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Catalan Original

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April 23rd, Sant Jordi’s Day, one of the biggest selling books in Catalunya was Aaaaahhh, a collection of 12 comic-erotic short stories by the ‘Germans Miranda.’ The Miranda Brothers, who have been appearing at book signings and on TV and radio, are 12 Catalan writers (3 are media personalities as well) whose names are well known in Catalunya. The fun here is guessing who wrote what as no names are attached to the stories. And, as you will see, there is much fun in the writing even if you don’t know the personalities. Here is a sampling by Miranda Z, translated for the BR by Graham Thomson. The first paragraph will tell you whether or not you want - or should - continue!
Miranda "Z"
The patient closes his eyes, opens his mouth and curves his body backwards as he feels the inexorable approach of the great moment, now that the nurse bending over him is sucking his cock with such determination and rolling his balls with one hand.
With the other hand she presses to her arse the doctor who, kneeling behind her, has his eyes all but closed: he is busy buggering her, and the tightness of the hole, the movements of the woman's hips and the view in front of him have brought him to the limit. Which he now crosses.
'I'm coming, I'm coming…,' the doctor says.
'Yes, yes…,' the patient says .
'Mgaffjaduuuulf,' says the nurse.
And the two men explode. The patient in the face of the nurse, who has taken his cock out of her mouth at the last second and allows the man's pleasure to cover her face, her hair and her white cap with semen. And the doctor, with a generous spurt, shoots all over her back, immediately after pulling out of her hole.
Josep Salcedo, sitting on the sofa, has switched off the porno video and now looks at Veronica, who has just come into the room wearing minuscule panties, a very tight-fitting bra, fishnet stockings, lace suspenders and high heels. All a dazzling white in contrast to the woman's dusky, cinnamon-coloured Cuban skin.
'Today we're going to have a real good time, sweetheart,' she tells him, taking two steps forward and stopping there for a moment for the man to admire her whole body, moving her hands over her breasts and her tongue over her lips as she raises one leg and very gently places her foot on Josep's shoulder.
This movement presents to Josep Salcedo's eyes in enlarged close-up the woman's crotch, very clearly delineated by the tight triangle of her panties. In his own crotch, inside his trousers, the man feels his member so hard, so big, so firm that he knows at once today will be an unforgettable Wednesday.
'Smell it, honey,' she says to him.
Josep feels the odour of wood, the fish market and new-mown grass travel up his nose and fill his brain, calling out to him, but he holds himself back: he doesn't want to give in to it, not yet; he prefers to draw the whole thing out and prolong as much as he can what they both know will be their last time together.
They have already talked about it: for six years they have carried on a relationship which, although it has an undeniable commercial side (the 50,000 pesetas that Josep pays every Wednesday), is tying them too much to one another.
Josep feels that they are starting to understand one another too well, to have too good a time together, and he is afraid of doing something stupid - afraid that one day he won't be able to keep up the pretence and in the middle of a business meeting will come out with the fact that what he really likes is having sex with the Cuban woman, that he spends the week waiting for Wednesday, that life without her has no meaning. So, in spite of Veronica's protests, they have decided to put an end to it after this final fuck on this last Wednesday of April.
'You'll remember this all of your life, sweetheart,' she promised him when she opened the door of the apartment a little while ago.
Veronica is still gyrating her crotch so that it brushes his mouth, his lips, his nose, as he holds himself at a minimum distance, caressing her thighs, squeezing her buttocks and sliding his hands up the woman's sides to arrive at her breasts which, with a practised movement, he frees from the white satin brassiere.
Her breasts, heavy, warm and smooth, fill his palms. Josep rolls them in his hands, presses them, squeezes them, knowing that she has closed her eyes and is waiting for him to take her nipples between finger and thumb and give them a pinch. He makes as if to do so, feeling her tense as she waits for the precise gesture, but at the last instant the pinch becomes a caress that lasts no time at all because his hands have already moved up to the woman's face.
