PURGATORY

As I was pumping Lulu, I couldn't help but think of the Apostles disrobing Fabiola and sticking their cocks into her cunt as fast as they could. Hardly a week went by in those first few months that I didn't roil in a litany of questions as I frantically fucked Fabiola. "Did guys come in you?" "Yes." "Is that hot pussy of yours good at making a guy's dick hard?" "Yes." "Could you feel a guy exploding in you?" "Yes." "Did you like that?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because it excited me that I could satisfy him." "Did the guys ask if they could come in you or did they come in you without asking?" "Both. Sometimes they would ask and sometimes they wouldn't." The sun is beating down on my head and I'm reliving the first time the doctor screwed her. She met him at a party and he asked her out on a date. He took her to a fancy restaurant in Matamoros where he wined and dined her, eventually rendering the two of them so drunk that they could hardly walk. Once in the car he lay the groundwork for the inevitable seduction. On the way to his house she sucked him and he fingered her. She vaguely recalled falling off the couch as they fucked the first time and later finding herself in a bathtub after passing out with him under water eating her out. "He wanted to fuck me again." "Did he?" "Yeah." Frank Garcia and I were close friends in high school. We both had relatives in Chicago and Miami and on two separate occasions we hitchhiked to Illinois and Florida to visit them. We also traveled throughout Mexico on cheap buses and spent four consecutive winters on the Pacific Coast in San Blas where our winter-long stays were highlighted by entering teams comprised of Americans and Canadians in the municipal basketball and volleyball leagues. We maintained international harmony by never losing in basketball and never winning in volleyball. Needless to say, Frank and I shared many experiences together. To his chagrin, we also shared his girlfriend. After bouts of drinking, Alma had to have sex with anyone but Frank. I wasn't the only culprit, but I was the recipient of her favors. As I pour through Fabiola's past reliving each dolorous affair, Fabiola turned to alcohol on a regular basis on her path of no-return. As a good Catholic I thought that purgatory was an after-death experience in another realm. I couldn't have been more wrong. Life is a purgatory with inferno-like flames licking at you as punishment for previous sins. Curious enough, Frank and Alma married, moved to New Mexico and raised three children. He was brilliant in math, but he became a mailman. He was an unemotional person, having reduced life to its daily rounds. His tolerance for Alma's dalliances must have reinforced his detachment by testing him at the most gut level.