Chapter 2
In Mexico, maidservants are called cats. They are called cats for a reason. Fernando A., a longtime employer of maidservants in Mexico summed it up succinctly when he said, "They fuck like cats. So we call them cats."
Mexico is a rich country and yet it is a poor country. It has a rising middle class, and much wealth is at the peak of the economic pyramid. It is a leading nation in all of Latin America and it ranks as one of the ten most industrially developed countries of the world. Yet in its midst is extreme and abject poverty. Forty to sixty percent of its people live at levels which are considered below subsistence even by Mexican standards which, in turn, are already below those known in the United States.
Unemployment is widespread throughout Mexico despite the nation's industrial development. The population increases at four percent per year and a nation of barely nine million fifty years ago moves towards the hundred million mark by the year 2000, a figure which will make it the sixth most populated land in the world. Its industrial growth cannot keep up with its population explosion. At the same time, there is an increased need for skills as automation takes over in Mexico as it does elsewhere in the industrialized world, and the literacy rate in Mexico is pitifully low; it is not uncommon for a child to leave school at the end of the first grade in order to become another worker in the fields when an opportunity for seasonal labor in agricultural districts offers itself.
In a land with such a burden, only the most fortunate escape the common tragic fate which awaits most. For the Mexican girl this is further aggravated by the fact that by tradition all value is placed upon the male. A boy child is important. A girl child is inconsequential. The boy develops with emphasis placed upon his ego. The girl is considered a trifle. Furthermore, in adult life, this is yet aggravated again by a strong Mexican stress on masculinity which assumes the male will use the female at his will. Masculinity in Mexico means making babies, for babies are proofs of masculinity. It is not merely sufficient to copulate; one must have a product of the copulation. One must prove that it was done.
What then can a girl child, perhaps born to the poorest of the poor in a hinterland agricultural district, hope for from life? The city and escape; that is one paramount answer. The city draws into its teeming vortex all the seeking ones. The poor from everywhere rush to the city to seek their salvation. And the girl child grows up with an image of faraway places with the strange-sounding names of Mexico City, Guadalajara, Monterrey or even Cui-dad Juarez before her; the place of escape from the poverty that haunts her daily life.
Yet there are poor in those cities as well, and they are consigned to their fate even when they live in the shadow of the image to which all the others rush. And the competition is fierce among all who have so little. Lacking in skills, lacking in background, lacking in education, they have nothing to offer and are at the mercy of the marketplace, destined to sell their labor so cheaply as needed to insure some possible employment.
The young girl then in Mexico will become a maidservant, for no skills are required save the elementary ones of the home. She will be employed by a middle or upper-class Mexican family for a pittance and the chance to occupy a small room, often in an attic, in a good home and to eat a wider variety of food than the beans-and-tortilla diet she has known throughout her life till then. For her, it is a giant step forward.
But for the master of the house, she is just a cat, and even his wife knows that the new girl is just a cat. In fact, the wife may be grateful that the new girl has arrived, for the last one became pregnant and was sent away and the master in the meantime has made the wife pregnant with still a new child. So the new girl is welcomed for the relief she will bring the wife for awhile.
Fernando A., a resident of the Federal District, which is Mexico City, spoke from long experience as an employer of maidservants. He is well-placed in Mexican commercial circles, is descended of a family whose name ranks well in the history of the Mexican Revolution, and owns a palace-like mansion not far from Paseo de la Reforma, the city's leading artery. In our interview, this is what he had to say about the matter:
All my life I have slept with the cats. Every male in my class has done the same. It is how we live. When we are young, our first sex experience usually is with a cat. Often we bed an expensive whore in one of the better cathouses of the city. Usually though we experience our first sex with a cat. Don't you see the connection between the two terms, cat and cathouse? A cathouse is full of cats, is it not? And why are they called cats? It's self-explanatory, don't you think? So we call our maidservants cats. Of course they are not whores in the strictly commercial sense. But they are our private whores in another sense. After all, we feed and sometimes clothe them, and we give them shelter, and they are really sometimes incapable of doing much valuable housework, anyway. So what are they here for? To provide us with pleasure, of course.
You see, the Mexican male is a very virile man. He prides himself on his masculinity, as I'm sure you know. Every male in my class has a wife, and divorces are infrequent here; so after a time, we often become bored with our wives, though we still bed them sufficiently often to keep them busy having children and therefore out of mischief. But we must have other sexual activities or we have not fulfilled our image of ourselves. Therefore, we all also have a little house on the side, as it is called, a place where we keep a mistress to whom we regularly go. And some of us even have two and three such houses. After all. for one in my class, the cost of renting a small furnished house on a side street away from traffic is quite meager, and the general upkeep for a mistress is insignificant.