With one hand Josep strokes her face, tracing the line of her nose, her eyebrows, her forehead, now pulling her hair back as he introduces one finger of the other hand into her mouth, which Veronica bites with a barely contained force, frustrated by the pinch that never came.
The woman sucks, draws in and bites the finger, now two fingers, now three, which Josep moves around inside her mouth as if they were his cock, and which she sucks as passionately as if they really were.
A little spot has begun to darken the white triangle of her panties, towards which Josep's hand now descends.
The hand plays over the satin, caressing the gusset until one finger pulls the material back, slides underneath, makes its way though the curls, finds the moist slit, slips inside for an instant, strokes it from one end to the other, immediately slips out again and, now wet, moves to the hole of her arse, which it begins to circle with a delicate, soft caress to moisten it and make it easier to enter.
Josep is conscious that Veronica now has all her concentration focused on that finger that turns and twists. He is also conscious that although her pussy is crying out and begging to be stroked, to be entered, to be fucked, her whole heart is a couple of centimetres further back, attentive to the promise that is delicately circling the tight little hole. And so Josep, at last, now takes one nipple between finger and thumb and nips it hard. Taken by surprise, she hunches her shoulders and cries out, a moment the man uses to press a little harder and introduce the tip of his finger inside her arse. The fingertip is being squeezed, pressed tight, but Josep keeps up the rotating movement and little by little the hole relaxes and he can shove his finger right in to the knuckle.
"My love," she says, as he pushes a second finger inside the woman, who accepts it and rejects it at the same time. Veronica is very aroused and Josep is very aroused.
Now Josep is lying on the sofa, belly up, and the woman is squatting over his face, with her panties off now, the dark, splendid arse beautifully framed by the stockings and the straps and belt of her suspenders.
Josep is gripping her buttocks with his two hands and his outstretched tongue slides in and out of her vagina and her arse alternately. She has just opened his fly and released his cock, which she grasps in both hands and, very slowly, takes into her mouth.
"Like she was taking Communion," thinks Josep, who has stopped concentrating on the woman's holes and let his head fall back: nobody has ever sucked him off like Veronica, who is now about to do what Josep's wife has never even imagined might be possible: take it all in her mouth right to the root.
Josep feels the tip of his glans push against the back of her throat, as if it could go no further, but with a sudden movement of the woman's glottis his prepuce passes the barrier and goes right in. All of him is inside Veronica. Josep feels like he's dying.
Then, without taking his cock out of her mouth, the woman moves one leg over him, half turns and kneels beside him. From there she lifts her eyes and looks at him, at once slave and dominatrix, servant and mistress.
Josep looks at Veronica and feels in his heart how much it will pain him to leave her, never to see her again, never to find anyone who does it to him the way she does - she who has just taken him out of her mouth, helped him up and, leading him by the cock like a pet dog, like a little boy, taken him into the bedroom.
Josep lies down and Veronica makes him spread his thighs so she can lick his balls, occasionally slipping her tongue down to his arse. This drives him wild: a kind of shiver radiates from his anus, moves up and down his thighs, leaps up to his chest, makes sparks fly from the tips of his fingers which clutch the sheets, makes him close his eyes. And when he opens them, Veronica is spread-eagled over him: the intense black of her bush, the pink slit she pulls open with her fingers, the white stockings…
"I'm going to piss on you," she says.
Miquel Rovira has stopped the video.
It's late in the evening and Miquel and his secretary, Eugenia, have stayed behind in the office to look at the video that arrived at party headquarters that afternoon.
The tape cost them ten million pesetas, not very much money taking into account the fact that a few strategically distributed copies will make sure that Josep Salcedo does not stand for the coming elections. And without Salcedo, nobody in the party has the slightest doubt that they will win, with Miquel as candidate for president.
