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PROLOGUE
Pablo Garcia
Diaz lay under his sombrero, sucking on a blade of hay and watching
the girl. And every so often, he glanced at his donkey, Carmensita.
Carmensita appeared peaceful, grazing quietly ten feet away on a patch
of stubby, dried grass she had found. But Diaz knew what she really
wanted to do. She wanted to walk to the southern face of the mountain
where the earth was less stony and the grass grew more lush and
green. Just a foot from the soft-earth edge where the mountain
face dropped sharply to another flat ledge 100 feet below. Diaz
had already had to get up twice and swat her about that. But grass
patches were sparse on the mountainside at this altitude and Carmensita
was stubborn. She would take a lot of punishment before she gave
up.
Diaz sighed and turned his head back to the girl. A gringa. A
tall, very skinny gringa. Like most of them were, thought Diaz.
She must be about seventeen. She was wearing a very short yellow
dress and her long, thin legs stuck out like two giant matchsticks.
The dress hung from her bony shoulders with thin straps. Not much
breast either, almost flat-chested. She should have some breast
at that age, thought Diaz. Surely, at seventeen.... He liked to
have some flesh on his women; he liked to be able to lean his
head on a woman's body and not feel bone -- a woman should serve
as a pillow and a mattress, he liked to say to his compadres at
the cantina. Now, his Juanita had a lot of flesh. But then,
some nights when he went to see to his Carmensita in her stall,
and Carmensita's back was turned, her tail swishing from side
to side, and he caught a glimpse of the opening below, he felt
more desire than he had felt for Juanita in fifteen years.
Diaz turned to make sure that Carmensita was staying put and re-positioned
his sombrero over his face. He was leaning against a large rock
with the morning sun behind him. He didn't think the gringa would
be able to tell he was watching her, but she was getting closer
now. She had separated from her friends and their teacher, who
were on the plateau below, and she was climbing up, scampering
from rock to rock like a mountain goat, unafraid and sure-footed,
almost barefoot in little sandals with a few stringy straps. She
was examining with her magnifying glass the little wild flowers
that grew in the crags. Sometimes she pulled one out and put it
into the bag she was carrying over her shoulder and then moved
onto the next one, her thin arms and long, stick legs bending
and straightening in a ritual foreign to Diaz. Like a spider,
thought Diaz, gringas are like large spiders. When she bent down,
he could see into her loose, low-cut dress. It was like a boy's
breasts. Diaz tried to see her nipples. She had to have nipples.
Even boys had nipples. The sun was rising higher in the sky, beating
down on his thighs and stomach, now out of the shadow of the rock,
and on the gringa ten yards below and to the right of him. Her
short, brown hair shone like bronze and fell over her face as
she bobbed about. And then she saw him and waved. Large gray eyes
and a big smile. Friendly, confident and very gringa-like.
Diaz waved back and his wish to see her nipples became a compelling
need. Aided by the sun's heat, the tingling became pulsating and
then stirring. If only she went for the cluster of little bluebells
that lay between them... Yes! She stood on the flat rock next
to the bluebells and reached down with her magnifying glass and
he saw two large nipples. He could see them so clearly that he
felt pain in his crotch. Hardly any breast, but such large nipples.
He tried to imagine the sensations he would feel touching them,
playing with them, squeezing one between his two fingers, maybe
rubbing over it with the flat of his palm and then squeezing it
with all five fingers around it. His mouth had filled with saliva;
he swallowed hard. And then it filled again and he had to swallow
again. His temples and his crotch were throbbing at the same time.
He hadn't felt this way since he was a young man. Worried and
pleased all at once, he clasped his hands together, turned his
palms outward, and pressed down with the thumb side on the bulge
in his pants in what he hoped would look like a casual stretching
movement to any observer. What should he do? One sombrero, two
spots to cover. Eyes half closed, his breathing fast and shallow,
he was savoring his sensations and contemplating his dilemma,
when Carmensita made her move.
Diaz caught the motion through the lattice-weave of his sombrero.
"Espiritu Santo, give me patience!" he muttered and jumped
up. Carmensita was marching purposefully toward the grassy edge.
Diaz grabbed her reins and hit her twice on the side of the head.
"Hey, hey, hey!" said a female voice from behind him. Diaz swung
around. The gringa had climbed up and was standing a meter away.
"What are you doing?" she said in Spanish. The little bitch
thought he wouldn't understand English.
"Not your business, signorina," he hissed in English and
turned and hit Carmensita again on the head.
"Don't do that!" said the girl in a low scream, trying
to insert her body between Diaz and the donkey. "She is just an..."
Diaz brushed her chin and mouth roughly with the back of his left
hand as he moved his arm between them to grab her on the side
and turned his body to face hers. He felt fury rising inside him.
He held her two arms above the elbows and pushed her out of the
way. But there was resistance. She caught the sleeve of his shirt
and hung on, stumbling backward and trying to turn outward at
the same time. She steadied herself against Carmensita's rump,
still hanging onto his sleeve, and kept her body between him and
Carmensita.
Diaz changed tactics and moved in close. His chest against hers
and holding her hard by her shoulders, he moved her away from
Carmensita. She was a bag of bones – almost as tall as he
was, but light, very light. He discovered she was easy to move,
almost like a toy in his arms, and he liked it. He kept on pushing.
The girl frowned as she struggled but made no sound.
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Rutger's Dream
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If you enjoyed this Prologue to Squeezing
Belle, then check out another excerpt. Yes, of course,
she grows up. And how!
So here's one photographer dreaming about her:
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With one
sudden jerk, Diaz pushed her down onto the low jagged
end of the rock he had been leaning against. He dropped his body on
top of hers and there was a muffled half-scream from the girl. She
was struggling like a pinned spider under his body, trying to get
a foothold on the loose earth with her left leg. But her sandalled
foot kept slipping as she tried to turn her lower body under him.
Diaz was panting now. He wanted to climb up further onto her.
He put his right knee on her struggling leg and pushed her thigh
against the sharp edge of the rock. For a moment her eyes widened
and he thought for the first time there was fear in them. Then
there was a loud crack, almost like a snapping branch. She gave
one piercing shriek and went limp like rag doll in his arms.
Diaz jumped up in horror and looked around. The girls and their
teacher were already scrambling up the hill toward them, questioning,
looking at him. "Help! Help!" he yelled down. "She attacked me!
She is mad! I swear by the Holy Mother!"
***
I have posted this excerpt
from my upcoming legal thriller, Squeezing Belle, in the hopes of getting
feedback and criticism from fellow readers and writers. Help shape a
work in progress! Send me a note.
Be brutal! BG.
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