What It Feels Like...to Be a Prison Sex Slave
"Bret Ramos claimed me as his own. He told me I had two choices: I could
submit, or I could die."

By Roderick Johnson, 35, as told to Tyler Cabot

Soon after coming to Allred prison in Texas, Bret Ramos claimed me as his
own. He told me I had two choices: I could submit, or I could die. Thus began
my life as a prison sex slave.

What most people don't understand is that rape in prison isn't like it is on
the outside. It's not random or chaotic. It's planned and methodical. It's
business. The gangs trade amongst themselves to determine who is going to be
with whom. And other inmates didn't dare touch me without clearing it first
with my owner.

Ramos would rape me once, twice, sometimes three times a day. Then he would
force me to clean his cell, make his bed, or cook food for him. Eventually he
demanded that I have sex with his friends, who took to calling me "Coco."
When a different sex slave was badly beaten for refusing sex, he said the
same thing would happen to me if I didn't comply.

When I was finally transferred to a different cell block, I was told by Cliff
Brown that he and his gang had "bought" me. That's when the prostitution
escalated. They made me perform sex with dozens of other inmates -- white
gangs, Mexican gangs, black gangs. Sometimes it was anal. Sometimes oral.
Sometimes both. They did it in cells, in the shower, on the stairs. The going
rate was five or ten dollars in commissary a fuck. Eventually I was moved to
another building. Waiting for me there was La Brigada. At the next building
it was the Akin Soldiers. Then the Ivory Kings.

I pleaded with the guards, the warden, and the classification committee time
and again for safekeeping. Each time I was met with deaf ears and laughter.
They told me that because I was a homosexual, it didn't matter. They told me
to "fight or fuck." The rape continued. The prostitution continued. And with
it, my shame grew and grew. Eventually I couldn't face the constant
humiliation anymore. I was suicidal.

At last, I wrote the ACLU and told them I wanted to kill myself. They flew to
the prison and contacted the prison director. And for the first time since my
ordeal began eighteen months earlier, I was put in safekeeping.

I was released to a halfway house in December and now live in my own
apartment as I try to move my life forward. I'm getting counseling and the
medical attention I need. I spend my days working as a youth counselor and
hope to start a nonprofit organization. But every day is a struggle. I'm
always very aware of my surroundings. I watch my back. I hate crowded rooms.
And the nightmares of being raped persist.

Tougher still is the struggle to move past the shame and guilt. Sometimes I
blame myself. I think, If I had only listened to my grandmother and stayed
out of trouble, I wouldn't have gotten into this. Sometimes I start analyzing
the situation, I start looking at the picture from all types of angles, and I
start thinking, Why me? Why am I so weak? I just need to move forward.