Yet we are still not done, we Mexican males who have strong ego images of ourselves, and we must release our sex drives still elsewhere. So we go to the whores occasionally in their fashionable cat-houses where they serve us and the rich tourists. Or we pick up an entertainer in one of the better clubs and spend a time with her. Or we seek out fleeting moments with the girls who work for us in our offices. We dally as the occasion arises, but always we are in motion.
And that of course makes our cats worthwhile too. For you see, our cats are always with us. Every middle-class home has at least one cat, if only a part-time cat who comes in to help with the ironing and washing and cleaning on certain days of the week. And we of the upper classes have seldom less than two and sometimes as many as six and eight and ten. When the wife is high-pregnant, it is not uncommon for us to take as many as a dozen if we feel very amorous. Of course the cats are hired ostensibly to help her through the childbirth time.
But the cats in Mexico are very beautiful. I have traveled your country and I have traveled much of the world, but I must admit as a Mexican man, I am most prejudiced in favor of my country's own feminine beauty and pulchritude. Our girls are lovely creatures. There seldom is a small-titted one among them. Mexican girls descend from the old Indian stock of the Aztecs. They are big-breasted creatures, built to suckle their young in the true meaning of that term. They have broad hips and full asses. Their backs are splendid and their bellies are lovely. Their thighs are wide and full and very inviting.
Their calves are not the best. I frankly admit that. I think the yankee girls' calves are better. Often the Yankee girl has more beautiful calves than she does thighs. That is something interesting, I find. But in the case of the Mexican girl, her thighs are always beautiful and inviting. And of course her hair, that Indian hair, black and full and thick, that hair which we have from Montezuma, is always lustrous and appealing. When it swirls around a girl's shoulders and frames her delightful face and accents her wide brown eyes and sensual lips, it is difficult for me not to be, as you might say, turned on.
One such girl was Carmelita. She worked for me a few years ago. She was a lovely thing, just turned sixteen and fresh from the country. I remember her demure nature, shy and withdrawn, on the morning I interviewed her for her job. My wife was pregnant again, nearing her seventh month, and I wanted to handle the last sixty days in a different manner than I previously had done. I felt I was tired of running about and, except for an occasional visit to my little houses, I intended to pass a while with just one of my many cats, to concentrate on that one, and spend most of my free time with her. It was an experiment, you might call it.
And then I met Carmelita. Carmelita, perfection personified. May I describe her for you? May I describe her in all her magnificence? What an adorable creature she was, truly exceptional. I see her again as she stood before me in the radiant light of a golden morning. I stood with my back to the open french doors to the balcony that overlooks the wide expanse of my estate, and she was before me in the great chamber that is our parlor, a baronial room with much gold and silver and bronze and with great mirrors on its walls. The ceiling is high, there is a crystal chandelier dominating all, the rug is deep and most expensive, and everything is very massive. Of course she was awed by such opulence.
But let me concentrate upon her and not the chamber. She stood before me with the placid and yet frightened gaze of a mere child lost in the headiness of her wildest dream and fantasy, her arrival before wealth in the great city. And I looked upon her with her oval face and full cheeks, her long dark hair, a wide forelock of which swept across one brow, and I saw her pallid wide sensual lips and her small nose with its button tip, and I tried to place her in time, to see her as a sixteen-year-old boy might see her. And I knew that I was as smitten with her in my own way as any sixteen-year-old boy ever would be.
Yes, I was smitten with her; but of course in a very sexual sense. I looked upon her lovely body as it crowded a too-tight dress which she already had grown out of, a brown and drab thing which she probably felt was the Sunday finest for her trip to the big city, and I wanted to rip that dress off her, break loose its popping breast buttons, rip away the petticoat that bound her, and tear off the drawers she would be wearing beneath all. She wouldn't have a bra. Girls who come from the country never do. I could see she wore none when I saw the lovely natural curve of her astounding bosom.
Yes, an astounding bosom. Let me concentrate on that too. She was all tits. The Mexican girl is always full in the breasts, as I have said, and that is one of their blessings. You never have to worry that a Mexican girl might be wearing falsies or pads. She isn't. She doesn't need them. When she tells you her breasts are a 36, if she knows her tit size at all, she isn't lying to you. They are all of that, and more. More-likely she has underestimated them out of shame for their great size.
