Sex And The Single Man

The sex lives of prisoners is a subject that most people, perhaps understandably, tend to shy away from. Even so, there are legions of prison researchers who are paid good money to put our various doings under the academic microscope. Have they ever looked under the blankets? Have they hell. I find that strange. A person’s sexuality is one of the defining characteristics of who they are; a central pillar of their whole personality. It isn’t something you can stick in stored property and forget until release beckons. So why is it that no one ever talks about it?

This isn’t a new development; we haven’t suddenly got shy about it. Historically, the system or at least the people who make up the system gave some recognition to our sexuality, even if it was by way of unspoken agreements. We were allowed to buy pornography, at least of the top shelf variety. Long term prisoners often managed to get porn of the hardcore variety as well, and it was left unmolested by staff.

Some of this stuff was pretty wacky and occasionally near the mark. I knew a man whose taste ran to spanking magazines; no sex, just spanking, full of thirty year-olds dressed as schoolgirls. Then there were the Derriere fans, the Readers’ Wives school of depravity, and those whose tastes ran to literary fiction. Prisoners’ sexual tastes are as wide as the rest of humanities and that is infinitely broad. These were accompanied by more personal materials, such as photographs, letters and audio tapes.

Every wing had its porn merchant, the man with a stack of magazines under the bed. One man took this to the extreme; he covered every surface in his cell, ceiling included, with the most florid gynaecology illustrations he could find. These were the borrowers and lenders, the KY of porn commerce around the nick, on a perpetual mission to swap. Unlike the tobacco lenders, porn merchants are popular. Even screws doing bars and bolts paused on their rounds to peruse the latest stock.

I have even heard a new piece of porn, a magazine, described in terms of ‘a new girlfriend’. The uncertain anticipation of the unknown, the wait to open the cover, savouring every page, picture and word. And I have heard men refuse to have anything to do with porn although not as many.

Visits were pulsating with sexual pheromones. Chairs and tables were strategically arranged so as to facilitate close contact. Clothes were worn that made under the table manoeuvres that much easier. This is not to say that it was Plato’s Retreat rules did apply; the most important being that children should not witness anything unseemly. If matters became too obvious, a screw would come over and ‘have a word’. If you were so obvious that kids could see, other cons would later ‘have a word’.

That was then, and not so long ago. But just as hardcore porn gained legality on the street, the system’s view of prisoners’ sexuality suddenly took on the aspect of a Victorian granny. The Courts have upheld the argument that hardcore porn could cause ‘disorder’, and so Governors can ban it. The mind boggles at this; do they think the sight of coupling will send us into a chimp-like frenzy of public selfabuse?

Any stash of magazines are now regarded with suspicion. My spanking friend would now find himself having a serious chat with psychology. The official view of sexuality has become more obvious, and more narrow. Just when you can buy a ‘Beginners Bondage Kit’ on the high street, in prison anything sexual outside of the Bible is regarded as being deviant at best, and an indication of potential sexual offending at worst. In the year or so I have been here, I don’t know anybody who has bought a top-shelf magazine. At my former prison, Leyhill, possession of any picture exposing knees was thought to be indicative of a future career as a bushwacker. Leyhill exists in a world where the technology revolution didn’t happen and PlayStation 2 is a tool of the Devil and banned. All in an effort to protect the modesty of our women.

The state of affairs on visits would now please the stricter members of the Taliban. Sexual activity, even prolonged kissing, is seen as being a cover for drug smuggling. The idea that people are actually trying, under immense pressures, to keep their relationships going is either too difficult for our Masters to comprehend or they just don’t give a damn.

The system has gone from being mildly, benevolently neglectful of our sexuality to the state of taking an official stand that our sexuality is to be treated with suspicion and to be suppressed.

Given that sexuality is such a central part of what makes us who we are, this suppression of a fundamental human need may have strange consequences, both personally and socially. Here is a fact that you won’t like: violent offenders are more likely to commit a sex offence on release than sex offenders. I just wonder if the denial of our sexuality for many years as a matter of policy may do stranger things than even a degenerate like myself could have expected. And could access to porn actually be a solution?