First of all, I'm a newbie -- no, more appropriately a complete fuckup who gets himself into nothing but trouble and, if you continue reading on, you'll find out just how much. Starting at the beginning, I should first tell you why I decided on Brazil and how I found Club Hombre. Nine months ago one of my son's friends was surfing the web on my computer and found this web site that had approximately two thousand beautiful girls from Brazil who wanted to meet American men. Some of these women were really gorgeous others were dogs. I decided to utilize their services and got a number of addresses of the women to contact. Unfortunately, English is my only language and because I didn't narrow the search down enough, most of the girls I contacted only spoke Portuguese. This effort was not going to be as easy as I first assumed. On the second try, I wised up a little and set several distinct parameters with the first being -- they have to speak English, secondly, they had to have a phone and e-mail and, last but not least, they had to be really beautiful, exotic, sexy, etc.

On my second try I hit what I thought was the mother-lode, I found a beautiful girl from Rio with short natural blond hair, 5'9" and the tightest ass you can imagine (she had sent me several photos). We talked a number of times and I decided what the hell I'll take a trip to Rio; how much trouble can I get into. For some reason she insisted that I stay in Barra, she said it was closer to her home but, if she was going to stay with me, why not stay at the Marriott in Copacabana? I told her it was a four star hotel, located right on the beach, what more could she want? She pleaded with me to stay in Barra and I thought, why all the fuss? Finally, she told me that Copacabana was extremely dangerous and it’s full of prostitutes. I quickly got off the phone, and immediately reserved a room at the J.W. Marriott in Copacabana. After making my reservations and telling her when I would be there and that all the hotels in Barra were full on those dates (Oh, what a shame!), I plugged into Google -- Rio Prostitutes. Among the site was Club Hombre which I quickly visited and instantly joined. I started skimming a few of the reports on Rio, switched over to photos, Oh, wow-- it was then that I realized what a fucking idiot I was arranging to visit this girl, moreover, telling her that we could have two wonderful weeks together. Okay, so I painted myself in the corner but what else could go wrong? The next day my son tried to use his Visa card at the local pharmacy and it was promptly declined. When I called my issuing Bank they stated that they were a number of strange charges on the card and promptly read me three that they considered suspicious. Interestingly, two of the charges were at the same pharmacy my son went to the previous day (he’s been going there for years) and the other one was for the annual charge to Club Hombre. “Bingo!” Rather than take the bullet myself, I told my issuing bank that my son had bought something online the day before and the charge was definitely legitimate. Wives must be complaining to issuing banks about these unknown charges because, magically, within minutes my Visa was functioning again.

After the bank messed with me, my friends started fucking with my dysfunctional mind. One of them told me to rent the videos “Blame it on Rio” and the “Boys from Brazil.” I finally figured out he was fucking with me when Gregory Peck got eaten by those Doberman Pinchers. I figured the other movie was another mind fuck so I didn’t watch it. Another one suggested I buy a Duran Duran CD with the song “Rio” on it. He told me I’d really like it; it’s all about Rio de Janeiro. Off to Sam Goody and $15.95 later I’m all set to play it, now where’s my CD player. Okay, I find it, put in the CD and wait to hear music about Rio. Did you guys know that it’s a song about a girl and a fucking river somewhere, not the city? Oh well, at least the river’s probably in Brazil so I didn’t completely waste my money. As I’m sitting at my desk with my head phones on and the CD player on top of the black box of my brand new Dell computer, my son approaches me, lifts the ear phones off my head and says, “Dad you can listen to that on your new wiz bang computer.” “I can?” I replied, thinking that he’s trying to mess with me too. “Yeah, I’ll show you Dad,” he said and then had one of those eye spasms he has suffered from ever since he was about ten years old. For years I’ve been taking him to the Ophthalmologist and despite all the tests, he still can’t find a reasonable medical explanation for my son’s frequent spasms causing him to roll his eyes upward and back into his head. The Doc did point out, however, that it only occurs when he’s doing something with me. I explained that’s because I’m the only one who notices, then a strange thing happened. The Doc had exactly the same spasm. Go figure. I honestly think it’s the trauma from my divorce that’s to blame. That fucking Bitch! Enough of me and my loving family, let’s get back to my trip report.

Within weeks, I'm in Rio staying at the Marriott, which seemed reasonably priced to me but what do I know. I soon learned that R$ 1176 per night was a fucking fortune in Rio. Stupidly, I spent most of my time on Club Hombre looking at pictures; my time would have been better spent reading reports and learning Portuguese. The girl came to meet me at 9 p.m., and because she lived a long way from Rio, I told her to take a cab and that I would pay. When she arrived she looked a little different than the photos, she had gained about 15 pounds and, despite the fact that she told me she's a natural blond, about a half-inch of roots were a deep dark brown. I love women who "dye" their roots dark and still have the audacity to say they’re a natural blond. Because of her “two tone” hair and this nasty habit I have of giving people secret nicknames, I decided to call her "Roots". Roots and I get back into the same cab that she took from home and we go to a restaurant in Ipanema that she tells me is absolutely fantastic.

Before I go any further, I must explain that I've a little problem with math and sometimes get very confused with conversion rates so dealing with reals was going to be a torturous ordeal at best. When we get to the restaurant, I get out of the cab, read the meter and pay the man accordingly. Unfortunately, I read his meter wrong, disastrously misplacing the decimal point and proceed to pay him R$578 -- apparently it read R$ 57.80. I’m sure he thought, “Well, just another stupid Americano.” Okay, so I paid US$170 to ride 15 blocks but at least I was convinced nothing else could go wrong -- I couldn't have been more wrong! The restaurant she made reservations at was the best seafood restaurant in Ipanema and therein laid the problem -- I am highly allergic to seafood! We have a bottle of red wine (I know you drink white with seafood but she picked it) then she proceeds to tell me her life story. Suddenly she stops talking, plants one of the most sensual kisses on my lips, then tells me she’s not a working girl and not on a program. I smile knowingly and approvingly clearly interested in every word but don’t have a fucking clue as to what she just said. She works at a car rental agency or so she just told me so how can she not be working and what program is she talking about? Is she on a TV show somewhere? Dinner finally comes, I have a just salad but she convinces me to take a few bites of shrimp, which I do. Big mistake, I promptly start to swell up and now look exactly like the Pillsbury Dough Boy with measles. As I'm turning redder and getting plumper by the second, the waiter brings over my bill just to get rid of me, which is R$ 308 -- so much for cheap food in Brazil. At my current spending rates, I can only last in Brazil for about three days; my return flight isn't for two more weeks.

