Siete minutos by Ismael Camacho Arango (the little red hen read aloud TXT) 📖

“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.”
On moving closer, Homer wanted to hug this woman sent by God to his world. Lifting her skirt, he revealed her frilly pants welcoming him to paradise.
“You must control yourself,” she said.
“Miguel won’t know anything.”
“Miguel?”
“He’s my employee.”
Homer sucked her nipples as she prayed to the saints in the sky, and before her vagina appeared amidst her pubic hair.
“Are you a virgin?” he asked.
She didn’t answer but as he entered her, their voices cried in chorus to the gods of Olympus while climaxing at the same time. Then they waited for the excitement to die down, and their happiness to fade.
“Mr. Homer,” she said. “I don’t sleep with men I don’t know.”
Covering her legs with her skirt, she tried to erase all traces of her sins.
“Don’t mention this to anyone,” she said.
“I won’t.”
She moved amongst the bags of coca, looking after the store like sentinels.
“I’ll see you later,” she said.
Homer sat in his chair, too excited to think about anything else but then he barked, the sound getting lost in the stillness of the day. The phone ringing in the kitchen disturbed his thoughts of sex and pleasures of the flesh.
“Mr. Homer,” Alicia said. “I’ll come for you tomorrow morning.”
Homer thanked her, before putting the phone down.
“Thank you,” he said to the sky.
The passage of time would lead him towards the end of matter, women’s pants and the mysteries of the world.


The library
Alicia appeared next morning, wearing her best dress and smelling of cologne.
“Mr. Homer,” she said.
“Don’t talk,” he said.
Kissing her mouth, he tasted her lipstick as they rolled on the floor. Then he lost himself in her breasts, the smell of cologne assaulting his senses, while his hands explored her body.
“They’re waiting for us,” she said.
“God wants us to mate,” he said.
“You are mad.”
Homer entered her in spite of her protests, her voice getting lost in her prayers to God, the smell of coca and the sound of drums around them. They ended up in a heap by the door, her skirt floating like a halo around her waist.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Homer licked her wet vagina to cleanse all her impurities, as she moaned.
“I love you,” he said.
“You must say that to all the girls.”
She forgot all about the library as he sucked her clitoris and they had the best orgasm of their lives.
“We must go,” she said.
She muttered a few things about the city mayor and his entourage, waiting somewhere in time.
“We’ll be late,” she said.
“I know.”
He didn’t know why women played with his feelings, as they got dressed.
“We must hurry,” she said.
After getting ready, Homer boarded vehicle, waiting by the shop as his hands brushed against hers.
“I’m nervous,” he said.
Alicia smiled. “Don’t worry.”
“Can I see you tonight then?”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Mr. Homer,” she said. “You must stop harassing me.”
“I’m sorry.”
He felt lost in the world of his senses, while people moved down the streets and the world revolved around them. This woman didn’t want anything else to do with him, as the car stopped by the library.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Bastard.”
“Thanks.”
A few shadows in the sky warned them of a storm, if they didn’t change their ways but everyone cheered them in the lecture hall a few moments later.
“Here is our saint apostle,” Alicia said.
She passed Homer the microphone amongst the cheers from the audience.
“We have gathered here today,” Homer said. “To remember those brothers and sisters who lost their lives in a calamity of nature. They will go straight to heaven, because the meek and the poor are welcome in his kingdom.”
The audience clapped but Homer passed the microphone to Alicia while mumbling something.
“Our apostle doesn’t feel well,” she said.
Homer sat down as she told them how much he had suffered after the widows died.
“We give Apostle Homer a cheque for thousands of dollars to build more houses,” she said.
Homer felt the happiest man in the city, after accepting the money.
“Thank you,” he muttered.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Come to the shop tonight,” he said.
It had been a good day, when the souls of the town had got together to save the slums but he wanted more sex with her.


Houses for the widows
Homer had shown the world who he was and the results had been magnificent, as most of the town had blamed the tragedy on the weather. The rains had spoiled played with her dolls as her father worked and Homer checked his money in the safe. He would take it to the bank later on.
“You’re rich, Uncle Homer,” she said.
Homer showed her the coin he kept in a box amongst his money. After cleaning Uncle Hugh’s present with a cloth, he put it on the table amongst the remnants of his breakfast.
“Two and two are seven,” he said and Amelia laughed.
“You’re funny, Uncle Homer,” she said. “When will you marry yourself again?”
Homer put the money back in the safe. He had to check the work the builders had done over the last few days.
“One, two, one, two,” she said.
Then she saluted him military style, her dark eyes looking serious.
“I watch the soldiers practicing in the streets,” she said.
“Where do you see them?”
“They train for the mountains.”
Homer combed his hair, getting ready to go to the widow’s housing while thinking in the soldiers. They shouldn’t go around killing people around the city.
“I want your coin,” Amelia said.
“You’ll inherit it one day.”
“When will it be?”
After putting it back in the safe, he got ready to go to the widow’s housing at the other side of the market. He had to reinforce the houses against the elements.
“I want to come with you,” Amelia said.
Homer shook his head. She could catch an illness amongst the people of the slums.
“You have to help me in the shop,” Miguel said.
She wrote her name in big letters adding a few dots and commas in a paper she found on the table. That’s how she would help her father to keep the customers’ accounts.
“I can write a whole prayer,” she said.
Homer smiled. “That’s very good.”
“Saint Peter will take me to heaven.”
She commanded an invisible troop of soldiers marching around the house, as Homer went on his way.
“I’ll see you later,” he said.
“One, two,” she said.
On leaving the house, Homer saw the sellers shouting their wares in order to attract more customers. Then a woman knelt on the pavement, praying to her god or whoever she thought had created the world.
“You are our apostle,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Homer felt that anguish again. They might want to punish him for the women’s suffering.
“I’m in a hurry,” he said.
“Hurrah to Homer,” she said.
Homer moved through the streets, a trail of people muttering prayers to the creator of everything around them. A woman touched his cock but he didn’t have any time to please her urges.
“You are my hero,” she said.
Homer felt her teats before moving away along the streets, bathed by the sun. Then he entered the slums, filled with children dressed in rugs.
“Mr. Homer,” one of the builders said. “We have finished some of the huts.”
“That’s good,” Homer said.
The workmen had built cisterns in the backyards of a few houses while