## Archive-name: homage_to_catalonia

From: 71022.251@compuserve.com

Subject: SP fiction: HOMAGE TO CATALONIA

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

HOMAGE TO CATALONIA by Marcus Van Heller [An Extract] Copyright (c) 1996 Spectrum Press from the SP website at http://users.aol.com/specpress

(see info at end of extract)

Lean cheeks hot, heart pounding, Avelino the singer heaved
himself quietly up the last two centimeters of rock to look down
on the naked unsuspecting woman below.
The noise of a dislodged stone as he settled hinsself in a
niche was drowned by the washing of the surf close to the woman's
prostrate body. He gazed at her with the frightened, formless
anguish of his twenty-one sexless years and it was as if cold
sea-water had suddenly swamped his loins.
Avelino had come upon the woman quite by accident three days
ago. He bad been trying to catch a lizard on the craggy, solitary
isthmus when, reaching the summit, he had looked down the sharper
face and seen the slim, brown body stretched out on a ledge near
the water's edge. Since then he had crept every day to the same
spot during the sweating heat of afternoon when others were
working or taking a siesta. Each day he had watched the woman for
the few hours she lay in the sun, body brown and gleaming from
her sun lotion. Each day he had masturbated desperately until his
passion was spent -- and even then he was unable to draw his
fascinated eyes away until she made movements to leave. Then he
would slither away like a rock snake and dash for the grove of
olive trees which cut off the jagged isthmus from the dusty coast
road.
At other times during the day he had seen the woman in the
little town which had not long outgrown its village state. He had
seen her, too, at the open air dance in the evening at which he
sang with the nine-piece hand which all the tourists liked so
much because, they said, it was typically Spanish.
At first he had thought she was Swedish. The Swedish women
had a reputation from some of the older members of the community
for bathing in the nude. But later he had found she was English.
She was always alone and she was beautiful. She sat alone, danced
a lot, but always refused invitations to join another table. She
appeared to be a rich woman who wanted soft music and to be left
alone.
She always came to this spot alone with a book, a bottle or
two of wine, wearing a scanty bathing costume under a bright,
striped beach jacket. She would swim expertly in the deep blue
waters of the Mediterranean, climb gently back onto her ledge,
careful to avoid the prickling sea urchins which clung to its
underwater surface, and then strip off her two piece before
soaking herseff in lotion to imbibe the sun.
Although she was much older than him, her body was the sort
which would never grow fat, Avelino told himself. The bones were
small, well formed, the skin tightly stretched on them.
She was lying on her front now, reading. Her buttocks jutted
from her brown slimness below him like twin balloons, small but
well inflated. They were just slighdy paler than the rest of her
back view. Today while he watched she stiffened, cramped a little
with her position and her bottom tensed, hollowing provocatively
as if she were pressing herself against a lover. And then she
rolled over onto her back.
Avelino withdrew his head until he judged she had made
herself comfortable in her new position and then peered over the
ridge again.
Now he could see her breasts, bulbous and glistening in the
fierce yellow light of afternoon. The slimness of her body below
her breasts, the supple broadening into the hips with their
central muff of blonde hair, the long smooth thighs -- all were
revealed to him.
His eyes roved hotly, half-fearfully over the first
unclothed woman he had ever seen, but it was already becoming not
enough to watch. He did not know what more he could do. He felt
icy fingers run through his belly at the thought of discovery --
but it was no longer enough just to watch. He longed desperately
for the unbelievable happening of contact.
Sometimes his mind floated off on a fierce fantasy in which
he imagined himself in this lonely spot suddenly falling on the
woman, pressing her nude rotundities under his weight and raping
her with abandon. The horror of the thought made him sick and it
was always a relief when he forced himself back to reality. At
other times he thought of calling out to her -- who knew, after
all, what her reaction would be? Perhaps she would call him down,
invite him to make love to her.
He wondered what he would do if she did. And his mind would
wander off again through the detailed action. She must be thirty.
She would take the lead. He had to admit to himself that although
he knew how it was done, he wouldn't know how to set about it.
