Bitches Behind Bars: Bitches Aren't Born They're Made

Most women aren’t born bitches they are molded into them by unfortunate circumstances. My name is Stormy Weathers and the story I share is not unique. I was born in the slums of Gary, Indiana to a teenage mother and later put up for adoption to an abusive family.

After running away from home several times I finally landed on the gritty streets of Detroit city where I met the love of my life Montrellis Jones an ex convicted gangster. The consequences of fast money and hard living would eventually land me behind bars. Roll with me as I desperately struggle to survive the seedy walls of a maximum security women’s state prison.

Note:
This book is purely for entertainment purposes. While many scenes may depict true life behind bars, all may not be completely accurate.

Warning:
Profanity/graphic sex scenes/lesbian sex

My week in the hole

Whoever made up the saying about your chickens coming home to roost damn sure knew what they were talking about. It wasn’t enough that I fought for my sobriety like my life depended on it. Or that I was serving my time with some of the hardest criminals in the system. Or that I punished myself harder than any judge ever could. It was now time that I faced the next phase in my torment. I honestly believe that my being thrown in the hole had nothing to do with Vannita and everything to do with karma finding her way into my life.

I had been living on and off the streets since I was a teenager. And as sad as it may seem. going to prison was actually the best thing for me. I have no doubt in my mind that the streets would eventually kill me. If it wasn’t by a John, or the hands of the dope man it was going to be the dope itself. I had fought many battles in my lifetime. The funny thing is I was always high when I engaged in battle. As least out in general population there was someone to talk to and people to help distract the fact that I was teetering on the edge of sanity. Now, as I sit alone in my concert tomb I add psychological torture to my laundry list of sufferings.

The drafty six by nine feet cell contained only a bed, a toilet that doubled as a sink and a few books on a shelf. I did have a window with an obstructed view of the yard. I spent 23 hours out of my day locked the cell. Even my meals came through a slot on a tray to eliminate contact with the guards. The lack of human contact has caused mental illness even in healthiest of inmates. Lords only knows how I was going to survive.