RADICAL AND FREE 1998 (Second Part) At the Emiliano Zapata Student House we told each other our lives and our experience

RADICAL AND FREE 1998 (Second Part) At the Emiliano Zapata Student House we told each other our lives and our experiences, but we never talked about school, nor about How were we doing there? We took it for granted that there would be no teacher who would be capable of reproach ourselves just knowing that we belonged to this group. The reason was simple: the teachers did not miss the opportunity to make sit-ins in the schools to demand higher salaries, or even bigger vacations than they They were two months old. It seems logical that they would complain about low salaries, not because that they were, but because it was easy to put pressure on the salaries so that the they went up. Although it should not be underestimated that people do not always act to obtain hard and fast real things, no, but power, as a game that It is, everyone likes it. The teachers liked to have that assurance that no director or superior should restrict them in anything, permissions to absent with pay, it had to be granted, for whatever reasons, the Academic's Day, Mother's Day, Day of the Dead, Teacher's Day, the investigator's day, or some day that fell between a holiday and the weekend, or for the mere pleasure of missing it, goals could not be required of them either. of any kind, or efforts greater than those they banally made on a daily basis. No consenting to all their whims resulted in a strike in the school in question, with the support of us, the students, regardless of Whether we studied at that school or not, we went to have a ball, we lit bonfires In the parking lots, we held up banners of "Repressive Director," "Stop the abuse", "Long live Ché", "We demand compliance with the petition", and so on. The teachers were untouchable, and we were irreproachable. And they also paid us. However, some teachers were stupid enough not to see the immense benefits that allying with us brought and acted within an inexplicable idiocy. Typically in these cases it was idealistic teachers who gave importance to their supposed love of educating, their supposed commitment to honesty, poor devil teachers who did not realize realize that their idealism only serves to keep them poor, with small squares, no promotions. This type of teacher philosopher was very annoying because they went from rallies and demonstrations; If we took over a school, they wanted enter, or they taught classes in a different place than the obsessive studious ones, not They went to the marches and if they were interviewed they did not hesitate to shout that the demonstration did not enjoy the approval of all teacher staff. As far as we were concerned, we disliked them because those little teachers did fail us, it doesn't matter that later, in exams recovery were forced by the director to credit us Whether they liked it or not, they consoled themselves with knowing that they had stained our cardex. That day I was surprised that Algeria had bathed so scrupulously and had groomed his curly hair. He had put on a miniskirt that was very tight, which highlighted her well-formed buttocks. On top she wore a blouse with those navels, which allow you to see the belly. His was a good belly although it did not enjoy luxuries such as muscles markings or a foolproof firmness that would survive even if it were bent backwards. ahead, but that didn't matter, with those little holes of his that were under the kidneys and on the hip was enough for no one to pay attention to his belly button. "Where are you going?" I asked him. "I need to talk to the idiotic ethics teacher." She answered while putting her hair in a ponytail, raising her arms to do so, accentuating her breasts which, unusually, were now within a bra. She, as she understood it, did not wear a bra out of feminist conviction, because Therefore, it never ceased to surprise me that he was now wearing one of those clothes, and not only that, but it was one of those designed to give volume even to the most arid "And to do that you need to look so pretty?" She turned and dissolved her smile for a brief second, I He looked into my eyes with his own like daggers and said to me: "Look, comrade, aren't you believing that I am your property, right? "You're not into jealousy." "How do you know I'm not into jealousy?" "Easy, cutie, because you have chosen me as your girlfriend, and me "It shocks me that they jealous of me" "That's a good reason. Do you want me to come with you?" He looked at me with a mixture of pity and sympathy that alone He answered that not even in his dreams, however, did he have the delicacy to tell me "No. thank you. "You trust your girl." "Yes. I trust" "I'll come back with a hundred, you'll see" I stayed in the student house. Sad. Depressed. Only. Enraged and helpless. I would trust that he would not turn himself in to that imbecile, to the which I had seen before, skinny and as if dead. I took a photo frame that I had on the bureau in my room, on it lay a photo that I had taken to Algeria, from behind, with her little holes on the surface, her hips clad in very tight stretch denim pants, in front of