For a long time he lay flat on the hot brown stone, aware of
the white-flecked sea beyond and the occasional white sail far
out, but never consciously taking his eyes from the woman's body.
His hopeless desire was a sharp, hot pain against the rocks
at his loins. His head ached from frustration. His body was
sticky from the heat under his clothes and the rock had become
almost too hot for his hands.
Below the woman read, eyeless with the large sunglasses she
wore, short, blonde hair sparkling -- and gazing into the very
pores of her skin, Avelino felt the thrill of an idea tremor
through his veins.
It was not a very good idea on the face of it, but it would
take him nearer the woman and reveal him to her.
Trembling with excitement so that he almost urinated in his
thin gaberdine trousers, he slithered gently down the slope of
the jut of the isthmus towards the mainland. On the flat neck of
land over which the sea sometimes swept at high tide, making an
island of the higher crag behind him, he walked quickly towards
the western point of the isthmus.
In a boulder-shaded cove close to the shore, he hurriedly
slipped out of his clothes, experiencing the sharp thrill of the
forbidden as he did so. He made a neat pile of his shirt,
trousers and the light espadrilles which all the local folk wore
to protect their feet, and then stood for a moment in the sun,
breathing heavily.
The sun and the whisper of air on his body gave him a mixed
feeling of freedom and evil. Particularly to the areas not
usually exposed -- his buttocks and his genitals -- it seemed
like softly caressing fingers.
He hesitated for a moment. His body was slim and hard, but
it had been well tapered by the sea. He knew he would probably
have had a woman by now if it had not been for the timidity which
a strict upbringing had instilled in him. Perhaps, then, he would
have got rid of this inward turned, mind-wracking torture that
filled his thoughts and prevented him any peace of mind.
By the time he dived cleanly into the sea, the sweat had
already begun to glisten on his chest. He plunged deep and swam a
few snokes towards the sea-bed before raising his hands towards
the lighter region above.
His head broke the surface with his eyes stinging and all
desire momentarily gone.
He had not been sure what he was going to do and now, for a
moment, he considered swimming in the opposite direction, away
from the woman, leaving the water after a few minutes and
returning to the town. But he knew that with the evening, the
long night of thought and solitude, she would flood back in him
so that the next day he would be back with the same hopelessness,
heightened by his failure to alter it.
So he began to swim with a strong crawl, out, through the
light undulation of waves, to the open sea.
For the moment he was cut off from sight of the woman by a
jutting promontory of rock, but in a few minutes when, he judged,
he would be some hundred metres from the isthmus, he would be
able to see the ledge on which she lay. He would then swim round
the isthmus until he was parallel with the ledge. He had no
thought except to see what reaction his presence would produce in
the woman. He was not even sure he would allow her to see him.
For some time she did not see him as he swam in leisurely
fashion opposite the ledge and then, from the corner of his eye,
he was aware of her glancing in his direction. He continued to
swim without looking at her, making no secret of his presence, as
if he did not realise she was there. He saw her reach out for her
beach jacket and slip it on.
It was in the hurried carelessness of the movement that she
knocked her gaily coloured towel so that it fluttered down to the
surf a few feet below, receded from the shore, was washed in
again, receded once more and then, sodden with water, showed
signs of sinking.
The woman tried vainly to reach it with her hands, lying
flat along the ledge; then with the aid of the bottle of wine --
to no avail. To plunge in after it meant she would have to strip
off her beach jacket and don her swimming costume in his
presence.
Avelino turned openly towards the isthmus now: to pretend be
hadn't seen the flutter of movement would have been ridiculous.
He made a quick, nervous decision and then went racing in towards
the ledge.
The water here was deep and dark. She would be unable to see
that he was naked unless he swam immediately under her.
The woman had seen him coming in towards her and had relaxed
her vain efforts. She watched as he approached, with an
expression of uncertainty. Her beach jacket reached only a few
inches down her thighs.
By the time Avelino reached the spot some yards from the
ledge at which the towel had disappeared, it was drifting down
through the depth -- a hazy shimmer of colour.
He dived without hesitation, realising in the instant that
his naked buttocks must have momentarily met the woman's gaze.
