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Homage to Catalonia
I’m well and truly fucked up. I’m standing at the top of La Rambla, in a multi-coloured swirl of half dressed tourists, Mexican hats and Gaudi paraphernalia. I’ve been on the bladderation trial for the past 3 hours, that which normally leads to the fornication process and I’m trying to find a place called the Pussycat Club, but what with the heat and the alcohol I feel fucked up and I’ve found my way onto the Placa de Catalunya and I’m looking right into a great big fucking Apple store, and I’m just stood there gazing at this building, with all the young trendies sat outside with their long hair, tanned, skateboards, wristbands and fit looking girlfriends and I know that this building was the Communist Party Headquarters during the civil war and I imagine it draped in banners with vast portraits of Lenin and Stalin. And I smile to myself as I know that there is a nice irony in what I am looking at right now. It’s 30 degrees and I reckon I need a fuck and a beer – and I’m not too fussed about what order they come in.
As I walk back down La Rambla, I am thinking about George Orwell for some reason and the quote about it being better to fight and be beaten than not to fight at all. All that excitement might’ve appealed to me I reckon, especially with all these Spanish girls with their pneumatic tits, silky tanned skin and free and easy attitude to sex. But I’m not much of a fighter me, more like a shagger, shirker and slacker I would say.
48 hours later I’m back in the UK, and the weather is fucking miserable and I haven’t had a fuck in about 10 days, hardly had a wank actually and my cock is dripping and I fancy shagging a Spanish flamenco dancer – or at least a fit, tanned bird with dark hair. And so, I text Mandy and arrange to see her for an early morning session and within the hour I’m at her door and it’s around 10am – and I’m going up the stairs and she opens the door to the apartment and fuck me, she doesn’t look like a vampire at all on this occasion, but she looks like a Spanish lap dancer, all dark hair, tanned and strict looking and already I’m picturing her as one of the volunteers in the International Brigades and fighting for the Republican cause, in some tight fitting uniform – perhaps wanking herself every night over pictures of Stalin and Lenin. And whilst these thoughts are in me head, she goes “do you want a drink or do you want to get down to some hard core poppers abuse ?” and she has a glass of fizzy wine and I have some and it tastes nice and even better at 10 in the morning.
And I’ve brought with me one of those dust masks you wear when you are sanding off a nice bit of furniture, and I’ve got some cotton wool also, and Mandy starts by soaking a good amount of poppers in the cotton wool and placing it in the dust mask and then placing this over my head and she orders me onto all fours and then she’s pulling my balls from behind with great enthusiasm and endeavour and at the same time digging her finger nails into my cock and spitting fizzy wine over my arsehole and then she has her tongue firmly inside of my arse and it feels nice and it feels warm and she is dribbling saliva all over my arse and balls, and whilst this is going on I am thinking if this is the future of the Second Spanish Republic then I reckon I’ll have some of this – I might even sign up today.
And the poppers are a long, slow hit. Different to sniffing them directly from the bottle and I’m getting slowly and surely more and more fucked up. And Mandy is grabbing me by the hair and she pulls my head up to look at myself in the mirror and I look like Che Guevara. Unfortunately, the only photo I’ve seen of him (other than that irritating student poster) is the one after he was shot dead and lying on the morticians slab. And I look just like that one – all pale like and close to death. And then Mandy has her tongue shoved down my mouth and I think I can taste my own arse on her tongue and then she is down on my cock with her mouth and gagging and spitting all over it and the mask is on the floor, but I need to go again with the poppers so I reach for the bottle and start sniffing it directly and me head caves in significantly. And then Mandy takes the bottle from me and takes 2 gigantic sniffs and she tells me she likes the headrush and then she is taking my whole cock in her mouth again.
She is then telling me that she wants to piss over me and she has a pair of my wife’s knickers on and she wants to piss through these and I am good with that suggestion, so she is on the floor and my face is 2 inches from her cunt and I can see the knickers filling up with piss and then I pull them to one side and take a good mouthful of her piss and it tastes nice and it is warm and then she stands up and there is another stream coming down, this time directly into my mouth again and over my whole body and I am close to the point of passing out this time and she gets down infront of me and encourages me to wank my cock enthusiastically whilst a stream of filth pours from her mouth and I come loudly and in abundance and there is a about 10 days’ worth there. And it felt good. And I pay up.
And I get in the car and it’s 11.30, but the time has gone pretty quickly. That’s the thing about time – we live in time – it holds us and moulds us – but I have never felt that I understand it very well. I’m not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel versions. No, I mean ordinary, everyday time, which clocks and watches assure us passes regularly. And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time’s malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down and occasionally it seems to go missing – until the eventual point when it really does go missing, forever and never returns…….
And as I drive up the M1 I think about the idealism which would lead us to join the volunteers of the left wing International Brigades, I think about Mandy working in the Pussycat Club and wanking over her Che Guevara posters every night, I think about the Communist Party HQ which is now an Apple store, I think about The Manic Street Preachers and put on ‘If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next’