But no man resents a Mexican's girl's tits, I assure you. We love our women's knockers. We worship at their shrine and feast upon their loveliness. They are blessed things to be adored and glorified. Beautiful tits are things we never deny.
So you can imagine my rapture when I looked at Carmelita before me, my latest cat, and looked forward with controlled but fevering excitement to the unveiling of those globular immensities she held taut beneath that too-small dress. And I wondered how long I should wait before I probed her hidden treasures.
It is conventional for us to pass a fortnight before we launch an attack on the fortress of our latest desire in the realm of the cats. Usually we pass them by a few days and greet them only pleasantly, and let them warm to our presence as they look eagerly and anxiously upon us. Then we give them a few pleasant comments upon the work they have been doing and warm them to us more. Perhaps at that time, we may give them specific instructions about a particular chore and even guide them somewhat through its labor. And in a few more days we are ready to touch them most casually as we guide them through yet another duty. Within the fortnight then they are ready for our attack, and we of course are more than ready for it as well.
Then it can come anywhere. Often it will be in the girl's own room, a miserably small thing high in the attic where we go of a morning to awaken her personally for some task we say we have ahead for her. Sometimes it occurs in our own chamber while the wife obligingly and without our requesting the seclusion, is elsewhere in the home, and then ring for our little cat and she comes to see what we want; and of course quickly finds out. Occasionally it may happen in any other room where we perhaps happen to be guiding her through a new chore. In my own case, it has been known to happen in that very chamber where I was interviewing Carmelita for her job.
In fact, I was persuaded to let it happen again then and to forego the fortnight's conventional waiting. Looking at that terribly tight dress, I feverishly wanted to assist that stunning bosom in its desire to free itself. I wanted very much to fuck Carmelita without further ado.
My wife was away shopping and no other servant would dare to disturb me. My children were upstairs in the nursery. It was an opportune time in terms of privacy. And yet I realized the risk I might be running. Girls from the country though often experienced in sex, for they learn the sex act quite early as a normal function of life, nevertheless have been known to be frightened away by overzealous masters; and it pained me to think that I might drive such a lovely prize into the hands of one of my associates.
Yes, lovely; lovely in all ways. Carmelita even escaped the misfortune visited upon so many Mexican girls; her calves were shapely in a way that the Yankee loves so well in his woman. They were full things with the proper curve and trim ankles. They were quite lovely; and, as with the rest of her, very inviting.
Thinking upon that as I looked at her, I was driven to make a comment about her attractiveness. And when I was done surveying the usual letter from the political chief of the village where she lived, who properly required a payment in kind for the words he spoke in her behalf to a professional letter-writer in the village to transcribe, and when I had glanced at the simple form provided by the local employment agency whose services delivered that voluptuous item to me, I said to her idly, "But you're so very pretty, my dear. Surely you can't really want to work as a maidservant." It was flattery in part and yet very true.
She blushed. How very appealing. And she flustered and finally said, "Oh sir, I am a very poor girl. I could not hope for anything else." And she trembled as she looked upon me shyly.
"You are indeed very beautiful," I said. "I feel as if I'm taking you away from a great career." When she didn't answer, I said, "Are you frightened of me?" And when she smiled meekly and almost nodded, I added, "But why? Tell me, dear; why would you be afraid of me?"
"I am not afraid of you, sir," she said hastily. "I am not afraid of you." But of course she betrayed her fright in the very manner in which she spoke.
I motioned that she should come to me. She stepped forward with trepidation. "Your dress is so tight," I said, touching her shoulder lightly. "Doesn't it bother you?" When she shook her head but did not look at me, I said, "Here, let me unbutton it for you and help you to breathe more easily." And I started to unsnap the top button.
"No, no," she said and broke away from me. "Please. Please don't." And she trembled terribly on the verge of tears.
But I was overcome. If I thought I could seduce her, now having touched ever so lightly, I knew that I must rape her if need be. I knew there was no turning back from my passion. My lust enveloped me and I had to have her. I had to make her mine. And I grabbed her and pulled her to me and thrust my mouth hard upon hers even while she terrifiedly fought to be free. And I held her tightly and forced open her lips with my tongue, and rushed my tongue against her tongue in a brutal embrace.
Passion gripped me. Lust held me in its toil. I pulled her body tightly against mine and my mighty cock stunned her belly. Even while I clutched her starkly with one hand, my other went at those buttons in my rage to hold her breasts.
She fought me. Oh how she fought me. Even while my tongue would seek out hers, she fought to be free. And when I went with one hand to those buttons, she broke away from my other even as she pulled her lips abruptly from mine, and terrifiedly she would cry out in her plight.