With the towel in his hands he came to the surface. He
indicated he would throw it to the woman and she held out her
hands with a smile. He threw, and the heavy wet ball was caught
deftly in her arms.
"Thank you very much," she called out in Spanish, above the
wash of the surf.
"It was nothing," he called back, dark eyes lighting up in a
nervous smile.
The woman spread the towel out on the rocks and he began to
swim away, feeling the strangeness of the occurrence at that
particular time.
Seeing that he was swimming off, out to sea, the woman
cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted:
"Would you like a glass of wine?"
Avelino could hardly believe that what he had heard was
true. His immediate reaction was to pretend he had not heard, but
that would have been too embarrassing as she was looking straight
at him.
He hesitated, his mind searching frantically for a reason
for refusal. And then he called out the truth.
"I have no swimming trunks."
The woman laughed merrily, and even from there he could see
the evenness of her teeth. She did not seem the slightest
disturbed.
"It's much bener swimming without them," she called back.
"But I have another towel here that you can wrap round you. I
won't look while you climb out."
Avelino was astonished, in the first place by the fluency of
her Spanish, in the second by the ease of her manner that made
the boldness of her words -- unacceptable from a Spanish girl --
seem perfectly natural.
The ardour-dampening wash of the sea had dispelled much of
his nervousness, even his desire, and he called back:
"I don't want to disturb your reading."
"Not at all," the woman shouted. "I'm tired of reading."
"Very well. Where's the towel?"
The woman indicated the dry towel and placed it along the
ledge at some distance from her.
With a spurt of energy, Avelino raced in to the ledge.
Grasping it above his head, he glanced along at the woman. She
was staring in the opposite direction, into the bay of the far
side of which the white houses of the town shone in the sun. He
hauled himself onto the ledge and wrapped the towel tightly
around his waist. His nervousness suddenly returned.
"May I turn around?" the woman asked.
"Yes," be said. And his voice sounded thick.
When she turned towards him and he found himself so close to
the object of his surreptitious desire, Avelino felt an acute
embarrassment. He could think of nothing to say. But the woman
was prepared to do all the immediate talking.
"I'm afraid I would have lost that towel if it hadn't been
for you," she said as she poured the wine into a glass. "I was
too slow and I hate swimming underwater."
Avelino smiled. He could think of no answer.
The woman seemed more beautiful at close quarters. She had a
large, rounded forehead, a straight, thin nose and a firm, but
not aggressive chin. Her possible age became more of a mystery to
him. She was free from wrinkles and the whites of her eyes were
almost luminously clear. Yet somehow he had the feeling she was
well over thirty.
"You swim almost as well as you sing," the woman said,
smiling as she handed him the glass.
Avelino stared at her in surprise.
"You recognise me?" he said. Never during the dances had the
woman appeared to even glance in his direction.
"Of course," she replied. "How could I hear such a voice and
not want to look at the owner."
"Oh, no!" Avelino gave a little laugh of self-disparagement.
"Oh yes!" The woman laughed back at him. "You have a
beautiful voice. In England I think you'd be a hit!''
Avelino felt highly flattered, although he did not believe
the woman. Perhaps she did like his voice, but the rest could not
be true.
However, he began to find the woman was easy to talk to and
his self-confidence slowly returned. She had another bottle of
wine and they both drank luxuriously while they talked, or rather
while she questioned him and he answered.
They sat almost side by side on the ledge and with the
return of self-confidence, Avelino was aware of the return of
desire.
Occasionally as they talked the woman's eyes gazed out over
the sea at a distant ship on its way to Barcelona, and then he
would drop his eyes from her face to the brown, bulging skin of
her upper breasts in the deep V of the beach jacket. She seemed
to be not the slightest perturbed at the flimsiness of her
covering, at the fact that the length of the jacket barely
covered the junction of hips and thighs.
After a while, Avelino had forgotten how much wine he'd
drunk -- the wine at home was neither so strong nor so plentiful
-- and his face was hot with a more urgent heat than that from
the sun. Under the towel which draped his slim hips his penis had
risen into a stiff cudgel of flesh which bulged obviously against
the covermg, try as he would to conceal it.
"Do you often swim here?" the woman asked, eventually,
