Paloma (from 'Light and Dark') - Sex Stories

Paloma (from 'Light and Dark')

... chance, as he browsed the shelves in a small Viennese bookshop, he came across a volume entitled ‘Faith and Fear’, by Spanish author Juan Miralles. As his eyes scanned the text, they suddenly alighted on the name ‘Puente de Almas’, which he noted Miralles had described as ‘ probably the most religiously conservative town in Spain, if not the world; it is dense and thick with the most ingrained religious superstition and fear of change that I have ever found anywhere. ” Within moments, Dr Kardos had made up his mind to extract as much money as he could from the emotionally crippled baron and, for a while at least, move to Puente de Almas in order to explore the relationship between faith and fear. Having heard her mother leave the house for the local bakery where she worked, Paloma removed the small key from its hiding place within the hollow metal tube of her bed frame and went to her wardrobe. She knelt down and pulled a robust metal trunk from inside the wardrobe, put the key into the lock, turned it and lifted the dense, weighty lid, which creaked its resistance. Pulling a variety of items from the top of the trunk, Paloma rummaged around towards the bottom. Having found what she was searching for, she pulled it free and removed it. It was a lime green notepad, almost full. She locked the trunk, pushed it back into her wardrobe and, clasping the notebook to her chest, she then left the house and began to make her way towards the town. Paloma had returned to Puente de Almas ...

... two years previously, and had resumed living with her mother, if only because she felt she had few realistic alternatives. The relationship between them was still as strained and unhappy as it had been upon her return, something which had its origins in events four or five years previously. As she made her way along the dry-dust track that led from her modest wood-built home to the town, she cast her gaze up the nearby mountainside where the trees, rising like proud green spires into the far distance, were draped in a morning mist, like a grey, wispy veil covering the face of a sad bride. How often she had walked along that track in the mornings and seen the mist, wondering to herself whether hidden somewhere within its soft, cool depths was Magdalena, her voice still and small among the boughs and branches. She would dream of one day meeting Magdalena and disappearing into the mountainside with her. Then the sun would gradually burn off the dream and it would disappear for another day into who knows where. She then cast her eyes across the fields to the south, where as a sixteen year old girl she had played, begun to discover boys and learned to ride her uncle’s magnificent chestnut horse, its muscular flanks shining brilliantly in that same early morning sun. Often she would go riding with a boy for whom her heart had danced, named Alonso. They would gallop up to the trees, tie up the horses and then disappear, often for hours, within the cathedral pillars of rising trunks ...