a white background, with his arms raised and folded in a way to show off muscles, turning back, with that eternal smile that subjugated me and with his unique look. I placed the photo on a nail that was on the head of my bed and I knelt before her as if I were praying to her. I opened the fly of my pants and I started to masturbate looking at the photo. After three dolls I took the right decision that, if I was going to feel miserable, I was going to do it right. I stopped masturbating and went to Algeria's room to take the lubricant. It made me even sadder to see a box of condoms in his drawer, inside still in a plastic bag and with a cash register strip stapled to it. We didn't use condoms. I snooped on the strip's data, Farmacias México, on April 12, the goods? A box of condoms and a tube of lubricant. Well, at least the purchase date was three weeks before we we knew But the box of condoms was ringing in my head and I I whispered that she wasn't mine. When he said goodbye he called me comrade, as if We belonged to the communist party, and in his voice the only thing that sounded familiar to me was community was his body, his sexuality. How did you remove the lubricant tube without tear the plastic pocket or unstaple the strip from the register? It I ignore I found out she was a magician. I went to my room more miserable than ever and resumed my position of devotion. I immediately took off my pants and underwear. Thus, from knees, I put lube on my cock and started jerking it off. While ago came over me the most absolute feeling of fidelity that a man can give to a woman, the one of his mind, well there, being able to possess the woman he my fantasy disposed, I chose her. I was happy squeezing my trunk penis with my right hand and choking my balls with my left, throwing boil sleeping semen. My frenzy was so blind that for a while not only my hands They were giving firm and rhythmic jerks, but my hips began to respond, independent, attacking nothing, the scant vulva that they offered my hands and atmospheric pressure. He was panting with his eyes open and fixed on the photo, but with my soul watching a film much richer in images and sound, in which he represented the image of Algeria open in compass, with its sex full of hair, fleshy, hot and wet, receiving my member; the image of her breasts with very erect nipples; the echo of their moans and their screams, with the image of that smile of his as if he were experiencing a perpetual orgasm, the fragrance of the air that emanates when you exhale through your nose, with a strong smell of its interior and reminiscences of fire and grass; the images also crowd together be his devoted mouth sucking with the greatest professionalism, the image of his hand treating my cock badly, as if it were an animal that has been caught and which he wants to train for his own pleasure, holding him in a very strong fist and looking at it with the pity that one looks at something very much ours, launching his condemnation of pleasure. And then, rebellious as it is, its image escapes my control and will and He starts doing things behind my back. I look at her then with her miniskirt and her shirt, is on his knees, I look at his tail in his hair, I see in my mind how the Disgusting ethics teacher taking that hair tail to manipulate the Algeria's mouth while she eats his cock, I see how he asks her to lick him testicles and she begins to do it shamelessly, sticking his hairy ones eggs in his mouth to play with them with his tongue and lips. afflicts me in facing the feeling that she is enjoying it. In my mind she earns her a hundred in ethics offering that bastard her mare's buttocks, ready to let yourself be impaled. And then momentarily I am there, in the private room of teachers, like an unhappy eavesdropper, watching how the teacher puts his member in in the midst of clumsy movements. She, disappointed with the inexperience of the scrawny master, lays him down in his executive chair and begins to ride him, the The teacher's cock, surely soft, wriggles like a screwworm in her flesh, whoever delights in his own whoredom by putting it into his body does not only the teacher's cock, but asks him to also put a couple of fingers in in the ass, to even feel a little bit, and I imagine for moments that I am him, I'm the one who fornicates her and puts my fingers in her ass. Then My whole being shakes because I begin to ejaculate out of envy. The crystal of portrait gives me an exact account of my animal grimace, brutal and sad, reflecting my face like someone caught in the wind, with my lips open in something that It's not a smile, with the teeth pressed against each other, as if in the heart of that ethics teacher was half there. The semen gushed abundantly and so violently that it even hurt me, and even more because I heard the door open, and behind that musical background, a heels solo from Algeria, the beautiful sound that her heels make from holding those beautiful legs and obey her rhythm of moving, with a sound of pressure and rhythm that I would recognize among thousands. Inhibited by the death rattle that that orgasm had produced in me I cleaned my hand and sex very clumsily. I tried