turning to him with a lift of her thin, finely drawn eyebrows.
"I never have before," Avelino answered, trying to cross one
leg over the other to hide the enormous mound at his loins.
"I'm glad you swam here today. How did you come to?"
Avelino looked into the hazel eyes, serious and holding him.
Could it be that he imagined a flicker of invitation? She too had
drunk a lot. He stared down at the lipstick on the opposite side
of their one glass which he now held.
"Why did you swim here today?" the woman repeated softly, as
if she knew the answer, wanted it confirmed.
"Because I knew you were here and I wanted to speak to you,"
he blurted.
"You knew I was here -- but how?" Her mind seemed to be
racing back over the meaning of what he had said.
Made honest with the wine and almost uncaring, Avelino
replied with the truth.
"I've watched you from the top of the rocks behind us for
the last three days," he admitted.
There was a moment's silence, and then the woman's gentle
little laugh cadenced softly amongst the rocks. She looked at him
again and her eyes took in the bulge at his hips as if he had
given her a signal.
"What a pity you watched from so far for so long," she said
as the laugh faded.
Avelino gulped back the dregs of wine in the glass and
looked at her. It seemed there was no mistaking her tone, but be
had no idea what to do. Now, in fact, he felt a little more
frightened than he had before. It occurred to him suddenly that
she was, perhaps, being sarcastic, but her next words dispelled
the thought.
"Have you ever made love to a woman?"
"No," he admitted, taken aback at the bluntness of the
question.
"A virgin," the woman whispered. "How delightful. I thought
you were rather shy."
"Yes, I'm shy," Avelino heard himself saying. "I wish I
weren't."
Again the woman's eyes lowered to his hips. She had
understood the implication of his words.
"We all must learn," she said softly.
It was as if in a dream that Avelino found himself kissing
her. The motion must have come from him, but it was as if she had
directed it. He had kissed girls before -- at parties -- but this
was different. The woman was breathing hard and she pulled him
back onto the ledge. He felt, with momentary surprise followed by
pleasure, the silky, foreign pressure of her tongue in his mouth.
He had heard of this. Her arms were around him, fingers digging
sharply into the flesh of his shoulders, of his neck.
For some time they kissed, lips moving over each other's
faces until he, too, was breathing as heavily, it seemed, as his
uncle's donkey. She pulled him against her on the rock so that
his penis under the towel was crushed against her hips. Her mouth
opened and she gasped with quick little intakes of breath at the
feel of his against hers. Under the towel he felt his penis
throbbing as if it were undergoing a self-masturbation.
Her hand slipped down between them and pressed against the
mound. Softly she moved her fingers under the towel, slipping
them up until with a sudden stroking caress they had contacted
with the fleshy heat of his organ.
Avelino's hips recoiled automatically at the unbearable
intimacy of the sensation. It took his breath away.
But the fingers followed, stroking, stroking until he could
bear to let them stay. He recoiled again as they roamed over his
testicles. He began to gasp and moan, unable to control himself
any longer.
The fingers, so cool against his heat, were relentless. They
drew themselves up and down his throbbing penis while the woman
pressed her face at his, darting her tongue moistly into his
mouth.
His hips writhed, his mouth opened wide, he was suddenly
overcome by an unbearable sweet pain behind his genitals. The
woman, as if she divined it, suddenly grasped his penis in her
whole hand and squeezed it in a rhythmic motion which brought
little cries from him. The pain grew so that he could no longer
bear it, his head rolled, he had to escape -- and then with a cry
of sweet agony he suddenly gained release and his sperm was
shooting all over the towel, the woman's hand, his thighs.
She continued to squeeze and caress him until his passion
had died and his organ deflated. She opened her beach jacket and
nursed his head against her breasts while his breathing still
choked in his throat. Lying against her, feeling too embarrassed
to move or look at her, Avelino realised he had never had such a
quick orgasm. He felt the more embarrassed, now, from a sense of
failure. The woman had obviously wanted him, intended him to make
love to her.
She kissed his head, pulling his face close to her so that
his lips brushed the smooth, glassy skin of her breasts. He felt
depressed, but, as if she understood, she said soffly:
"We have plenty of time."
They lay still for a long time, until the sun sank below the
cliff face behind them, although it continued to light up the sea
