Most of hers were done in tattoo shops, not in prison. They were too well done to be inmate art.“I like your tats,” I said.“Want to see the res...?” she asked quietly.“Not right now,” I said.“Do you have any?” she asked.“Just one, and no you can’t see it.” I said.“Later then,” she said. “You know I’m all sweet smelling you could at least hug me.”“Not a chance,” I said with a smile.“You are gay,” she said.“If you say so,” I agreed.“So who’s the lucky guy?” she asked.“I haven’t met him yet,” I. That was okay though and I know he loves knowing other men and women are watching me. As I drank and danced freely my husband had disappeared for what seemed to be 15 minutes or better. When he came back I asked him where he had run off to and he said he had just been checking the place out. Another half hour or so passed. We had another drink and another dance when my husband took my hand and said come with me. He took me down some dark stairs and into a small room with two doors. He took his. More

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