Photo: Roots 01

I take Roots back to the hotel, take some medication and tell her that I can't take her home but, if she wants I will pay for a cab ride home. At that point she orally attacks me, starting on my lips in working her way all over my face and neck. Guess she’s into the Michelin Tire Man look! She tells me her church is against premarital sex (name me a church that’s for it and I’ll become a member) but then tells me she really likes me so she’ll spend the night. Screwing her is great, she gives me a deep BBBJTC (did I spell that right?) and then swallows -- I think I'm falling in love. We fuck once more and, while we're making love, she takes my hand and puts it on her ass and says, “Play with this.” I'm in heaven so what could go wrong?

The next morning we fuck again (I’m a morning person) and she tells me that soon she would like me to fuck to her ass, so I promptly ask, "when." "Soon", is the only answer I get from in return. As the day wears on I find out that Roots is a chronic complainer about everything, her job, the weather, where she lives etc. etc. I'm falling out of love quickly but since she's offered me her ass, which is something my ex never gave up in the 26 years we were married, I decided to stick it out for a couple days to get what she's promised, after all how bad can it get. Later that day she tells me she wants to go home to introduce me or her mom, I figure what the hell how bad can it be? There's an old saying, "look at the girl's mother because that's what you'll have in 20 years", and that couldn't be further from the truth from my experience. Her mom had very distinct native Indian features -- quite frankly, she looked like she shrinks heads for a living and just crawled out of the Amazon jungle. I pictured her standing topless in a dugout canoe, blow pipe in one hand, shrunken Missionary heads in the other. More simulated National Geographic like images of her quickly shoot though my brain such as: Momma Roots standing again topless (a horrendous thought) in front of her hut with some sloth on the spit over a raging fire, and some wild boar, headless and gutted and up on deck. What have I gotten myself into?

Next Roots informs me that she has a tantalizing surprise for me and promptly leads me down the street into a nondescript building on the corner. We enter and it is then that I realize this is a surprise I'm not going to appreciate at all-- we are in a small neighborhood church. Suddenly I'm surrounded by little kids and adults singing and chanting in Portuguese with a couple of them talking in tongues just to confuse me even more. Picture this -- I'm down in Brazil trying to get laid, some oral treats and, if I’m lucky, a little anal. Instead I wind up in a Pentecostal church with some girl and her mother both smiling at me, thoroughly convinced I was a good, upstanding man. God was going to punish me somehow, I just knew it. I was waiting for an earthquake to collapse part of the roof in on only me. Well, He punished me with a two hour long service and, of course everyone looked in my direction when they brought around the collection plate that was lined with only a few coins. Flutter, flutter -- two R$ 50 notes fell into the plate and brought smiles to every face in the church except mine. I felt like Bill Gates but without the brains.

Rabbits and Rockets

On the way back to the Marriott, she asked if we could make a quick stop in Barra at one of the Malls because her vibrator was broken. Sure, why not, I was glad to get out of church alive! Wait a second, did she just tell me she needed a vibrator? “How mmmuch money do you need, Honey?” She said, “Oh, at least R$ 100”as if she was talking about pennies. Anxiously gave her R$150, then I settled down in the back seat of the cab and waited for her to return with a bundle of interesting sex toys. Ten minutes later she returns with the tiniest bag you can imagine filled with two pocket rockets. The fucking things cost R$70 apiece, batteries another R$6, she gives me R$ 4 change and the receipt—my punishment isn’t over! On the trip back she tells me that I can have her ass “soon” so I ask “when?” “Soon” is her only response. I figure that if I can make her pussy happy with a vibrator, her ass will be mine or so I thought. Back at the hotel, I quickly open both packs of AA Energizer batteries, load each pocket rocket and turn one on. Nothing happens so I click on rocket # 2, another dud, what’s going on here? Dead fucking batteries? How? Why? I look at the package and apparently these Pink Bunnies died on Dec.2003, at least according to the expiration date. Lord, I’m truly sorry! Roots thinks quickly, grabs the remote control, removes the batteries and soon has the rocket humming. Brazilian ingenuity at its best. Now, how do I change the fucking channels?

Buying those pocket rockets turned out to be a curse. I found out she’s addicted to them, they didn’t supplement my dick, they replaced it! First time we used it, she told me to jerk off in her mouth while she played with her pussy, something I had never done before but, what the hell, I’m in Brazil. After I shoot my load all over her face and into her mouth which she swallows, she decides it’s time to call room service for what she describes as a “romantic dinner for two” in our room. I remember reading somewhere that Brazilian girls eat like birds; “Roots” apparently never read that report because the only bird she remotely resembles eating like is a vulture. A bottle of white wine, two bottles of Heineken, a shrimp cocktail, (for her, not me) two fillet mignons, baked potatoes, Caesar salads, coffee, and finally two desserts, both for her because I don’t eat dessert. That little feast set me back R$225 but, at least she appeared satiated and maybe now her ass will be mine. Free sex is bleeding me dry!! Two hours later I hear that familiar humming sound and she asks me to do her again so I get my raincoat ready, that’s when she says that she wants me to beat my meat again in her mouth. When the fuck am I going to get her ass? Tomorrow, no doubt! God damn it, I’m getting a little sick and tired of changing channel by using the backup rocket to press the buttons on the TV, which luckily is right at the foot of the bed; the rooms at the Marriott are very, very small.

My third day in Brazil is starting off rather badly; we both wake up with terrible head colds so I tell her to stay in bed and I would go around the corner to the pharmacy to try to get something for our colds. Since I don't speak Portuguese I encountered a little problem especially when the pharmacist kept asking me if I had”flu". Of course I didn't have the God damn "flu , " anybody could see that I had a head cold so I pointed to my forehead indicating that's where my problem was and he immediately smiled knowingly and gave me some medication that he said would solve my problem. Roots was little reluctant to take the medication but I was game so I took two pills and laid down to rest. Twenty-two hours later I awoke and it was then that I found out that not speaking Portuguese can be somewhat of a liability in Brazil. Apparently "flu" is Portuguese for a cold, something I clearly did not understand and, unfortunately, when I pointed to my forehead the pharmacist assumed that I had a severe migraine headache and that's when he gave me codeine. Thank God I didn’t have hemorrhoids, imagine what could have happened to me if I pointed to my ass!! With my luck, he probably would have sent me to a gay bar. Okay, back to the story, this wasn't ordinary run of the mill codeine, this stuff was industrial-strength and you could buy it over-the-counter! While I was out cold, Roots managed to eat about R$430 in room service charges and I was just praying I would get her ass before either she got too sick or my money ran out ran. I was rapidly hemorrhaging reals. Finally, I made her a proposal—first time with the rocket and me coming in her mouth, second time with the rocket in her pussy and my dick in her ass—no substitutes. She took the proposition and I felt like Donald Trump closing a deal!