"At last I'm going to be president," thinks Miquel Rovira, who has stopped the video because he feels awkward about watching his rival being pissed on. Not for himself but for Eugenia. He, personally, finds the spectacle arousing, and as soon as they have decided who to send copies to and Eugenia has gone, he intends to watch it again.
A strange thing happened to Miquel this afternoon when the video arrived and he looked at it on his own, locked in his office. He had thought that the sight of Josep doing all those filthy things with that Cuban whore would make him feel even more contempt for his political adversary and fill him with disgust. But no. Instead, he found himself overwhelmed by an entirely unexpected sensation of envy. And he now feels extremely uncomfortable: he doesn't like wanting to be in the position of his opponent, wanting to be unfaithful to Cinta, his wife and loyal companion of the last thirty-five years. But Miquel Rovira is unable to express all this, now, in front of his secretary, and that is why he has switched off the video, left the remote on the desk and said, without looking at her,
"And now she does it on him".
"And is that it?" she asks, taking off her glasses and wiping the lenses with a tissue
"No, then he enters her from the rear…"
"From the rear?"
"In the… in the arse."
"Ah," says Eugenia, who has put her glasses on again and, with a rapid movement, wipes a few beads of perspiration from her top lip.
"And you don't see any more?" she asks, as she finishes straightening some folders on the desk.
"Yes, then she asks him to… to put it in her mouth."
"In her mouth?" Eugenia asks.
Miquel nods.
"And he does it?" she asks.
Miquel nods again: "and he… he comes inside her mouth. And then you don't see any more."
"Ah," says Eugenia, and looks down at her hands.
They are both silent, not knowing what to say, pretending that they are planing the strategy for the distribution of the video that is to open the door to their political future.
A few seconds pass and Eugenia raises her head and looks at Miquel, who also raises his eyes towards her.
"What did you think of it?" he asks her.
"Of what?" she asks, uncomprehendingly.
Miquel gestures with his head.
"This video."
"Me?" she says.
"Yes," he says.
"I don't know. And you?"
"For me it…" and he doesn't say any more because a crazy thought has just come into his head.
The idea has erupted inside him - irrational, illogical, uncontrolled - and all of his moral prejudices, every rational consideration, all the fears in the world have now launched themselves into action to stop it. But the madness slips through his fingers: too strong, too potent, so uncontrollable that it is already turning into action and, somewhat clumsy but decided, Miquel takes his secretary's hand and places it on top of his packet. Then he lifts his head and looks at her.
Eugenia doesn't seem very much surprised by the action. All she does is close her hand tight, look at him for a moment, give a deep sigh, take off her glasses and kneel down in front of him as he opens his fly so that, for the first time in all these years, Eugenia can put his cock in her mouth.
SebastiÓ stops the video and smiles; he is already imagining Miquel's words:
"…and now that Josep Salcedo, our principal adversary, has retired from politics, it is time that we, too, made way for new people. And it is for that reason that I am so happy and so proud to stand down from the election contest and let my place be filled by someone such as you: a young, clean politician, with drive and determination and, above all, free of the vices of the past," Miquel Rovira will say as, with tears in his eyes and in front of the nations' television cameras, he gathers SebastiÓ in a warm embrace.
SebastiÓ can already imagine it. And as he does so he smiles and looks at Joaquim who, to celebrate this, is already pulling down the zip of his trousers, taking out his cock and moving it towards SebastiÓ's face, SebastiÓ closing his eyes, opening his mouth and curving his body backwards.
Somebody, somewhere, switches off the video.
ę 1998 The above was written by one of the following and translated by Graham Thomson.Catalan Original

Josep Bras Miranda
Xavier Cassadˇ Miranda
David Cirici Miranda
Piti Espa˝ol Miranda
Jordi Galceran Miranda
Enric GomÓ Miranda

Guillem MartÝnez Miranda
Albert Om Miranda
Jordi PuntÝ Miranda
Jordi Serra Miranda
Toni Soler Miranda
Matthew Tree Miranda
This electronic version of "Visions" is published by The Barcelona Review by arrangement with the author and Columna.

This excerpt may not be archived or distributed further without the author's express permission. Please see our conditions of use.

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