His tears affected her. Never before had she seen a strong man weep.
But the wonder of it was that he was weeping because of a little thing that she was doing for him.
But she could hold herself no longer.
The piston-like prick burned the sides of her cunt. The bubbling of her vital essences in her loins became an effervescent cauldron. A furore of passion came over her, seeping into every nook and cranny of her receptive body. Paroxysms of emotion swept through her in devastating waves, each of which left her weak yet raring to go again.
A rampant, clamorous, tempestuous, irrepressible volcano, simmering in its incipient deluge of lava fire, shook her.
Then the bottom dropped away from her.
And she came beautifully.
He came beautifully in her.
The pearly fluids met and flowed together. And in the amalgamation of their physical fluxing, there grew the more lasting conjointure of their spiritual joining. Each knew that they were meant for each other.
That the river had found its final harbour.
As they sank back exhausted, El Gallo took hold of La Tarantula's hand and reverently kissed her fingers.
That night they fucked fifteen times.
La Tarantula discovered that the three testicles of El Gallo were more than a myth. They were more than fact. They were all of truth bound up into the compass of one ball-sac.
They were her world.
CHAPTER FIVE
At eleven o'clock that night they were awakened by a pounding on the door. Hilarious voices came to them from the hallway. "Open up! open!" they heard. And when the door was opened, Zurito the picador and all the other pics and banderilleros tumbled into the room in all stages of intoxication, all hugging some wench they had picked up in the cafe downstairs.
"We are going to see the bulls!" Zurito cried out, "are you with us, El Gallo?"
"Perro!" the matador cursed, "get out of this room before I kill you all!"
But La Tarantula had already leaped out of the bed and was adjusting her headdress. "No! we shall go, too, El Gallo! I want to see the great bulls that my El Gallo is going to kill tomorrow at the bullfight!"
El Gallo's face dropped. He had wanted to remain the night with his newly found love. But the others were too drunkenly insistent that he accompany them. Besides, La Tarantula was also desirous of going with them. "I shall go if you shall promise to appear tomorrow at the ring to see me kill them," he cried.
La Tarantula gaily promised. Then, locking her arms in El Gallo's elbow, she pushed at the roistering company. "Come! to the bulls!" she cried.
"To the bulls!" the others all screamed as they turned and exited down the steps and through the cafe, some of them seizing bottles of wine and aguardiente from the tables and waving them in their hands and lurching drunkenly out into the Calle de la Serpiente, their arms around their girls.
The night had been quiet before they came out into it. But they bruised the silence with their shrieks and cries and ribald songs. Down the entire length of the street they went, on past the barracks, past the brewery, past the jailhouse, until they came to the Guadalquivir river.
There, in a number of boats, they were ferried across the river to the Triana section, La Tarantula's birthplace, in which the Plaza de los Toros, the place of the bulls, was located. On past the Plaza they lurched, until they came to a rustic spot in the outskirts of the section. It was the farm where the bulls for the next day's fight were being taken care of. Here, the aficionados, the bullfight enthusiasts, gather the day before the bullfight to comment on the bulls to be killed the next day.
Most of them go there to talk to the bulls, calling huh! huh! huh! to them and imagining that, because the bull widened his nostrils and jerked his head toward the speaker, he had held conversation with him.
It was there that the drunken group ended up. Most of the others were drunk, but El Gallo and La Tarantula, who had not imbibed as yet, were still sober. For the while they busied themselves in the pens where the bulls were kept. Occasionally, someone would holler out to El Gallo, "That Miura bull will show you how well you can make a veronica!" or, "watch out for that dappled toro! he has a killing look in his eye!"
