Everyone was staring at us as we found a place to sit. I wanted to explain what my group was all about and how I wanted to help, if she wanted. It was also a chance to get to know her, was she really as obnoxious as everyone said?

We settled for a table close to the back wall of the chow hall. I sat down and she sat next to me instead of across from me. The chow hall had all but fallen silent, it was an eerie silence in prison. 

Used to the negative attention she began to shout “do you like that! I’d bet you’d like me to put it in your…” I will spare you the rest of the message. 

The chow hall erupted into slurries of sound. Mainly negative. She tilted her head slightly down so her hair would drape across her eyes and darted her eyes around the room. It seemed as though she was satisfied with the results. I scanned the room and found no one who was laughing, except her. She was giggling and I tried not to get embarrassed. 

“What’s so funny?” I asked

“They’re all faggots!” she shouted across the room, everyone quieted down for a moment and then erupted once more. “I know that most of them want me to put a p***s in their a**. Not my p****, but, THE p****, ’cause that thing isn’t mine!” She surveyed the room again as most went back to their conversations.

“Your nuts,” I joked “were going to get jumped, are you crazy calling a whole chow hall full of prisoners fags?” 

She smirked at me and glanced at her hands on the table. She was raising her pinky off the table, pretending it was animating on its own. It rolled around in circles as if awaking out of bed.

“Do you know what this is?” she nodded towards her pinky smiling.

“A finger…” stating the obvious she was acting like a prepubescent child and it was getting on my nerves. 
“nope,” she smiled proudly “its my promiscuous pinky, she out to play.” 

She rolled it around some more at me as I sat confused.

“I don’t get it sweetie,” I was growing tired of her childishness and wanted her to snap out of whatever character this was so I could get to know her.

“Its my promiscuous pinky,” she slumped her shoulders as if deflating. Seemingly bored she had to explain this concept “whenever I feel promiscuous, my promiscuous pinky comes out.” She held her hands out as if it say “ta-da!”
“What does that have to do with me?” I was officially uncomfortable.

She arched an eyebrow and leaned over to rest her head on my shoulder playfully.

“Perhaps you forgot girl,” I pushed her upright again, away from me “I don’t like girls, I like men, you obviously are not.” 
“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes and began to pick her nose and look at me with sideways glances.

I gave up trying to explain to her that I could help her. Instead I realized she was mentally a child. All I could do was sit back and through fits of attention grabbing spasms let her know all that was unnecessary for me to help her. 

As weeks went by I was able to talk with some seriousness with her, but when things got emotional she would break out her “promiscuous pinky” to flirt with me. Which I always brush off, I have to remind her that its never gonna happen. I think its a test to make sure, rather then a legitimate pass. She is reassuring herself that there is a male in her life who does NOT want her sexually. 

Sadly, this is the story with 90% of the transgendered inmates I have met. Everyone wants to have sex with them, nobody wants to help and they are so used to it, that when someone does want to help them, they are confused. I wonder how many actual friends they have that are not trying to exploit them. 

I have made many terrible decisions in my life but none compared to breaking that trust with someone who needed me to be a guide. I will never make that mistake again and I will fiercely fight against those that try. I could sure use big hearts to help me.

With Love
Jeff Utnage