Here is my story, a bit. I am humble not very well known diminutive Spanish man born in Madrid, 1953. My father was notorious brave airman in the Spanish air force, while my mother rode horses a lot. My early years were estatically happy, even though I had a slightly older brother, Hornolo, who was not bullying me all that much but who was undoubtedly my father’s favourite as the first-born son.
Fortunately, we were not seeing my father that often because of his important air force work. At the time, Hornolo esplain to me that the Spanish air force was composed in its entirety of three aeroplanes, two hot air balloons, and a squadron of gryphons, which are animals that have the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle; he tell me that the pilots climb on the back of the gryphons with their revolvers drawn and their bombs strapped to them, which they then drop from a great height on Basques, Communist demonstrators, the Camp Nou, and so on. It make me very proud of my father, although I have since checked up in books and discovered that Hornolo was lying about some of this. I never found out why.

Two years after I was born was then the turn of my sister, Candelería. She was my younger sister. The first few years playing with her was quite good fun, because I was now able to torment her in the same way that Hornolo had tormented me, escept with the added bonus that Candelería was a girl, which meant there were different things on her to examine. As I have mentioned before, in those days we invented both acupuncture and colonic irrigation, independent of both the Chinese and Lady Diana (not that I am condoning scientific esperimentation as a way of discovering fundamental truths about the world). Sadly, that relationship soured when I reach the age of eight and Candelería was six. One summer’s day, while my mother was upstairs in the house sacking one of the maids, we were outside playing naked around the pool, and I push Candelería into the pool and run into the house and hide in the cloakroom, especting her to come chasing after me with a fork (her favourite implement of distressing me). What I was not aware, however, was that as she was falling into the pool, Candelería bang her head on the side and knock herself unconsious. While I am hiding in the cloakroom naked, smelling everyone’s coats, she is at the bottom of the pool with nobody noticing. Is only when she is not forking me that I go to look for her and locate her at the bottom of the pool. She does not hear my screams and shouts to wake up, but fortunately one of the garden staff does, and he dive in to retrieve Candelería while I run in to tell my mother to call the ambulance.

Candelería is lazing at the pool bottom for eight minutes altogether but is not dead at all, only brain damaged. She is made into a kind of vegetable, which kind I am not sure; the doctor at the hospital was not specific. At the time I was thinking it is a mong bean, but I think this is just because of things the boys at school say later when they are teasing me. I find out when I talk to Hornolo that she is not a mong at all, which is something completely different.

After this point, of course, things change a lot. My mother blame herself very much for leaving me unsupervised, but she is able to soften the pain of this responsibility by ingesting large quantities of gin, which she have especially flown in from London. My father also help with softening the pain for her by shifting the blame from my mother to me, holding me from that day accountable for all my actions and emphasizing to me the importance of guilt and responsibility and blame and the necessity of begging for forgiveness from God and Jesus. He tell me to especially make sure I demonstrate my guilt and sorriness whenever my mother is in the room.

My father continue to be absent whenever he could, but this circumstances could not last forever, and when I get to 12 years old and Hornolo is 14, my mother says to him that she has had enough of having to look after us—especially at weekends, when she received guests and had to remain sober—so it was from that point on incumbent upon my father to do all the boy-raising. A good deal of my manly education take place now; my father was very much a man of the world, and he tell us that he was not going to alter his routine one jot in order to accommodate us. It was time, he said, for us to become men too, like him, and therefore he allow us to tag along with him when he visit the Bernabeu, to go to casinos, to make visits to various brothels, to go gambling, to visit the corrida, to attend the illegal dogfights, to do the small bit of smuggling, and attacking negroes. All of this esperience was very educational. It was because of my father’s decision to educate us this way that I lose my virginity (but gain much insight into the world) at the age of 13 in a well-known whoring house near Salamanca with a very nice middle-age lady with one eye and a big tummy, who have pleasant maternal technique but without the smell of booze. We have a lovely shower together, during which she make my penis estremely hard, sometimes using her mouth, then she make me squat down with her in the cubicle, so that we hug one another very tight while she insert me inside her. She then use her vaginal muscles to milk the puppy fat out of me but also, at the same time, she use the shower head on full power to spray up into my anus, causing my sphincter muscle to go into uncontrollable spasms. As you can imagine, this was an incredibly invigorating esperience! I have fabulous orgasm and shit myself at the very same time!

If I remember correctly, that weekend was spoiled by the discovery, when Hornolo and I get home, that my mother and Candelería had managed to gas themselves to death. Silly stupid fucking idiots!

And to this day I am so very, very annoyed that I never got to tell my mother about my esperience.

Women, eh?!