to stop but my legs were asleep because, kneeling as I was, I had obstructed my circulation. I stood up for a second only to fall back in a cramp. Lying on the floor as I was, I began to dress with all the haste that was necessary. able. Algeria had arrived and I didn't want him to see me in that state, just discharged by a damn, with that look of a dog that knows it has shit in the housekeeper's orchid. I groom myself in the most inexperienced way and sit on the bed waiting for the moment when Algeria knocks on my door and I open it, I I opened it and she noticed something strange, she noticed something strange and I anticipated her question with a answer, an answer that she will call a lie, a lie that will place me at me in the position of a traitor who hides something, hide something, an action that she does not will have to do with me being on the canvas and her on top, me sorry for what I have In fact, she is strong and has the advantage of taking my shame as a topic as a strategy. so as not to discuss his, the one he should undoubtedly have after earning his hundred of ethics. But none of that happened, the music of the drumming of their heels, those that make me imagine her legs and follow me until almost smell her sex, he didn't lean towards my door, but on the contrary, he went to his room, and more than his room, his bathroom. The screech of the shower taught me that, at least physically, she felt dirty. I sat on the bed waiting for a long time. A The squeak of the faucet let me know when he finished bathing. I know Algeria so much and I have seen her bathe so many times that my mind followed every step of her bathing, like in play back, and he finished bathing just when I guessed it, I imagined his movements and how he dressed, now he seemed to hear another sound, that of his heels. Our rooms are neighbors, I could shoot him from my room without seeing, only assuming it from the rumor that its existence makes through countless sounds, his heels, his cough, his breathing, guide me through those clues, I would hit between the eyebrows, or right in the heart. It doesn't need to be a genius to know that the neighbor in the other room is a faithful witness of everything what we do, because you have to listen, as I would, even to the sound that a cock when slowly getting into an anus. But he didn't knock when I thought about it. Some passed before minutes of silence in which I only perceived a distant echo of fingers that They scatter green particles in the center of a thick tome of ethics. so much anxiety made one thing clear to me: I already belonged to her completely, and she my no. I was languid in the palm of his hand, helpless to complain, helpless to argue with him, powerless to get angry, because anything that happened was enough for me if I guaranteed that she loved me. It was a nightmare staff that dissolved when I heard a knock on the door. I knew it was she. I opened. He didn't question me or play the blame game like I assumed, nor did he He asked what he was doing. With his smile, the one in his eyes, he moved me instantly, then that of his mouth. He inaugurated me as part of his property. Told me: "Don't you want a churririto?" "I need it." "Come into my space" His wish was a command to me. "How did it go with the ethics teacher?" "Bah! The teacher is an asshole." "Did you get your hundred?" "Of course." I was going to ask something else, but she put her finger index finger on my lips and brought the cigarette to me. I drank all the smoke. Then I I drank her. Everything had passed, except my conviction that I belonged to him. This is how time passed, happily. In fact the The joy had some kind of lightening effect, because before I least thought, I was already More than a year had passed since my arrival, which had been the first day of May, almost the same amount of time that Argelia and I had been together. During That year we had made love very constantly, perhaps on average five days out of every seven, without counting in this statistic the days in which he had menstruation, a week when she got very sick from eating some street tacos, and the periods in which she and I remained separated to attend to matters in other localities, which usually lasted four or five, although one of those periods lasted twenty days. I really don't know how to explain it. In the concentrations of revolutionary students it was very easy to have sex with companions from other locations, basically because the shots Public offices or universities are full of free time for employees. protesters. Leisure leads you to look for a way to kill time, and a good way was fornicating. I, on the other hand, did not succumb easily to temptation. to have civil struggle companions from other regions, in fact only once, in This whole year, I did it with a woman other than Algeria, and that was because it was from a very good woman from Tabasco who really liked me. Unfortunately my sullen attitude made it possible for us to understand each other at the end of that decision. the offices of the Ministry of Labor, when the government resisted increase the salary of subway workers. It is worth saying that it was a bit That meeting was