THE RACE

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THE RACE ———–

JIM PECHA, B.ARCH. CHRISTIAN ARTIST
MINISTER OF CREATIVITY, copywrite 2015 ————

While I was visiting Marquez in her little Spanish town during one summer I was in college, she said in a week there would be a foot race through and around town. It started in front of the Church and went around the town ten times equaling a little over ten miles. It was a nude race for whoever wanted to take the challenge, men or women. My family had gone to Michigan that summer without me; so I was free to do whatever. I had been running in my p.e. classes in college; so thought “what the heck.” There was to be a mock run that afternoon; so new-commers could familiarize themselves with the course. At two places, on opposite sides of town, there were granite rock outcrops, which were like obstacles. Marques talked me into it, but I was the only Anglo. Most of the young men were shorter than I was and I wondered if that would an advantage or disadvantage. The favorite, the winner, year after year, was a dark Spanish guy an inch taller than me. Since Marquez lived across the street from the Church, I just walked out her front door. The practice run was also in the nude, to get spectator interest in the competition. Today everyone was just naked, but for the actual race many, if not all, would have body paintings, symbols of what each individual valued. There was a lot of laughter when I came out the door and stood amougst the other runners. My skin color was about twenty degrees lighter and my penis was one of the smallest and shortest, but it grew longer as I stood there watching the other people standing around me, men and women. Then we were allowed to start the run. No one was racing, we were just trying to memorize the ups and downs and rock formations. I noticed my only advantage, I could jump over many rocky areas that the ones with shorter legs had to climb over. I studied this closely, one mistake and I might twist my ankle on landing. The week before the race was spent running the course every day naked, and then relaxing with Marques. She noticed I was getting a darker suntan, but would still be the lightest runner. She walked around naked in her home, stimulated by all the nudity she was witnessing, which stimulated me. She said by race time I would have extra energy because I was so horny. I said I just wanted a cross painted on my chest and back. The cross would extend from my throat to penis, the same size on my back.

The morning of the race came and I was going over my strategy. The nakedness now was just entertainment for the audience, everyone else was serious into thought. People from neighboring villages had come to watch. Cars, horses and wagons were everywhere. The race started at nine in the morning; so Marques began painting the cross on me at 8 am, which caused my penis to grow erect and then limp, over and over. I looked out Marquez’s window as she painted me, many runners were already doing stretching exercises. It was like warm-up time before any games. This was a little different though. It was a time for the men and women to show off their figures to the crowd. The women were all very slender and sexy. The men were showing off their muscles and penises and testicles, many painted in bright colors. I took off my saddles, the only clothing I had on. I was now naked, ready for the race. Marquez opened her front door and I stepped out, to once again laughter and jeers. I stood out because of my height and lightness of skin. I stood near the front of the race pack, not wanting to get slowed up lesser runners.

At exactly 9 am someone shot the old musket and we all started the run. Women’s tits were swinging in all directions as were the men’s penises, but now it was time to concentrate on what I knew about the trail terrain. I quickly was near the front with the favorite runner. He set the pace for winning. Occasionally a women would catch up. Her butt was as slender and muscular as the men. I enjoyed watching all her muscles flex at each stride, especially her leg muscles, really beautiful. I then became aware of the feet pounding on the ground behind me and I sped up. The woman and man were both ahead of me and getting further ahead. They would look back quickly now the then to see where I was. I noticed that the further ahead they were ahead of me the more they would slow down. I started making a plan.

Just as I thought, the men with shorter legs had to slow down and climb over the rocks, but I was now third in the race. The woman kept up with the favored male. Around and around we went and on the tenth lap I began my plan. There was a blind corner created by some of the old Adobe houses. Once the leaders went around the corner they couldn’t see me. It was my opportunity to catch up. As I made the turn I saw the man shove the woman into a wall. No one witnessed It except me. I wondered if that was one way he always won. I was now only a few feet from the leader and knew if I passed him it would need to be beyond his arms length. We were still on the trail heading for the main street and I went off the path to avoid being pushed. He looked back at me; so I started running outside the trail, risking rocks, cactus spines and holes. We both slowed up a little watching each other. Then we turned the corner onto the last 200 feet to the church. The cheering became loud and I heard them calling me white tail, a term my Mother used on me instead of penis, she called it a tail. It always felt like a sadistic term, which now made me angry and stimulated extra energy. The finish line was only fifty feet away and I planned my strides. As we both crossed the line in the street I flung out my right foot and won by the length of a toe. The crowd first sighed and then started chanting, white tail, white tail, white tail.

The favored son runner, after hunching over for awhile catching his breath, came over to me, I thought to shake my hand, but instead punched me in the stomach, which sent me to the ground, to the cheers of the crowd. I looked up at him standing over me and watched his penis get long, hard and erect. He had done something to make himself feel superior and re-establish his confidence. Then he helped me up, a further ego boost. Everyone else had by now crossed the finish line and were re-cooperating. The lead woman came limping around the corner and crossed the line, bloodied on face and legs where she had hit the wall. She walked up the favored son, stood close to him, then backed off while staring into his eyes and kicked him in the balls, to the cheers of the crowd. This was not your usual winners circle activities, but there were no rules. I was then offered “the queen of the race” to do with as I wanted; so I kissed her, said she was beautiful and walked back to Marquez’s door where she was waiting for me naked. I pulled her indoors and collapsed on her bed with her to rest, as the noise became louder outdoors, but I didn’t care what they were doing. Marques got up and said, “good thing you won fairly, as she looked out the window, they are crucifying the runner-up with ropes on the church cross outdoors. He wasn’t in any pain, I noticed, he still had an erection, to the cheers of the crowd. Well, I chose my visits to Marquez more carefully after that.

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