beyond in a warm sparkle of azure. Even in the narrow ribbon of
shade it was warm on the ledge. With the disappearance of the sun
it seemed a little more secluded.
Pressing his lips against her breasts, moving them over her
abundant nipples, surprised at the situation every time he
allowed himself to picture it from outside, Avelino felt a fresh
stirring at his loins. A slow breeze of excitement began in his
hips like the deep rumblings of a volcano long before it erupts.
He was astonished at his ability to recover so easily.
Between his legs he felt his penis rising again, felt it
moving, apart from him, with an electric tingling as it grew and
thickened. He kissed the cushioning breasts with greater passion
and the woman responded, clasping his head against her flesh as
if she would hold it there for ever.
He kissed the nipple, sucking it, the way he thought a child
would. She drew in her breath sharply and gave a little cry. She
slithered down against him so that her breasts now pressed warmly
against his chest and her lips sucked at his. He in turn forced
his tongue through her lips and her mouth opened wide to receive
him.
"Just a moment," she whispered as he slithered his lips down
her neck.
He released her and she reached around them, gathering the
towel, a cushion and her bathing costume. She arranged the
articles under and around them before clasping him around the
neck once more.
As his passion rose afresh so that his whole body seemed
fluid with fire, her hand wormed in through his towel again to
caress his genitals. His penis rose yet more sharply at the
contact of her fingers, and he strained his buttocks together,
crushing the weight of his hips towards her body.
His hands now moved over the glossy-textured skin of her
breasts and, bolder, down over her ribs until he was gently
massaging the soft flesh of her belly.
The woman's beach jacket had fallen wide open and she was
naked, writhing her hips gently. With a deft movement, she
untwisted the towel covering his loins so that it fell away and
his pulsing, fiery-tipped penis shot into view.
She looked at it directly, her eyes bright, her gaze fixed
as though studying it. His foreskin was drawn back, the head of
his organ swollen, reddish-purple, the tip showing a leakage of
fluid. Extending her hand, she briefly touched his balls, her
fingertips grazing the fullness of his scrotum.
"You're quite delicious," she said.
Avelino was too overcome now with the chill of anticipation
to feel embarrassed. He felt as if he were being led by the hand
blindly down into an inferno.
With them both breathing as if they had swum for an hour,
the woman caught one of his hands and moved it down over the
triangle of blonde hair at the junction of her thighs. She moved
it a little further still and then caught it between her thighs
in a fleshy imprisonment. She clasped it with her thighs for a
while, pressing, relaxing, rubbing, wriggling and then she let
her thighs fall apart and kissed him fiercely.
Tentatively Avelino tickled the inside of her thighs with
the tips of his fingers, exploring, creeping up a little. She
pushed her hips toward his hand, trying to precipitate his
progress. But at the sudden sensation of moist, soft flesh
Avelino stopped, a little afraid of his ignorance. He brushed the
moistness for some time while the woman panted. It became more
moist to his touch. "Go on," the woman encouraged him between
gasps. "That's right." Avelino wormed his finger up against the
softness and it opened so that his finger was suddenly gulped
into her body. She dug her tongue into his mouth, whimpering
slightly and he moved his finger right into her. He was
trembling. His finger was right inside her. He could feel the
soft contraction against his flesh. The moist channel in which he
was pressing his finger and wriggling it around, opened out,
seemed to grow larger and wetter as the minutes passed. "Come on
now!" the woman whispered sharply. She practically hauled him
onto her so that he could feel the soft warmth of her flesh like
a sensual mattress beneath him. His penis was somewhere down
between her open thighs. It seemed to be too low to enter but he
could do nothing. He felt overcome by a paralysis. His whole body
was trembling and his hands, grasping her shoulders, shook. The
woman drew up her thighs around his hips so that he could feel
their soft, clasping pressure. "Move up a little," she whispered.
As he slithered achingly up her body, her hand came down under
her thighs and met his penis in the shock of unexpected contact.
She held it a moment, fondling it and then directed it at her
open vagina. Avelino, eyes closed, his penis seeming to sing like
telegraph wires, felt himself drawn against the central chasm of
her body.
"Now -- push in," she commanded softly.