My semi-good fortunes were slipping, things started to spiral down rather quickly over the next several days. Roots developed a major sinus infection and needed to be taken home a couple of times a day, mind you it's R$ 100 round-trip, trips to visit the doctor and then to a special hospital for tests. By the time I was done I spent almost R$ 1800 in cab fares. One night when she was feeling better we went for a walk along Atlantica Ave and as we passed Help Roots told me never to go in there because it’s dangerous and full of prostitutes. This was like telling Michael Jackson that they are opening a YMCA next door to Neverland. I had to do something soon, since free sex was costing me a bundle and her constant complaints were driving me fucking crazy. I decided to tell her that I had to go home for an emergency, apologized profusely, packed quickly, hopped into a cab and then promptly went to another hotel.

Since Roots lived far outside of the city and Rio's quite large, I didn't worry about running into her but, now I was alone in a strange city and didn't speak the language. What could I do? I promptly went online and saw that Sandman lived in Rio, dropped him an e-mail asking him to call me at my hotel to see if we get together. I'll be damned, he never called but he did e-mail me back, gave me his cell phone number and told me to call. He was busy that day but we arranged to get together the following day for lunch at the restaurant in front of Help. Now I had a dilemma, how do I manage to keep myself out of trouble for the next 24 hours till I meet Sandman? I had two choices: first, go out and find a girl and hope for the best or secondly, take codeine and sleep for 22 hours. I decided that night I would find out what "Help" was all about and, man, it’s like Disneyland for men, only with lots and lots of different rides.

It was early October and you would've thought it was early March back in the states; the weather was somewhat cold, drizzly and downright miserable. That night was no different; it was about 55°F and raining lightly. I put on the only top coat I had, which was a double-breasted navy blue blazer, then proceeded to walk down Atlantica Avenue towards Help, smoking one of my favorite cigars. Before I go any further, I need to digress for a moment to tell you how a nickname was given to me, one that would haunt me forever, bring me unwanted attention make me easily identifiable in Copacabana. Upon checking into the Marriott in Rio, I was once again wearing my blazer and as I approached the Front Desk the girl behind the reception counter said, "James Bond," which really unnerved me because she didn’t even know my name- she was just guessing but nevertheless somewhat close. The bellman heard what she said then he asked me if that was my name. “Of course not,” I responded. Never-the-less, the die was cast and from that point on everybody in the hotel called me by that name. Later, I asked the receptionist why she called me James Bond and she replied, “Because Roger Moore always wore a double- breasted blazer and you had one on.” Christ, I look like a 78 year old; I was hoping she thought I looked like Pierce Brosnan!! Unfortunately, as I was walking to Help some of the working girls walking the street called me by the same name, they must have heard the doorman at the Marriott call me that which he always did in a loud clear voice Oh fuck!! Mind you, I looked nothing like any of the actors who played James Bond, come to think of it; I look more like Austin Powers with slightly better teeth, only older and heavier. Better yet, picture Austin's father, Nigel, played by Michael Caine -- that's me. So the worm has turned on me, I usually give people secret nicknames, but now I was given one that was very public and it would plague me for each subsequent visit and bring me a lot of unnecessary and unwanted attention. Fucking monikers!

At last, I reach Help and it's a little early so I wait outside in my blazer, smoking my cigar and try to look inconspicuous—no way in that blazer. I saw an absolutely stunning, jet black skinned young woman with great cleavage that didn't end standing outside and she flashed this enormous smile at me, then for some reason walked away. In about 20 minutes everybody started to go in and I got in line. As I approach the window, the same stunning black girl asked if she could cut ahead of me (at least that's what I thought she said because she was speaking Portuguese) as midnight was fast approaching and she wanted to save $R 10 . When I got into Help, I found that it was quite different than I had originally thought. If going to a bar in the United States and looking for a woman is similar to fishing, in that you decide where the best place is to put down your line to get a hit -- well, be prepared for a shock because in Help you are the "bait." As I walked around Help in my blazer and smoking my cigar, girls would say to me, “Oi, James Bond,” then grabbing at me. In effect trying to reel me in like the “bait” I was. After getting my nipples twisted, my crotch rubbed and my ass pinched as I walked around Help, I decided to park myself by the bar, not unlike a fish next to a coral reef and play the role of "Bait." I had the distinct feeling that most of these girls are similar that old European tradition of the “town bicycle,” in other words, everyone gets a chance at ridding it--am I far off the mark? It was bound to happen sometime, I made a truly intelligent decision by wearing the blazer because as the girls trolled by blowing air kisses, licking their lips, and aiming those laser stares of theirs at me, it was all due to my double-breasted navy blue blazer or so I thought. I was soon to find out that even if I looked like "Shrek" things would not have been any different. I was quickly falling in love with the truly wonderful ways of Brazil!

After waving off about 10 girls because none of them smiled at me (remember I'm a newbie and pretty stupid at that), there suddenly standing right in front of me was the Black Miss Cleavage flashing the most enormous smile and jabbering on in Portuguese. Told her English was my preferred language and with that, she promptly started speaking broken yet understandable English. She told me that she lived in Buzios, was 31 and getting a divorce after five years of marriage and this was her first night on the program. Hey, didn’t Roots mention program once? I bought her a drink and she asked me if I like to Samba? I remember Arnold Schwarzenegger doing the Samba in "True Lies" and thought, what the hell, I can do that. Unfortunately, my memory isn't what it used to be, actually my kids tell me I'm Stage One Alzheimer's, because the dance she proceeded to do was nothing like that in "True Lies." Later I found out Arnold was doing the fucking Tango, not the Samba. Embarrassed, I took off my blazer, walked to a booth, sat down and watched one of the most gymnastic performances I've ever seen on the dance floor. God, could she moved her ass! At the end of her dance, she approached the booth, sat down next to me and gave me one of the deepest, wettest kisses I've ever had, then promptly locked eyes with each girl in the room one by one, apparently telling them that I was hers. Bait swallowed!! Since she was such a deep black color I decided to give her the nickname of “Ebony.”

