I was sunbathing, or what was left of it, because it was already dusk, on a sandy beach in the Spanish Levante, right next to a group of girls and boys, about seven: four girls and three boys, who were already preparing for the last of their baths, when I saw that, among the girls, they were casting their luck, playing rock, paper, or scissors to see who would first choose the man with whom they would work the sand.
While they played, they looked at the boys, who for them were more donkeys than a plow, to see which one of them stiffened, saying some of them, while others smiled:
“The tailed plow and the bearded plow.”
“Nor does he take the plow from it.”
“And that’s not in it; have difficulty with erection.”
“Sand plowing with edges and chirlas shells is not made by all donkeys.”
When the game was over, the winner told the friends:
“Of all I choose the one with the longest grid.”
She chose the boy that everyone would have chosen. He was tawny but not bearded, and, in addition, he cultivated his language, and it was very funny because he said “Aramaic” for “now piss.”
They knew about the girls’ game and were prepared to see which of them they would choose.
The winner went to the tailpipe who did not need to lower her swimsuit, because his balls and the fence were already coming out like an erect punch. She made him lie down spread-legged on the sand and grab her hands from behind, pulling him and, he, furrowing.
What a laugh! What a beautiful picture!
Some of the girls said:
“Sand ripper is and does not need a beard.”
“A plowman is pulled out with a straw for a hoe.”
And ha, ha, ha. I, too, laughed.
One of the boys yelled at the handsome man:
“Let’s see if you plow the whole beach before the sun goes down.”
The girl who was pulling the boy is called Casilda and they call him “Araguato” because he looks like a monkey from Brazil.
Casilda walked with Araguato for about 20 meters until a transparent and subtle tunic covered the crystalline humor of some mussel shells.
There they stopped, leaving him dejected and, she, releasing him and turning towards him, saying:
“And now, macho man, you get a cunnilingus on the foam of the water at the edge of the beach.”
Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet, painter and photographer. He’s a member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, Friends of the Blake Society, and others. Daniel is the director of Gallo Tricolor Review and Robespierre Review. He participated in many festivals of poetry and theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover, and Genève.
