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Chapter 1
The iron gate rolled back and Dr Kerry Moriarty stepped into the darkness. A light glowed at the end of the long passageway and she walked slowly towards the figures emerging from the gloom. She was scared, but she knew that she must appear calm and confident before the three men who now towered over her. Two men wore grey shirts, and one wore white. Moriarty presumed that the man in white was in command.
“Dr Moriarty,” she announced, holding out her hand. The man in white may have been bald and broad and his baton glowered from his belt, but he offered his guest a warm smile.
“Harold Watkins, Senior Guard, but you can call me Harry. Miss Patterson is already in the Warden’s office.” Moriarty scowled at the news that Rebecca Patterson would attend the interviews. Patterson had promised Moriarty complete control over all aspects of the project, yet now she was involved in the choice of the pioneer.
“Have you ever been to prison before, Dr Moriarty?”
“No. This is my first time.”
“Well, it’s not a nice place to be, so don’t feel afraid of being afraid. I would like to think, Dr Moriarty, that honest folk should be a bit worried when they come in here. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Miss Patterson.”
Rebecca Patterson, six foot tall in high heels with wavy blonde hair and generous breasts, attracted attention even in the most exclusive clubs in Los Angeles. Many men presumed she was film star and more than a few suspected that she was a prostitute. The speculation was not entirely false, because countless times in her thirty four years she had employed her sexual charms to gain a business advantage. This evening was no exception, because Patterson was leaning over the desk, stretching her legs and almost thrusting her backside at the Warden standing behind her as she pretended to read a letter. His erection was visible from the office door.
Patterson offered her colleague a warm smile. The Warden, in contrast, barely acknowledged her existence as they shook hands at Patterson’s introduction. Moriarty was not particularly offended by the slight, because in a room containing Patterson she was certain to almost become invisible. Five foot four, olive skin, dark hair and light blue spectacles was no match for the corporate maneater in the tight Gucci business suit.
“Now, tell me Warden, who, to engage in double meanings, is longest in the showers?”
“I don’t quite understand. I’m not sure …”
Watkins helped his chief.
“I think what Miss Patterson is asking, Warden, is which inmate has the longest … equipment.”
“I’m afraid that I cannot answer that question. It is not a subject that has detained me over the years.”
“Warden, I can assure you that the size of a man’s … equipment is the most important feature of this evening’s visit. It is a subject that has … detained me more often than I care to remember.” She turned to Watkins. “Harry, have you got the candidates outside?” Moriarty noticed that she called the guard by his nickname. She envied Patterson her easy causal manner with all she met, a talent for making all around her feel relaxed and comfortable, and not just the men who gazed at her ample breasts.
“Yes ma’am. There’s seven altogether.”
“Well, let’s begin.” She turned to the Warden and explained that the nature of our conversations would require as few men as possible. “Officer Watkins will remain for obvious reasons.” She looked at the senior guard and winked. “Someone has to protect these men from me.” Watkins departed to return with the first prisoner.
Patterson asked the questions while Moriarty carefully studied each candidate. It was going to be a depressing hour for Moriarty. She had been promised complete autonomy when she proposed the ‘Dionysus Project’ to The Genesis Corporation, but now Patterson was interfering in ‘clinical’ decisions. She wondered whether all her preliminary research would be wasted.
The interviews did not proceed well. The first three candidates were clearly perverts and unsuitable, the fourth was just ugly and the fifth had to be restrained when asked intimate questions by Patterson. That was only slightly less worrying than the tears that accompanied the sixth candidate’s recollections of his first sexual experience.
Patterson turned to her colleague as the weeping convict was led from the room.
“It’s not looking good. There are plenty of other jails, or we could always just place an advert.”
“We will need a candidate for at least one year. I can’t perform miracles in less than twelve months. I doubt we can use anyone other than a convict, bearing in mind what we plan to do to them.”
Patterson sighed and picked up the last file.