He pushed and felt the soft warmth of vague suhstance around
the tip of his organ. And then there was a pressure and then a
hot breaking through as he entered fully. The entry was such
agony that he felt he wanted to cry. His lips breathed the word
"wonderful!" and other wordless sounds.
The woman had gasped as he took possession of her and now,
moaning, she pulled him higher still on her, pushing her sensual
core down onto his stiff penetration.
She kissed him now, clasping his shoulders as in a vise,
thrusting her tongue deep into his mouth as if she wanted him to
swallow it completely. He felt her hips swivelling and undulating
under him as his penis was squeezed in contraction, released
slightly in expansion of her enclosing channel.
Avelino's head rolled on hers as he dug deeper and deeper
into her. His penis was like a great fire burning with a fierce
heat. It was agony and bliss, unbearable yet indispensable, a
dark nightmare and yet beautifully unforgettable.
The woman pulled her thighs higher, level with his chest.
She moved her hands down to his tensing buttocks and pushed them,
exhorting him to move farther into her.
Avelino gave himself over to the wild ecstasy. Embarrassment
could play no part in such a sensual abandonment, and soon he was
aware only of his penis, tight and bursting in her body, of her
hands squeezing his shoulders, his back, his buttocks, and her
lips with the mad abandoned tongue in his mouth.
The woman grunted and groaned as she writhed naked under
him, and it seemed so natural for him to breathe furiously: "I
love you, I love you, I love you," over and again as his face
crushed hers. Avelino ground his organ into the coaxing passage
with greater and greater strength until the hair at his loins had
met hers and there was no more length to go. Her hand came down
again under her thighs and gently held his swaying testicles with
a sensual shock that brought a fresh gasp from his open mouth.
With his knees spread now on either side of her buttocks, he
wriggled his hips like a dancer, ramming into the receptive
channel from various angles, experimenting in a blind way for
greater penetration, greater pressure. At one moment he became
briefly aware of the sun on the sea, the shade on the rocks and
the incredible fact of himself athwart this attractive woman whom
he hardly knew, having intercourse with her. Below him her head
moved from side to side, eyes half closed, her lips mouthing, her
shoulders swaying in her passion. Head, eyes, lips, shoulders all
an incredible, beautiful dream -- and he plunged his head down
once more to her and lost himself in the abyss of carnality. The
woman's gasps began to grow more continuous and her hips began to
jerk against him as if she had lost control of them. Her nails
dug into the flesh of his shoulders so that it hurt him with a
pain that added to the sweet agony of the union.
Her gasps became a long, soft whimper through which she
implored him: "Come on, come on, come on."
Her further abandonment brought forth automatic echoes from
Avelino. The feeling and sight of her lust-wracked body seemed to
numb the whole of his frame except for his loins. And there grew
a great reservoir of sensation, gathering behind the sharp pain
of his probing penis.
"Quickly, quickly," the woman breathed. "Together,
together."
She thrust her tongue again into his mouth and flickered it
in and out, moving it along his lips.
From the sweating numbness of his body, Avelino, panting
uncontrollably, felt all sensation pulled down to his penis. It
was the only part of him that had feeling. His gasps developed
into wounded, agonised "Oh's" as he thrust and thrust. He felt he
could not get far enough into the woman with his one thick finger
of flesh that could reach into her and make them one. Inside his
loins he felt the growing of pain, growing, growing to a bursting
point. He cried out and the woman panted "Now!" And then with a
great shudder in his loins, the sperm flew with scalding warmth
through his tube and spurting in needles of pain far up into the
woman's belly.
As his flood swept raggedly into her, she strained her hips
up at him, crying out at her fulfillment, while her lips tried to
fasten on his, failed in her excitement, and her teeth dug into
his neck.
His movements dwindled and dwindled while the woman's hips
relaxed. Her thighs continued to clasp him and her hands to
caress his neck until his final hip-jerk had passed and his body
subsided exhausted onto hers.

HOMAGE TO CATALONIA by Marcus Van Heller [An Extract] Copyright (c) 1996 Spectrum Press Spectrum Press etext edition ISBN 1-57138-383-2

For info on the complete ASCII text, see the catalog at:
http://users.aol.com/specpress

Or request an email catalog at 71022.251@compuserve.com

Last modified (12/24/96 14:11:04) by Eli-the-Bearded.

Go back to the main erotica page.