After about an hour of dancing I told her that I was very interested in her and, if she would like, she could come to my hotel room for an outrageously priced hamburger and some wine. I told her that this was my first night in Help and she explained that was her first night too on the program (what program?), and that she really wanted to go to James Bond's hotel. How the hell did she know to call me James Bond -- I would find out later. To avoid any confusion later, I decided to communicate via my infallible Braille method; I opened her palm and wrote 100 on it, she took her hand and wrote 300 on my palm. Again, I wrote 100, not wanting to appear too anxious to up my bidding, and she nodded her agreement. No fucking negotiating skills whatsoever, this was going to be sooo easy!! Rio was ripe for the picking! Walking her into the hotel drew some attention but no comments and within 30 seconds of entering my room, she was starting to take off her clothes. God, I love Brazil! Her enormous silicon enhanced breasts were a figment of my over active imagination, they were real, firm and absolutely delicious. I knew this night was going to turn out a lot better than taking my other option: codeine!

Within minutes she was kissing and biting me all over, kind of like little nibbles -- a new experience to me, but one I found sexy and very enjoyable. "I want to eat you all up like a cannibal," she said more than once. Then she went down on me and said, "I just love your clock." She could call it anything she wanted to so long as she sucked it and didn't bite it off -- suddenly, I found myself falling in love all over again. She was absolutely fantastic, I couldn't get enough of her and she kept waking up during the night to do her "one more time." I decided to change her nickname after she had her second orgasm because when she comes, she opens her eyes wide and looks just like a deer in headlights; "Fawn" seemed a more appropriate name. In the morning she gave me her phone number, told me to call her, which I promised to do and suddenly got a very puzzled look on her face when I put US$100 bill in her hand. She looked at it quizzically and then stated, "But I expected a hundred." Obviously she wasn't familiar with American currency. I told her that this was the equivalent of R$ 300 and it was then that she told me that she only expected R$ 100 for the whole night. Fuck, I was negotiating in dollars, she in reals. I know, I know, I'm one of those idiots that overpay and make it more difficult for the rest of you so please, accept my apology for my never-ending stupidity. In reality, she was worth every penny, I mean dollar I paid her. Before we parted I asked her why she called me James Bond, she said that girls in the bathroom were talking about me, the guy in the blazer with a cigar, and she overheard my name. God damn it!

Photos: Fawn 02 03 04 06 07 08 09 10 11 12

Sa

Today was the day that I was to meet Sandman for lunch at Terrasco Atlantica; I was looking forward to it because I was absolutely rudderless without help. My transaction with Fawn definitely highlighted that fact. When I arrived at the restaurant, Sandman was sitting there waiting for me and somehow recognizes me immediately. After exchanging pleasantries, Sandman asked me the following: "Weren't you in the Salsa room last night with a black girl, you were wearing a monogram shirt that said ATM on it?" "Yes, I was there last night and my shirt was monogrammed, but those aren't my initials, you're not even close." At that point, Sandman leaned across the table with a knowing yet exasperated look on his face and told me, "I know those aren't your fucking initials, but to every girl in Help, someone with a monogrammed shirt is a “walking ATM machine” -- dress down when you go in there." Hopefully, I wasn’t the first he had to admonish in this manner. Thank God he hadn't seen me in my blazer; I was convinced if he had, he probably would have cut off my balls right then and there. He then asked me about Fawn and I told him how lucky I was to find her on her very first night in Help. He then explained that all the girls told someone new to Help that same story -- what the hell, they were working girls or in other words, on the program, that's why they're in Help. Pieces of the puzzle were slowly beginning to fall into place! Simply put, it was as if Sandman told me that it would be significantly easier for me to complete the jigsaw puzzle if I had the pieces picture side up rather than face side down. He immediately sized me up and concluded that he wasn’t dealing with an Einstein, more like a Homer Simpson.

Later that day Sandman took me on my first terma visit, one I will never forget and still dream about. We spent five hours at Luomo and again I found myself falling in love. Although I was supposed to call Fawn later that day, I was still upset with her because she lied to me about it being her first visit to Help. Why can’t these girls be more honest—just like me? Consequently, when Sandman told me about a beautiful girl who was coming over to his apartment later, I decided to conveniently lose Fawn's phone number. Sandman told me the Rio is a big city and that I would never run into her again so don’t worry. With mixed emotions I tossed her phone number. True to his word, the girl that came over to his apartment was absolutely stunning with a gorgeous smile, a lot of personality and a great laugh. After four scotches at the apartment, he suggested I take her out to dinner to see where it leads.

I screwed Will Smith!

At dinner we had two bottles of wine and, after watching a young mother with a baby at the next table, she started crying about how much she wanted to be a mother and have lots of children. I sincerely wanted to do whatever humanly possible to grant her wish and with that in mind, I suggested we go back to my hotel. On the way back to the hotel, she started to develop a severe headache from all the red wine we had consumed. By the time we arrived at the hotel, she was in agony. I briefly thought about giving her one of my codeine pills but, with my luck she would pass out and who wants to screw someone who doesn’t move. Already experienced 26 years of that! Instead, I gave her a few aspirin, ran the washcloth under cold water, folded it up and put it on her forehead in an attempt to ease her pain. That was a big mistake! As I placed the white washcloth on her forehead, I noticed that she looked very, very familiar but I couldn't quite place who it was. Then it struck me. Will Smith, she looked just like Will Smith in the movie "Ali" when he was in wearing the head guard while sparring. The night was going south rapidly; how could I screw Will Smith and enjoy it? Should have given her the damn codeine! Well, I tried anyway but it just didn't work out, all I kept thinking about was Will Smith fighting the aliens in “Independence Day." It was then that I thought what if she pulled out a cigar after we fucked and smoked it just like Smith did after blowing up the aliens’ mother ship? God Damn red wine! The next morning "Will" still had a terrible headache so I put her in a cab and sent her home. Strangely, I found myself longing for Fawn but knew I would never see her again. Since I'd thrown away her phone number, I had no way of getting in touch with her.