“Well, let’s see what Dean Heladios Brown Cruz has to offer us, apart from a quite remarkable name.”
The door opened on a very handsome young man. He was a good height, lean and muscular with dark hair and blue eyes that reached across the room to the two women behind the table. Patterson theatrically smacked her lips as he sat down in the chair. He offered them a smile that was both warm and engaging.
“Now, Dean, I see your second name is Heladios. That’s an interesting name. Greek, from Hellas. Kerry, you have your Greek connection. See,” she looked across at Harry Watkins. “I’m not as stupid as I look.”
“Kerry? That’s an Irish name.” Moriarty felt his eyes burning through her as he looked intently across the room. He was a convicted criminal and she was a research scientist who had never even visited a police station, yet she was not unsettled by his look.
“I must have had dark hair when I was a baby. I’ve always had a liking for Greek mythology.”
“Now, before we all regress to our childhoods, Dean, I have few questions for you.”
For the next five minutes Patterson asked a series of questions, all of them devised by Moriarty to determine a candidate’s sexual inclinations. It was these questions that had provoked so much of the conflict with the other prisoners, but Dean answered them clearly, thoughtfully and, Moriarty judged, honestly. No answer excluded him from the experiment, and she was convinced that he was a highly suitable candidate. She also noticed that, in contrast to all the other candidates who had spent most of their interviews staring down Patterson’s open blouse, he was constantly turning to her as he answered the questions.
The questions came to an end and Patterson closed her file. She looked across to Moriarty and gave a quizzical look. Moriarty nodded and Patterson offered Dean a smile.
“Now we come to the more … delicate element of the interview. As you have probably guessed, Dean, our project, the Dionysus Project, revolves around the topic of sex and sexuality.” She paused for a moment to gauge his reaction, but he continued to stare impassively at both women. “We will need you to perform sex acts under observation.” She paused, but he did not speak, and Patterson wondered if he did not understand. “We will have to watch you, doing it. Is that alright with you?”
Dean shifted in his seat.
“I can’t say I’m pleased about it, but I knew when I came in here.” He cast a glance over his shoulder to Watkins. “I knew that it was some sort of sex test. I also know that if you’re in here looking for guinea pigs then …”
“Research subject is the preferred title,” Patterson corrected him.
“I also know that if you’re looking for a … research subject in here, then it’s not easy to get volunteers outside in the ‘honest’ world.”
“Dean, we’re looking for normal healthy men, not perverts and exhibitionists. We need someone who does not normally want to undertake a sex test to undertake this sex test. We need to create … incentives for participation so that …”
“What sort of incentives?” Dean leant forward as he interrupted, though his furtive smile softened the affront.
“There will be a short probation period to establish that you are not wasting our very, very precious time. However, once that is complete you have my word that you will serve out the remainder of your sentence either at the Research Centre or an open prison.” Dean nodded in approval.
“Sounds fine to me.”
“Now, as a demonstration of your goodwill I would like you to strip.”
Dean did not hesitate as he rose to his feet to remove his shoes followed by his trousers and finally his shirt. He stood for just a moment in his prison issue pale blue shorts before letting them fall to the ground. He stepped out of his shorts to stand naked before them. He was lean and muscular, with strong thighs and, both women noticed, a very generous penis.
Patterson asked him to turn around and Dean obliged, revealing a coloured marking on his right shoulder and a broad grey badge on his left upper arm. “You have tattoos. That’s a slight problem.”
Watkins stirred on his seat.
“Miss, you’ll struggle to find any man in an LA jail without tattoos.”
“It’s only a problem if you won’t have them removed. It’s quite painful, but the skin will look as good as new. No one will ever know they were there.”
“I don’t mind.” He glanced down at the Spanish message on the marking. “The Diablos never did me much good.” He turned to look at Watkins behind him and the guard nodded in approval. This was clearly a topic they had discussed before, and Watkins was pleased with the prisoner’s answer.