"No, damn it," I snapped and slapped a hand over her mouth. "I want you and I'll have you and you'd better shut your mouth or I'll destroy you in this city." And as she looked at me with a strange sudden sense of loss in her eyes coupled with the terror that gripped them, I slashed a hand down her dress front, clutched her petticoat beneath and pulled it all away in one violent rush.
And if she was stunned, I was more stunned. For before me then was the most astounding absolute dazzling beauty I had ever seen. I gasped. Even as she would cry out against the imprisoning hand that still held tightly shut her mouth, I gasped at her extraordinary beauty. Before me stood the most beautiful huge breasts I had ever seen in my life. I looked at them, and I could do only one thing; fall upon them and devour their loveliness.
So even while I still held her mouth, I swept low and dived upon those fantastic globes. I lapped them and loved them and tried to encompass their entire wide saucers, tried to make those great dark haloes mine at the same time I sucked her rapidly-emerging long hard nipples.
And it was then that she stopped the fight. It was then that she yielded up her surrender. The enemy was at the gates, and her citadel fell before the attack. There are very few Mexican girls who can withstand a tit-kissing. It is the nature of the Mexican woman to go slightly insane when her tits are kissed.
I released my hand from her mouth. I knew she wouldn't yell now. And I concentrated my hands, especially my fingertips, on the feeling of that warm and wonderful flesh while I continued to lick and nibble her very erect nipples. And I pulled at her nipples with tight lips upon them, and rolled my tongue and sucked upon them, munched them, and loved them.
Then the damnedest thing happened. In fact, it already was happening before I knew it was happening. She had her hand inside my fly, and she was reaching into my briefs and pulling out my enormous dick, and she was squeezing it tightly and gasping as she did. She squeezed my dick with one hand, then grabbed it with the other as well. And she was yanking it to her as she pressed her belly at it. Carmelita very obviously wanted to fuck.
I stopped kissing her tits. I looked at her. I was about to ask, "Are you sure?", for I was again having the realization that I would top a sixteen-year-old lovely thing. But then I dismissed such an absurd question from my mind and simply shed her of the remnants of her dress and dropped her pants and lowered her to that rug by the door to the balcony.
She spread immediately, and looked at me with shy but excited eyes. She smiled in the same manner, then gasped again as her eyes went to my dick in the moment I lowered myself between her legs. I laughed. "It's all yours, little one," I said, and raised her knees and then cupped her buttocks as I moved my prong in front of me like a spear for her cunt.
Her lips were wet and waiting. I probed them with my dick's tip. I played at the opening to her box, and she rolled her ass cheeks in my hands while she cluthced my shoulders and begged me to enter her. "Please put it in me, sir," she whispered throatily. "Please put it in me."
I laughed. I looked down at those marvelous mounds standing on her chest like twin mountains, and I laughed. She was beautiful. She was extraordinarily exciting. I bent low, remaining on my knees and with my dick still at her cunt lips, and I loved her nipples with my lips and tongue. She held my head and moaned. And she rolled her ass cheeks in my hands as she tried to grasp my cock fully with her snatch.
So I entered her. For awhile I dallied at the portals of bliss; and then I entered her. She was warm and tight and nice. It was a delight to move into her hole. It was like entering a paradise. I eased my cock into her hole slowly, enjoying the good feeling all the way, getting a supreme pleasure from the warmth and wetness that surrounded me tightly. There is nothing so beautiful as a girl's cunt when it is tight and hot and wet.
"You're very beautiful," I told her, gazing upon her as she smiled to me, still shyly. "You're a very, very beautiful girl."
"Kiss my titties again," she begged me. "Don't tell me about my beauty. Just kiss my titties." And she clutched one and offered it to me.
"I love to kiss your titties," I said. "They are the most beautiful titties I have ever kissed in my life." And I mouthed them again.
"Oh you kiss them so divinely," she whispered heatedly. "You kiss my titties so divinely." And she sucked air deeply and shoved the tit I was sucking directly at me and rolled her cunt upon my cock. "I am so excited," she said. "I think I will have your baby."
I looked at her. "Do you want a baby?"
She nodded. Her smile was still shy and yet there was a small note of triumph in it. "I have seen you," she said. "I saw you when you went into the employment agency yesterday to register your want. I knew then I would want to work for you. I knew already then I would want your baby."
"Are you at that time in the month?" She seemed extraordinarily hot.
"I do not know about times in the month. I am a poor country girl and I do not know about times in the month. I only know that now I am a cat in the city, and I want your baby." She rolled her ass and worked her vag muscles on my cock as if to tell me even more clearly how very much she wanted me to make her pregnant.