Photo: Will Smith 13

Sandman agreed to have dinner with me that night and during one of our lengthy conversations, we found that we both liked Arabian food so he suggested we go to Amir. We got there about nine o'clock and the place was packed with at least a one-hour wait, we put our name on a list and Sandman suggested we walk around the corner to a bar called Balcony for a couple of drinks while we wait. As we turned the corner, who’s standing there but Fawn, she recognizes me immediately and gives me a disapproving look. Then she starts tapping her foot in that same way my mom did when she was really pissed at me. Rio is not that big a city! We have a few drinks and I tell Sandman that I think I'll take Fawn home, he agrees that she's quite a woman. Something about her story disturbs him and he wants to talk to her more so he suggested I bring her by his apartment whenever I can. Fawn screws the hell out of me that night and asks me if I want her ass and, of course, I respond with – “yes”. Her response is "later," which from my limited past experience with American women usually means about two years or really never. God damn fucking Pilgrims!! Why do I say that, well, I’ll explain it later, now where did I leave off? Oh yeah, she says “later,” then she immediately says, "wait till I orgasm first then you can have it." Man I love Brazil, I'm in heaven!

Spent the next five days with Fawn and have one of the most exciting and exhausting experiences of my life. She is multi-orgasmic, coming at least five to six times a day and if I didn't know better, I would think she was almost a nymphomaniac. That last sentence makes about as little sense as saying someone is a little pregnant? Either you are or not, correct? We go over to Sandman's apartment one day and after talking to her for about an hour; he takes me aside and tells me that her story is believable. In other words, I did meet her on her first night at Help and she is not on the program. Suddenly my opinion of her changes dramatically. Later as we're walking by the beach I decided to ask her some questions about her life so I could judge for myself. My first question is: did she get married when she was 25 or 26? She looked at me like I was crazy, then opened the palm of my hand flat and wrote the number 15 on it. She wasn't 31 years old; she was only 21(I must learn Portuguese) and got married when she was 15 years old. Man, I love the Brazilian culture! I asked her where her family came from and she said, "Brazil." No honey, I mean where did they come from before Brazil? "Ghana," she replies. Because of her constant nibbling and talking about eating me all up, I go to an Internet café, look up Ghana to see if they practiced cannibalism and sure enough, a couple hundred years ago they considered plump white European settlers the equivalent of McDonald Happy Meals, those in wagons were most likely called "Meals on Wheels." Perhaps all the nibbling and biting -- no, no, my imagination is running wild. Brain, go to sleep!

Finally my whirlwind trip was coming to an end and on the last day I planned to have one more terma visit with Sandman then go directly from the terma to the airport, fall sleep and wake up in Newark, New Jersey. Fawn had other plans for me. She decided that she would accompany me to the airport and put me on a plane, which she did, waiting until I crossed into the security area. It was touching, tears, hugs, in other words she made me feel like I was going off to war. How romantic it seemed. As my plane took off, I was busily planning my next trip. When I got home I called Sandman and described the wonderful send off she gave me, he told me that she just really wanted to make sure I got on a plan and left. He’s such a cynic! A sage but also a cynic!

I called Fawn several times from the states and told her I would enjoy seeing her on my next trip. But figured I could stay down there at least a week before calling her and letting her know I was in Rio. On my next trip, I stayed at a more guest and wallet friendly hotel, the Princess Copacabana. Arrived on a Sunday, it was only 41°C, the spine of my book melted within minutes of me getting to the beach, pages falling out all over but who cared the weather was fantastic. . Despite the absolutely gorgeous weather I didn’t feel well because of a terrible head cold and my ears hadn’t yet popped from the flight

I went to Help that night and saw an interesting tall girl that I found myself strangely attracted to for reasons I could not completely comprehend. We made some brief eye contact but after a few minutes, decided I had better go home and get some sleep, there will always be a beautiful sunny tomorrow. Wrong, now before I go any further, I want to tell you of a promise I made to myself on my first trip: on each subsequent trip I had to learn at least one new word of Portuguese. My language skills are abysmal to say the least. In high school I studied Latin because you didn't have to speak it, the only place they spoke it was in Roman Catholic Churches and I’m not Catholic. Great, no fucking language lab! With that in mind, let me recite you my current Portuguese vocabulary: obrigado, desculpe, morte, gelo, amour and, finally, the word I learned this trip, chuva. I know a few more but I don’t want to show off. For those of you that don't know Portuguese, “chuva” means rain and, boy, did it chuva, practically the whole trip. I learned “gelo” at the Marriott when I was up in the bar and heard someone downstairs in the lobby shout "gelo" (pronounced J. Lo); I thought Jennifer López was staying at the hotel but unfortunately, I never caught a glimpse of her. Two days later, I learned that it meant ice. Fucking language!

Let me get back on track and tell you about the girl that I saw in Help. On Monday I got up late, bought an umbrella on the corner and one of those little blowtorch lighters (be very careful, they’re expertly manufactured in Brazil and tend to occasionally malfunction by going into afterburner mode unexpectedly) to light my cigars in the rain and went to Meia Pataca for lunch. It was pouring rain. I felt like hell, had a slight head cold and my ears were still stopped up from the flight. When I got to Meia Pataca, practically all the tables were taken but there was a seat open at the table occupied by the girl I saw the previous night in Help. I motioned to her to see if she would let me sit there and she indicated that I could come over and join her and her girlfriend. When I went over to her table she told me that she heard my name was James Bond and she wanted to know if that was true or not. Damn, was this name going to follow me around forever? As I sat there with her, I inadvertently burned the handle of my new umbrella with my cigar, putting a large scar on the bottom of the U shaped plastic handle. After a rocky start we got along fantastically, her girlfriend knew a little English and I could finally communicate a little bit without having to write numbers on the palms of their hands. We spent several hours at Meia Pataca's and finally Maria, the flower lady, came over and translated my request. I told the girl that I really liked her and would like to spend more time with her and would treat her like a princess as she deserved. We never discussed money but I promised to be generous and she promised to be equally amorous. Smooth, huh?

BUDDHA BAAABY!!!

At about four in the afternoon, we got up to go back to my hotel, it was then that I realized that she was slightly taller than I expected. Simply put, she was at least six-foot six, perhaps as tall as six-foot seven. When she stood next to me, I only came up to her shoulders. What the hell, I was only committed for the night. I had to come up with a nickname for her. The first one that came to mind was "Wilt" because she was so tall but the thought of fucking Wilt Chamberlain was even more distasteful than doing Will Smith -- damn, what was I going to do? It was then that she gave me the idea for the perfect nickname. I'll tell you how it happened. Walking back to my hotel she was reciting some words of English she knew such as "thank you" and "you're welcome." Unfortunately, she couldn’t come close to saying "you're welcome," it came out as kind of a guttural growl that sounded vaguely familiar. Then I remembered that it sounded just like someone on the Addams family -- Lurch! Consequently, I named her “Lurch” because she was so damn tall, growled like him when saying "you're welcome" and as I was to soon find out, she could sneak up on you and appear out of nowhere just like Lurch could.