But El Gallo heard nothing. As the others milled around him, the men hollering, the women giggling from their drinks, he held on to the arm of La Tarantula and was glum and silent. She, however, being a gypsy, fell into the gay spirit of the evening. Seizing a bottle of wine from someone, she drained it at a gulp, the wine pouring down from the corners of her mouth onto her flimsy dress. Soon, she became as wild as the rest of them. Time and again she took a swig of fiery aguardiente, each drink making her drunker than ever. But she was a gypsy. In her there burned blood that demanded that she cast care to the winds, that she throw herself into the spirit of joy and untrammelled carefree happiness. And the more she tried to ply El Gallo with drinks, the more glum he became, refusing the offers. Yet, each offer that he refused, she, in turn, tipped into her own gullet.
And the rest of the company were doing the same thing. Their stock of wine and aguardiente had been refurbished at the little vente that stood at the corner of the pens where there were tables and chairs for any who cared to sit. And when they grew tired of roistering about the pens, goading the bulls until they charged the wooden fences and sometimes splintered their horns, they finally retired to the vente, where they seated themselves at the tables and were soon opening new bottles of wine.
Off in a corner, Zaralito had worked his cigarette girl onto the floor.
There, he was babbling to her that she suck his cock. She, with just about enough in her to take the dare, suddenly demanded that if he would stand on the table, she would suck his cock right there in front of the whole group. Zaralito tried to turn the offer down with disgust. But the others had heard the proposition and they leaped up and demanded that he go through with the bargain. At first Zaralito demurred. But under the threats of dire murder from his friends, he sheepishly condescended to go through with the performance.
Somebody helped him up onto one of the tables, as he was too drunk to negotiate the step himself. A guitarist in the rear struck up a fast jota.
The men stamped in rhythm while the women clapped, heightening the excitement all the more.
Then, amidst a general clamour of laughter and a hullabaloo of advice and drunken taunts, the drunken cigarette girl arose from her chair and stepped over to the drunken Zaralito, swaying on his tabletop.
Slowly, she inserted her hands into the flap of his trousers. For a moment she could not seem to find that for which she was seeking. But a light suddenly came to her eyes as she made the catch. In no time, she had a limp prick hanging in front of the man. The company howled at the sight of the thing. There was not enough there to fill a dog's mouth, they screamed. Others cried to the girl to get herself a real man.
But, evidently, the girl was a professional. She saw that, despite the present size of the penis, there were a number of folds in it which indicated that, distended, it could reach a sizeable length. And so, after cocking her head quizzically at it, she went to work on her job. First she inserted her right hand into his trousers again, where she encircled his ball-sac with her fingers, diddling the rough surface with nervous sensitive fingers that sent electric shocks through the staggering picador. Still no rise came from the limp member. This did not disconcert the woman. Immediately, she ducked her head so that her mouth came directly under the tip of the penis. Then she raised her head slowly, opening her mouth at the same time so that, as her mouth came up, the prick slithered into the aperture. At the same time she wrapped her tongue around the tip of the prick, taking in a deep sucking breath. She felt a slight movement in the prick. She realized that, under the influence of alcohol, it would be difficult to bring an erection to the drunken picador. But she was a professional. And, in no time, what with her tickling of his balls and inserting her fingers into his anus where she massaged his prostate gland, she brought the oncelimp cock up to a fairly hard condition. In fact now, instead of hanging its head in shame, it was beginning to jut out like a lance. The head of the penis proper was sticking out slightly from its foreskin and the little eye winked naughtily at the assemblage who were taking in the spectacle now without a sound. All that could be heard was the occasional bellow of a bull outside and the sucking, moist, plupping noises of the girl's mouth filled with saliva as it negotiated the entire distance of the picador's rapidly hardening prick. Slowly, under her tongue, the girl felt the foreskin gradually drawing away from the tip of the prick. Soon, she felt the ridge of the head in her mouth. And a hardness settled into the whole length of the prick. It slid into her mouth with not so much effort as previously. Busily her head bobbed up and back now instead of up and down, for the prick stuck straight out in front of him. Up and back her head bobbed, the prick shooting in and out of her mouth like the piston of a railroad engine.