Soy yo el mal del mundo
A Sexual Fantasy
“Soy yo el mal del mundo. / Nacida de mí misma / cuando sobrevivo, / cuando voy en busca / de sueños / y de respuestas. / Soy yo el mal del mundo. / Cuando muere una flor, / cuando la yerba seca / cuando me enamoro / de ti / y de tus ideas. / Soy yo el mal del mundo. / Cuando el cuerpo se rinde, / cuando me destrozas / cuando ojos / desorbitados / ya no te dicen nada. / Soy yo el mal del mundo.”
These are the words of Catherine, Spanish witch condemned to the stake.
Just today I discovered them and I understood many things.
Once upon a time another woman was not called Catherine and, I hope, was not over the fire to burn alive. But she, like Catherine, felt upon herself the sins of all the world's ills. At such times the physical pain became anesthesia to that of the spirit. So she was looking for those who punished her wickedness.
She said, imploring: "Spit me; give me a slap, so, stronger; and now hit me with the belt. No, no with leather, with the buckle. I want to be hit up to feel my flesh falling asleep in pain." Her back, her beautiful white shoulders and her art buttocks obscenely enlarged by the man fisting; her long thighs, already purple colored for previous offenses, branded under the blows of the Avenger. That was never me; too much violence for a game that was no longer such.
Once upon a time...