Standing at the curb of N. S. Copacabana Ave, as we’re waiting for the light to change, a bus pulls up and stops in the heavy rush hour traffic—guess who’s sitting right there in the window of the bus before us— you’re right, Roots!! Holy shit when will my torture ever end? Luckily she doesn’t turn her head then a terrible thought goes through my mind, where’s Fawn? Rio is not quite as big as I thought. Within minutes of getting back to my room, Lurch was undressed and parading around my room as if she owned the place: I’m still a nervous wreck from seeing Roots. Here I was, standing on the curb daydreaming about fucking this huge Amazon (that’s not redundant- she’s that big) then Roots mysteriously appears. Perhaps I should have put R$150 in that collection plate.

Back to my story, I’ve always liked tall girls but never had anyone this size and it was quite an experience, she could practically envelop me. We fucked once, I was totally exhausted and as I relaxed on the bed she started kissing me all over using her tongue in some very interesting ways. She was wonderfully passionate as are most Brazilian women. Remember, by this time I’ve had a total of 6 Brazilian girls, not quite enough to qualify as an expert. Later we got dressed and went out to dinner. I needed a rest. Luckily for me Lurch must have read the report on Brazilian girls eating like birds because all she had was a small salad for dinner. I devoured a fillet. We got back to my hotel around 11 p.m. and once again I was her sex toy. We fell asleep in each other's arms around midnight. At 2 a.m. she woke me for another round which fortunately I was able to complete. 4 a.m. came rolling around and she was aroused one more time, only this time she wanted it doggy style. After several minutes of trying my best, she suddenly turned her head back to me and said "Buddha." What a strange time to talk about religion, then I remembered Sandman's admonition to only give them certain information about yourself and change it slightly. With this in mind, I chose a religion randomly and answered her by saying "Presbyterian." What a lucky guess!! I can only tell you that it must be the magic word in Portuguese, because as soon as I said "Presbyterian," she took my cock out of her pussy and put it in her ass and started to fuck my brains out. Needless to say, my libido suddenly got kick started and I was coming within minutes. I remember falling asleep thinking, I have to remember to say that word again, whatever it was. For the next two days all it did was rain so we stayed inside and screwed our brains out. Believe it or not, every time she said Buddha, I replied with Presbyterian and her ass was mine. This was absolutely fantastic but I was pissed that I hadn’t learn to say "Presbyterian" on my other trips to Brazil.

Photos: Lurch 14 15 16 17 18 20 21 23 24 25





In the afternoon of the first full day we were together, Lurch decided she needed to go back to her apartment, pick up a few things and I thought this was a great opportunity for me to go over and visit Sandman. When I arrived he complimented me on not wearing a monogrammed shirt and asked me how my trip was going so far. I told him about meeting Lurch, what a wonderful girl she is and then went on to describe her physical attributes, her great body including her large hands and feet. At that point Sandman looked me square in the eye and said, "She's probably a post-op." Holy fucking shit!! I started feeling lightheaded, my head started to pound then I thought to myself -- think this whole thing through, don't make any rash decisions and, Oh God, don’t throw up. Then I remembered what one of my friends, who happens to be one of the biggest sex change surgeons on the East Coast said, "If it looks real, it probably is real but, if they grab for the Kentucky jelly (KY), it's not real and that's the giveaway. A simple axiom but one he swears by. By the way, he has shown me his medical journals and he's right, a manmade pussy just doesn’t look real. They don’t look anything like the rubber one under my bed. Needless to say, when Lurch got back to my hotel I pretended to get horny then did a thorough gynecological examination on her and, sure enough, she is all female. Relieved—I then got really horny and fucked her brains out, mine too.

Now it was Thursday and the chuva had finally stopped, the temperatures were climbing, the skies were clearing and the beach was so inviting, my cold was abating and my ears finally popped -- relief at last. Lurch and I strolled down the beach towards Ipanema got two chaise lounges and plopped ourselves down for a wonderful day at the beach. As the sun got hotter and hotter I asked Lurch to put my SPF 30 suntan lotion on my back, legs, chest etc. She did my back and then I rolled over, closed my eyes and she proceeded to put lotion all over my face, chest etc. Brazil is great, isn't it! After lying in the sun for a couple of hours, we got up to put our feet in the ocean to cool off and as we were walking down to the water Lurch asked me if I thought her " bunda" was too big. What the hell was she talking about and what in God's name is a “bunda?" I told her I didn't know what she was talking about and with that she said “bunda" twice and then slapped her ass as if to indicate that's what she was talking about. It was then that I said, "Don’t you mean Buddha" and she said "no, bunda" so I looked at her smiled and the word just slipped out of my mouth, "Presbyterian!" Her eyes opened wide, her index finger was outstretched and she moved it back and forth just like Babu who ran the Pakistani restaurant in a Seinfeld episode and she said "no, no, no." Then a smile crossed her face, she winked at me and said "later." I just love Brazil so much, they’re so service oriented.

SUNBURN AND RECYCLING

At about five o'clock we crawled off the beach and into Meia Pataca for a few beers and I had to take a leak so I went to the bathroom. While I was in there, I glanced up at the mirror and was shocked at the image I saw -- my skin was a bright, glowing crimson color. What had happened, I put on SPF 30 several times during the day -- well technically I didn't, Lurch did yet somehow it failed to protect me. The air conditioning was on full blast and as it got cooler, my skin got warmer and tighter and my face felt as though it had been shrink wrapped, what had happened? When I got back to the table I asked Lurch to show me what suntan lotion she had put on me and she promptly pulled out her bottle of SPF 4 telling me that the SPF 30 was too thick so she used hers. God damn it, I wasn't getting protected by lotion on the beach, I was getting basted by it just like a turkey. If they had a Crispy Critter contest that day, I would've won.

As we were sitting having drinks at Meia Pataca we were accosted by all sorts of vendors selling such desperately needed items such as: zipper bags, laser pointers, license plates, sunglasses, and my personal favorite, the hammock. Lurch wanted me to get a license plate with my name on it but, rather than my name, she insisted it say "James" because that's what she always called me. Henri, the vendor, happily took my money and insisted that he would have my license plate ready tomorrow. Three days later, I was able to track the bastard down and when I confronted him he gleefully held up my license plate; unfortunately, his well trained and highly skilled Brazilian craftsmen put "Games" on it. Details, details, details!! Oh, what the hell, I still love Brazil.

