Part 2

In the central plaza of Beso de Rocío, right in front of the town’s only church, there stands a roughly rectangular block of dark grey stone. On the top of this waist-high table, seen from the right angle, a series of worn-in furrows and divots take on a distinctly feminine form. Legend has it that these indentations were made by Saint Rocío herself, as she laid her body before the church in protest of their puritanical ways ‘...and the mountain itself embraced her.’

Since then they certainly may have been worn in deeper, as every single young woman who grows up as part of this community takes her own turn upon the stone. Alba climbs up without hesitation, even as her mother and aunts also pull up the heavy chains and shackles that are embedded in all four corners of the stone. These are ‘mostly symbolic’ I am assured later, and ‘no-one who didn’t want to be there would be trapped upon the stone.’ Yet the fact remains as Alba’s wrists and ankles are clamped within these restraints and her arms and legs pulled outwards into the X of many a Hollywood damsel… She is in it for the long haul now. There will be no escape until she is released at the very end of the day.

Once the birthday girl is secured, her companions each say their goodbyes, then begin to disperse. Their part is now over, just as dawn’s light begins to drip forth into the plaza. Her family members are the last to go of course, her mother clearly grappling with the urge to stay and protect her chained and exposed offspring. But as the sun reaches the plinth and begins to burn away the mist, even she turns to leave… barking something harshly at someone lingering in the shadows of a side street as she does so.

For a moment, only me and Alba herself remain in the plaza. A gentle breeze beginning to swirl the fading trails of fog and rustle a few hanging banners and baskets on the surrounding buildings. I consider stepping forward to ask the young woman if he is still sure she wants to do this… when the person her mother spoke to wanders over.

It is clear the man is drunk. He looks to be in his late forties and sways uncoordinatedly with each step. Whether a very late partier from the night before, or an early-rising alcoholic determined to start the day as he means to end it… I do not know. My immediate urge is to run forward and try to direct him away from the trapped and naked teen laid out in public view. However this was the only stipulation of my being here. I can observe. I can take pictures. I can talk to those taking part… But I cannot interfere. All I can do is remind myself that Alba herself has chosen to put herself in this position, and this particular gentleman will only be the first she has to face.

He doesn’t hesitate for a second. After all, I suppose this is not a surprising state of affairs for anyone who has lived in this community for any length of time. I wonder for a moment just how many naked young girls this man has seen splayed out on that very same stone over his lifetime? His belt is undone and his trousers drooping before he is even a metre from the stone. Without a moment's thought or any indication of guilt or shame he pulls his genitalia from their holdings and begins stroking himself, right above Alba’s forehead.

I came closer, still wanting to be there in case the girl gave any indication of wanting to escape this situation, despite all my promises. There was perhaps an instant, when the man’s penis first came into view above her, where the look upon her face indicated that this was not quite who she had imagined granting her first baptisement into adulthood. Yet this was quickly overwritten by a gracious and beaming smile of charitable acceptance. I could not help but reach for my camera to capture this moment: as a young woman consciously offered up the view of her naked form for the unkempt pleasure of this undeserving soul. It was, in its own way, beautiful to see… like perhaps an unjaded, generous teen volunteering for a soup kitchen in some other section of the world. Being the light in someone’s day, for those who’d thought their lights had long gone out.

He didn’t last long, this first contender. How could he, in the face of such beauty? With a grunt he signalled his climax and Alba even stuck her tongue out to welcome it. I watched on in morbid fascination as 3… 4 spurts of milky ejaculate fell down upon her face. The gorgeous creature wrinkled her nose and chuckled in both surprise and disgust as a large globule already landed square in her eye. With no hands free to wipe it, her only options being to screw it tight shut or try and blink furiously.

There was no help from the donor of said slime however. He simply wiped the bulbous head of his cock clean on her hair and then turned to stumble away. Looking up from the lens I had just used to capture this first moment of defilement I realised other silhouettes had also started to appear from all sides of the plaza. La Pintura had officially begun… and it would continue for many, many hours yet.