disappointing. I assumed that all women were more or less like Algeria, sexually very enterprising and ultimately vicious of the cock. How wrong I was! This girl, although beautiful, was rather passive. Me It tasted like a corpse. Apart from that time, I took advantage of these outings to rest for a while. little bit my poor but joyful cock, which from having beaten Algeria so much, was immersed in a sensation of permanent pain. A delicious pain, until that. I suppose that in the three times that Algeria was absent for similar reasons, she He also took the opportunity to let his hips rest, and with me out the same way, Well, surely he wouldn't sleep with Emiliano Zapata's cretins. One wakes up in the morning and really doesn't know if Throughout the day you will meet a person who will come to change everything. There are days, terrible weeks and months. We were informed that in our city there was going to be a very strong mobilization, the first reason for doing that mobilization was to make it very clear to the government that the people were not happy and that We were fed up with so much injustice, disease and hunger, that we were already fed up with so much corruption and so much abuse, with so much repression of citizens. Since our cause was just, we would make it coincide with June 10, commemoration date of the massacre of students that occurred in the seventies in Michoacan. This mobilization would take place in the city of Morelia. There was very strange support. The governorship of the state fell in an official who was not from the same political party as the majority of the local congress, this caused great disagreements. The governor was quite bad, but it seems that the common citizen was hypnotized by a story different, because they even called him fair. To us, the local congress had rented a huge house that was on the outskirts of the city so that We would go there to sleep, and why not, spend a few days there. The house had large gardens and even a pool. The idea was to open the eyes of the population, that they saw that their governor did not have political tact to address problems such as the one that we, technically, were going to do. We would take the government house and the main avenue, creating chaos that mirrored the governor's chaos. That is not what is relevant, what is relevant was that to infuse us With even more spirit of struggle and revolution, Rosso would visit us. Who Was it Rosso? Nobody knew his real name, the nickname came from the fact that he was redhead and of Italian descent, so instead of calling him red, they called him Rosso, that is, the same thing but in Italian. Rosso had been in the Plaza de The Three Cultures on the night of October 2, 1968, that is, the night of the Tlatelolco massacre, which is neither more nor less than the most brutal example of student repression. He had been a fighter then and still was. today. His person was surrounded by a series of myths, the strongest being that several false comrades, upon seeing the violence, abandoned their backpacks that They contained printed propaganda and financial funds that had been collected, and He entered into the crossfire, or not even crossfire, since only the murderers were shooting, and he carried up to four suitcases alone, giving a heroic display of commitment to the ideals of the revolution. When we arrived at Morelia's house, we were all very excited to know that we would see the famous Rosso in person. I felt a little jealousy because Algeria had forged a marijuana cigarette with a piece of paper special, and had selected only the best leaves, and had it reserved for that we shared it with that living legend of the contras. Rosso arrived. He was 47 years old now, at 17 he had to see the death for the first time. He was accompanied by a man older than him, about 50 years old, who attracted attention due to his height and his black glasses that made one conclude that he was blind. Rosso was of a rather plump build, and his hair was still red, although with some gray hair, his skin was tan. A was organized bonfire in the garden of the house and we were lucky enough to sit next to them. That night, Rosso told us how he had seen, with his own eyes, what happened that sad night, he obviously told us about the incident of the backpacks. I felt jealous to see how much admiration Algeria looked at this subject. Although I respected him and felt extremely honored to know him, I felt jealousy just knowing that I had never caused that look in Algeria. She said I don't know what stupidity just to praise Rosso, she said: "Everything you say is fascinating, seriously. You're not going to snub a cigarette, right?" and like the magician she was, from her sleeve she pulled out the pot churro. The Rosso smiled and said "I will do whatever it is that twins me with you. Seeing so many young people enthusiastic about the ideals of change and resistance moves me, it makes me feel that the years do not pass in who has a strong spirit, that as long as we have the blood of revolution in our veins, the enthusiasm must be like that of the first day. Of course we will smoke. It will be our pact, our ritual." The blind man, who was also