“Good. All we need now is to arrange for a full medical examination and …
“We can do that now.” Patterson was surprised by Moriarty’s sudden enthusiasm. “I have the equipment in my bag. It would save time if we …” Moriarty was silenced by her colleague’s smile.
“Fine.” She turned to Watkins. “I’m afraid that we’ll need you to step outside for just a few minutes while we … conduct our research.”
“Are you fine with that son?” Dean nodded and Watkins left, leaning forward to slap Dean on the shoulders. “I’ll be right outside. Be gentle with him, Miss Patterson.”
Both women left their seats to stand by the young man. Moriarty removed the blood pressure apparatus from her bag and slipped it over his arm. The measurement was fine and she smiled at the young man. She could not avoid looking down at his growing erection.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but I have been here for three years. I’ve not even spoken to a woman in all that time.”
“That’s alright. We understand.”
“Actually,” Patterson moved closer. “We’ll need to see you … in action. That’s part of the medical. We will need to see you at full length, so to speak.”
Moriarty listened to the pounding of his heart and then his lungs.
“Miss, how am I?” His tone was calm and deferential.
“You’re fine.”
“I think you’re more than fine.” Patterson stroked his arm and his erection was now raging. She reached down to caress his penis.
“Now, Dean, I want you to do something for us.” Patterson returned to her seat and motioned to Moriarty to join her behind the table. “I want you to masturbate for us. It will be good practice. I’m afraid there will be quite a lot of public hand jobs in this project, so we need to know that you can do it.” Dean seemed unsure about the request. “Listen, my lovable Greek god, I’ll make this very simple.” Patterson slightly raised her voice, and her tone was a touch more strident as she smiled at the prisoner. “Either you knock one out into this hankie or you can go back to your cell for the next fifteen years. Some other stud can enjoy cooked meals and a warm bed every night for the rest of their sentence. So,” Patterson leant back on her chair. “What are you going to do?”
The prisoner approached the table, picked up Patterson’s handkerchief and began to masturbate. He was standing no more than four feet away from Patterson, but then he turned and stood before Moriarty. The women exchanged a glance, and Moriarty tried to appear casual as she watched the man’s foreskin move back and forth less than a yard from her face.
Moriarty had never seen a man masturbate before, and none of the three men she had slept with in her twenty six years had presented themselves naked. She knew that she needed to appear assertive, to him and to Patterson. She looked across to her employer and smiled, as if she was calmly observing the young man’s performance. She looked up to his face, but he was staring down at his hand as he panted. She even asked him to stop and remove the cloth to allow her a closer look at his member. She announced herself to be satisfied and invited him, in a curt manner, to continue while she wrote a sentence in her file. The words were meaningless, but she wished to appear professional.
Finally, with a slight quickening of his breath, his hips jerked forward and his hand held firm over the tip of his penis. Moriarty saw that the handkerchief was now damp as the prisoner’s thrusting movement came to a halt. He wiped the semen onto the folded cloth and, looking around, walked to the far wall to throw the rag in the bin.
“They’ll be plenty more where that came from,” Patterson told him as she leant across to her companion. “He’ll do. He’ll do nicely indeed. I think you’ll have a lot of fun with him.”
“This is a scientific experiment.”
Moriarty sought to appear calm, but she was excited by the prospect of controlling this young man with the lithe body, deep blue eyes, winning smile and very large penis.
“He came over and jerked off for you. That must mean something in Mexico. You’re probably engaged now.”
“Behave yourself.” However, they both giggled as Dean came to stand before them, his penis beginning its gradual decline. He did not look to return to his clothes by the chair.
“How do you feel?”
“Fine.”
“You’re not embarrassed to be masturbating in front of strangers?” Patterson asked.
“A little, but I suppose I’ll get used to it.”
“Great.” She turned to Moriarty. “Operation Bulge is underway.”
“Please, Rebecca, I’ve asked you not to call it that.”
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