That night I took Lurch to Mario’s; you know the elegant and expensive restaurant that specializes in Brazilian BBQ. Well, that’s when I found out why Lurch ate like a bird: she was a strict vegetarian!! Picture this; I take a vegetarian to a BBQ-- talk about being stupid. Moreover, because they have a fixed price per person policy, it cost me R$ 64 for her to eat a fucking salad. To add insult to injury, they came around offering dessert, which costs another R$25 and Lurch ate to her hearts content. After my BBQ fiasco, we go to the Salsa Room at Help so she and her girlfriend can Samba. I just want to get drunk. I’m sitting at our table when another garota sits nearby and starts to make serious eye contact. Fortunately, Lurch is looking the other way watching the dance floor so I can flirt unhindered. Suddenly the girls eyes open wide with fright: what the hell is going on? I turn my head and see Lurch sitting next to me with her left hand opened flat, her right hand balled into a fist, pounding them together while glaring at the girl with her eyes locked on the intended target. She left immediately and from that point on I figured it was in my best interest not to make Lurch angry.

In the meantime, it started to chuva again with a vengeance. During the day there would be periods of tremendous downpours separated by long periods of a light drizzle so I was glad that I had my umbrella always handy. Unfortunately, one night I left my umbrella at Terrasco and I just hoped it wouldn’t rain anymore because I didn’t want to buy another one. As my luck would have it, the next day it was pouring so I went to the same corner again to buy a replacement and, fortunately, he had a similar one in his inventory. You know, the long black ones with a U shaped handle covered with clear plastic sleeve. While walking back to the hotel, I slipped of the sleeve and it was then that I noticed a distinctive burn mark on the handle, in exactly the same place I had burned my lost one. Fuck, I had bought back the same fucking umbrella! God damn it! Don’t you just love the resiliency of the Brazilian economy?

DIRTY HARRY'S HEAVENLY TRIP

When I checked into the hotel on this trip there was a group of five black men checking in at the same time and it was apparent that they had come as a group. The next morning, after buying my umbrella (the first time) I returned to the hotel, got in the elevator and saw an elderly black man who was approximately 70 years old already in the elevator and when I went to hit the button for the fifth floor, I found that it was already lit. In other word, Harry lived right down the hall from me. He had on this T-shirt that in big bold letters said New York so I asked him if he was from there. Yeah, his name was Harry, he was from New York and came down with his buddies to have a great time; from what I later saw, and he had a fantastic and, eventually, a heavenly one. Harry had this propensity to go after girls who had the biggest, roundest Booties you could imagine and, he liked having two at a time, consequently, I named him Dirty Harry. That nickname was a lay-up! Since the hotel would allow only one girl at time in your room, Harry would have one of his buddies sign in another girl and have both of them brought to his room. He had one great time, often all day long and well into the night. I couldn't imagine the energy he expended but somehow he managed to get up every morning for breakfast.

On the day that my ears popped and I found out that Lurch was saying "bunda" not "Buddha," I walked back to the hotel to try to take a cold shower in an effort to relieve my sunburn. As I approach the hotel I saw an ambulance sitting outside and a couple of police cars and when I entered the lobby, I saw four of Harry's friend standing there talking excitedly. I asked them, "Where's Harry?" I got a terse reply, "He's outside." "No, he's not out front; I just came in and didn't see him out there." That's when one of them said, "He's in the fucking ambulance, Harry's dead!" Floored, I asked what happened and one of his buddies proceeded to tell me that Harry expired "in the saddle" according to the girls. Apparently, he had a history of high blood pressure, was rapidly approaching 70 years of age, unmarried and popping Viagra to accommodate his two visitors. I was envious of Harry, what a terrific way to go! Suddenly the conversation quickly turned to the topic of what to do with his body and how they would get it back to New York. At that point I said, "Fellas, I don't mean to be disrespectful but, if that was me out in the ambulance and I went the same way Harry did, I wouldn't care what you did with my body -- you could throw me out in the ocean off Copacabana Beach for all I cared." For all I know they took my advice; Harry could be floating out there right now!

VILA MIMOSA

After spending almost a week with Lurch, I decided to give her the night off and join some friends at the Marriott to watch the AFC championship game between Pittsburgh and New England. While we were there we were asked to join a table with three guys at it so we could get a better view of the TV. One of the guys was in his 50s and, for the sake of anonymity, I'll call him Fred. He had been coming to Rio since the early 90s and insisted that my trip to Rio would not be complete without a side trip to Vila Mimosa. He told me that it was full of beautiful girls, they were a lot cheaper than Help and it was one of the most interesting places I would ever visit in entire my life. With that kind of build up, how could I pass up his invitation? I agreed to meet him the next night at Meia Pataca ( I would meet “Lurch” later that night), he would arrange to have a guide for us and then, off to Vila Mimosa for some fun. I brought R$ 100 with me figuring I’d get laid two or three times have a nice dinner and still have some change left over. What a great plan but something made me change my mind once we got there. For those of you who have never been there, I can only say it could be a life changing experience. From what I understand, everything within this two to three block area is controlled by the police and, consequently, it is considered somewhat safe. How to best describe it? Remember the alien whorehouse on Mars in Arnold Schwarzenegger's movie "Total Recall," well, that’s a little close to what Vila Mimosa is like. Girls of all types are walking around in various stages of undress, some without tops and some without bottoms then there's the occasional girl who is walking around totally nude.

At the beginning of the street there a number of street vendors selling barbecue beef and chicken and as we pass them Fred says, "This guy has the best barbecue!" I don't pay much attention because I'm watching all the sites stroll by. Off the street are a number of large warehouses that have walkways going to the rear and back again to the front with little bars about 20 feet apart along the walkways. Needless to say, the bars have women in them and many are displaying their most appealing parts as you walk by. Window shopping at its best! Apparently what you're supposed to do is go into one of the bars, select the girl of your choice then take her upstairs via a spiral staircase to a small room where you consummate your deal. According to Fred, the deal costs about R$ 25.