part of the movement and was in On the night of October 2, it was much more discreet. His story had been different, he couldn't see anything, he only heard, and they spared his life because the The thugs considered the blind man to be half dead. They called him The Monk, because according to this he meditated. What a cynical nickname. The next morning, one day before the mobilization, Rosso He passed by where I was and asked me: "You must be Pépe, Algeria's boyfriend, right?" "Yeah" "I have a mission for you. It is very important for the cause May you fulfill it faithfully. Many things depend on it. You must leave here three in the afternoon and stand guard outside the attorney general's offices. justice. He is a tall wretch, here, in this photo you will see who he is. treats. Behind his office there is a vacant lot that you can enter, but with thick clothes because there are many thorns, there is a tree that you can increase. From there you can see his private window, he never closes it. I need you You stay there to observe from three to ten at night. Is It is important that you stay there and that no one sees you. We need to know if They bring a shipment of weapons to your office, since it is very possible that they will take them, and if they do, there will be problems on the day of the rally. You will notice it very quickly, well You will see that they take about thirty or forty weapons to his private room, probably the same number of snipers arrive, and it is likely that he will even hold them there to give them instructions. If that happens you should call this number - he handed it to me on a piece of paper - and I will tell you if you should return yet or not. Don't come without calling. If you get caught, it is better to swallow the paper. Do you feel committed enough to do that for everyone? us?" "Yes" I answered proudly although not without some fear. "You are one of mine. If you were in Tlatelolco you too "you would have survived" When the time arrived I went to the place that was indicated to me and I started watching. The attorney went in and out of his office many times. He had all the bearing of authority but deep down he didn't seem like a bad person. One of those times he went out and was gone for a long time. A hand took me by the shoulder and knocked me off the branch I was sitting on. I fell on my buttocks and got up I look, scared, to meet the incisive gaze, neither more nor less than of the attorney. It's a date that I can't explain how it got to me without making a noise, Not to mention that I never even dreamed that someone so formal, with those formal clothes dry cleaners, entered this vacant and filthy lot, and also that, without knowing if whether I was armed or not, whether I was knocked down without being accompanied by any guard. I wanted to put the phone paper in my mouth, for which I wanted to put my hand in my jacket bag, but he didn't allow me, in front of the threatening me to extract anything, he unholstered an automatic weapon and He aimed it right in the face. "Don't even think about it," he said. "Who sent you?" "I can't say" "Stop your nonsense or I'll kill you right here" "He'll have to kill me" "It's not necessary. You forgot to shake your jacket, and in it you have a horrible red hair. So the fucking red guy wants to come and fuck with my city again. You don't need to tell me anything, I know all of you, you are predictable wretches." "We are not slaves," I said, a little resigned to dying. "I'll tell you that miserable people like you are not only slaves, but who are slaves of slaves. I ask you, do you have a girlfriend?" I was surprised by his question, however I answered him affirmatively. "And is it good?" "Yeah" "Asshole. Right now the fucking red guy is giving him the cock in all the holes that fit, while you are here passing Hungry and spying on me like the faggot you are. Didn't you suspect anything? The red He still lame, no doubt, and if he doesn't lame anymore, it won't hurt to see others do. for him. Think. Was it necessary for you to come here to spy on me? How long must you spy on me, two, three hours? Please. Do you think I'm going to do something important? right under everyone's noses. Believe me. This mission has no other purpose than that which Move away so you're not bothering them while they fuck your girlfriend. Let me Guess, do you have to call or notify in some way of your return? How childish!" "If you're going to kill me, kill me, but don't make fun of me" "You don't deserve, for now, anything else. Get out of here. Tell the fucking red that we both don't fit in this world, that there aren't many left "places to hide." I left the place, agitated and convulsive. I certainly didn't call to notify my return. I threw away the phone paper. I arrived at the house and The atmosphere was too serene, as if no one was home. But if it there was. Next to a curtain of reeds was a group of companions doing a strange row, one of them was rubbing his cock over his pants. All They looked into the space that occupied a huge room. The blood drains from me I turned over from head to toe, a pain in my temples instantly afflicted me. I was already expecting the worst.