recover. He did his best not to think about what happened, but every so often it’d wake him from a dream.
While in the infirmary, he didn't answer any of the guards' questions re: his attack or even say a single word to them. He just kept totally silent and stared at the ceiling.
When he was released back into gen pop, he worried the men might attack him again. But they didn't. They left him alone, ignoring him entirely. Even during meals. Seems they'd focused their attentions on another “fish.”
He served the rest of his time quietly. Didn't talk to or look at anyone and spent most of his time studying the Bible, doing sit-ups, and cutting himself at night, after lights out, with a sharpened toothbrush.
After serving 12 months he got released w/good behavior.
Upon release, he craved female company. Though he didn’t think about women much inside, they were the only thing on his mind from the minute he got out.
He went after every girl he could, trying ex-girlfriends, the bar scene, Internet hook-ups, anything. But he simply didn't have game anymore. Every time he’d go out with a woman or even talk to one, he felt dead inside, like he was made of stone. He just didn’t know what to say or do around them.
He hadn’t masturbated since his rape but he did still have occasional sexual thoughts about women. So he decided to try to at least have some sex, thinking maybe that'd help. He found a hooker online and called her over to his apartment.
But when the hooker entered his apartment, something happened. Upon seeing her, a rage overtook him, and instead of paying her, he reached into his pocket and drew out a fist and began striking her in the face, again and again, punching her to the ground, beating her into unconsciousness.
As she lay bloodied and motionless on the floor, he suddenly noticed he had an erection. Adrenalin shot through his veins and he kicked her over, onto her stomach, pulled down his jeans, and hiked up her leopard skin print miniskirt and yanked down her black thong.
However, before he could stab himself into her, he noticed his erection had gone soft, and that the dead feeling had returned.
Frustrated, he kicked and stomped on her limp body for another minute or so. Then he pulled his jeans back up, sat down next to her, stole a cigarette from her purse and started to cry.