I do not know how the American man reacts to such a statement. But the Mexican male is very much concerned with his masculinity, as I have mentioned before, and such words as Carmelita's are a stimulus to his pride and vanity, and I think every Mexican woman knows what they do to his love-making. Already virile, he becomes even more virile. Already with the strongest cock in the world, his cock suddenly grows even greater in strength. He becomes formidable, and all he wants to do is fuck the universe.
That was my condition. And I looked down into her beautiful eyes and saw her lovely smile and bent low and kissed her monstrously beautiful tits, and I speared her cunt with the most powerful urgency of which I was capable. I thrust my dick in and out of her cunt with a savagely rejoiceful rhythm. I was heady in the ecstasy of her words and the feel of her body around me. I felt as if I could carry all the galaxies on my shoulders. I wanted to fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck.
But a fuck cannot go on forever. It is the nature of a fuck to come to a conclusion. That is why it is called a screw. You keep getting tighter and tighter and tighter; there is a point when you cannot get any tighter. And that is when the screw is done.
So it was with lovely Carmelita and me. Our fuck kept getting tighter and tighter. We blended. Our bodies joined. Our rhythm mounted. We moved slowly but constantly to that point where combustion sets in. Gradually, increasingly, we were controlled by the force that was greater than ours. Gradually, increasingly, we were taken up by the power that was upon us.
So we moved to our explosions, and I saw myself in that big beautiful black bush, felt her legs wrap themselves around me, knew the pleasure of her hot cunt on my dick and enjoyed every rapturous moment of the long good wonderful wild fuck. I kissed her and caressed her and loved her very much. And I felt my dick beginning to swell in the last drives of a startling good fuck and wanted only to sink my shaft down her well as far as it would go and to release everything that ever was in me. And yet I wanted to blow up the world because it felt so good.
There came that point when I simply rolled off my knees and we fell to our sides and faced each other. And I rested into her deeply and began the last penetrating drives for the release that I wanted more than anything else. We fucked each other, dick in cunt, cunt on dick, mercilessly, ruthlessly, down the way, all the way down the way in that synchronized abandon that belongs to all great fucks. We leapt and dived at each other with our vital organs, and finally charged against each other with that brutal last surging thrust and shove that smashes everything and creates whole new generations.
Smashing each other then in amazing collision, we blew off our comes in a frightening simultaneous explosion. We rocked and whirled and released our comes, spilling out the tension that had gripped us so long. I let into her body all my sperm. I shot away everything that I had. I broke the universe in a breaching cloud of white hot seed. I let it loose high in her hole, far far up there where they make the babies that she wanted. I gave her my seed as high as it could travel, so high that with another inch it might be almost to her lungs. High; I sent it.
She screamed in the moment of her come. She let loose a startling scream and clawed me fiercely, digging her nails deeply into my flesh, ripping my shirt and penetrating my flesh. And her cunt then went into a convulsive series of rocking rolls that played away those last small fetters which bound her, played away everything that still was left inside her to be demolished. She tore up everything in her insides and rocked away her last tension.
Then together we gave up our fucks, exhausted in the pleasure of the released pressure, relieved and at ease, quiet and in peace. And slowly we gained again the breath that meant now so much to us, slowly came back to earth once more. And I looked to her and she looked to me as she opened her eyes at last, and she smiled so happily. Oh how she smiled. She smiled with a warmth and joy that could transfigure whole planets.
And she said, "I am pregnant. You know that, don't you? I am with your child now. You have given me a child." And she pulled my head to her and kissed my brow lightly.
I was proud and vain and happy, yet felt sad that she so soon would go away. Only a few months would exist, and then she would be gone, gone into the nether reaches of a vast city where she would have her child and then accept that employment which so many cats end up performing, the task of the true cat, the task of the pretty girl on the street in the night, the girl on the Paseo de la Re-forma who solicits. So many cats end up on the Paseo.
Yet Carmelita did not end up there. I should tell you that now. Others have, and I have been guilty in part for some ending up there. But Carmelita did not end up on the Paseo. I cared for her and saw her through her time. For awhile afterwards I even gave her a little house, and she was my mistress for a time. But that passed too, and now she sleeps with another, for I grew tired of her, as wonderful as her flesh was. I still contribute something for the little girl who is another Carmelita in beauty already in her childhood, and someday perhaps I shall even help with her education if she goes far enough with it. But Carmelita now is of my past, and it is but a memory.
It is also the story of at least one cat in Mexico.