After we take a walk through the entire two blocks we sit down in a little café, get two beers and then magically a large plate of barbecue arrives at the table. I take one piece and start to chew; it's rather tasty and not too tough. At least I know what I'm eating; it's chicken and really delicious. Fred tells me be careful of the bones in the meat and I thank him for his advice. The next piece of meat is absolutely full of bones and I don't mean long bones, I mean tiny pieces of bone like they were all broken up. I wonder what could have caused this: well at least I’m not eating road kill, or am I? Suddenly, I realize that this chicken must've been run over by the Brazilian equivalent of a deuce and a half truck then I began to wonder whether or not it's really chicken. Oh God, get me out of here and don't let me get food poisoning! While I'm sitting there pondering my fate, a girl comes up to us who I swear could be a body double for Star Jones, she says something in Portuguese then pulls down her pants, turns her ass towards us and bends over. Our guide tells us that Star wants us to screw her ass and when I look at it, I decide to give her an appropriate nickname -- "Lincoln Tunnel." A lot of traffic has been through that hole! Apparently, the toll is only R$25 and, believe me, that was no bargain.

I want to get out of there as quickly as possible and our guide arranges for me to get a cab down at the end of the street. As Fred and I are walking there, he points over to the left and says that's the guy that made our barbecue tonight -- what a cook. I look over and I see all of his utensils stuck in the ground, not handle first but blade first. The knives, forks and spatula's are stuck in the ground like arrows ready for battle. Ironically, medieval archers deliberately contaminated their arrows in exactly the same way to encourage a deadly infection in their intended victim. What a pleasant thought -- I just hoped I could make at home without a full blown E. coli infection striking me down. Go to Vila Mimosa at your own risk!

I make it back to my hotel with my asshole and intestines still intact and as I walk in the lobby Carlos, the night manager, looks at me quizzically, promptly raises his arm straight up towards the ceiling, bends his wrist to form what looks like an inverted “L,”and moved his hand back and forth in a horizontal waving action similar to a salute but one high above your head. Then he shrugs his shoulders. What the fuck does that mean? He explains that he was asking me: where’s Lurch? Apparently everyone at the hotel makes the same gesture when describing her because of what they say is her “altitude.” That must be Portuguese for giant. Fuck, they must think she a giraffe or something like that. How do I stop this gesture from festering and taking on a life of its own? Ah, it won’t go any further, I’m sure. Finally get to my suite, take a long hot shower, pray that I don't get food poisoning and climb into bed and go to sleep. Lurch comes in, crawls into bed and wants to talk. I’m not in the mood for talking so I feign a headache.

Wake up the next morning feeling rather good and wait for Lurch to wake up so that we can screw then go downstairs for breakfast. By the way, the breakfast at the Princess Copacabana is fantastic, lots of fruit, juices, croissants, cereals and practically anything you can imagine -- all included with your room. Lurch finally awakens, we have breakfast then she tells me what a beautiful day it is and that we should go to the beach. I'm feeling pretty good, at least the road kill didn't kill me last night so what the hell, let's go to the beach. A word of advice (will anybody ever listen to me after reading this report?), you have to be careful with some of the guys on the beach who rent out chairs because they have a nasty habit of trying to overcharge you sometimes by a factor of ten. Unfortunately, since they're the only ones who have chairs at the beach, you have to do business with them, just be careful and keep track of the number of beers and sodas your drink and be sure to ask what each costs because if you don't, you’ll be in for sticker shock. Needless to say, I was one of their victims that day. After that, I swore that they would never get the best of me again.

After we spend the afternoon sunning ourselves, we leave the beach around three, go to Meia Pataca for lunch and meet up with her girlfriend (I call her Selma because she looks like Selma Hayek) and the guy she's with (nicknamed him Puck because he plays hockey). Lurch and her girlfriend decided to go shopping leaving Puck and I there to drown ourselves in Skols and fend off the vendors trying to sell us lighters, license plates, bikinis, you name it. I'm sitting right near the hedge with my back to it, in other words towards the outside of the seating area when all of a sudden I feel a tongue go in my ear. I have frightful visions of Henri, the guy who sold in the license plate that said Games on it, sticking his tongue in my ear. I'm afraid to turn around when suddenly two hands start sliding down my chest from behind and I know they look vaguely familiar but, whose are they? I also know they're not Lurch's’ they’re too small. Suddenly Fawn’s beaming face is right there in front of me but, she supposed to be in Buzios and, how could she know I'm here, I never called her? All my questions were to be answered in a few torturous moments, and then the shit would hit the fan.

Puck suddenly looks at me like I'm a complete stranger, stands up, excuses himself and leaves before Lurch returns and the agony starts -- oh shit, I forgot she was around somewhere. Fawn asks me why I didn't call her and let her know I was in Brazil as promised, I lied and told her the only place I had her phone number was in my cell phone and that the batteries were dead. Then I tried to explain that since I couldn't get a hold of her, I had to keep myself busy so I met another girl -- after all this is Brazil. Tears started to flow and that's when I asked her how she knew I was here; she told me that at least three of her girlfriends had called to tell her that James Bond was in town with a giraffe (Lurch isn't quite that tall!). God damn it, I feel like Fawn has stuck a LoJack up my ass because she can find me anywhere regardless of where I am. She told me she been waiting for me to come to see her and she was really pissed at me for not calling her. I was barely listening to her, just nodding at whatever she said because I knew Lurch was in the area and if she caught me with Fawn, she'd kill me. It was then I decided to make a deal with Fawn, I would give her some money now then she could come back in two days and I promised that I would spend the entire day with her. Tears were still flowing down her cheek, I reached into my pocket grabbed a couple of 50 reals notes and a couple of the green one reals notes also, thrust them into her hand and told her to go in the ladies room to calm down. I had to figure some way to get her out of the area quickly and the ladies room was the first thing they came to my mind. In approximately 5 minutes she came out and joined me at the table and, believe it or not, she was an entirely different person, all smiles and suddenly very happy. Was she schizophrenic? Worse yet, was I the schizophrenic?

As I was sitting there pondering this sudden turn of events, something else turned with a terrible vengeance. It hit me like whatever ran over the critter I ate last night in Vila Mimosa, a crushing blow with severe intestinal cramps and the sudden desire to take a massive dump in my pants. The road kill had finally caught up with me! With one eye on the crowd looking out for Lurch, I needed to quickly get rid of Fawn, grab my ass and run back to the hotel quickly before I had an embarrassing accident on the way. I made it back to my hotel in time, just in time, before all hell let loose. All I remember thinking was how fucking slow the elevators were and could I make it down the hall. What the hell was it that I ate? Needless to say, I spent some quality time on the toilet that afternoon and despite mercy flush after mercy flush, and the toilet was still full. Fucking Brazilian low flow toilets! While I was sitting there and because I wasn’t smart enough to grab a book before reaching the toilet, I reached into my pocket to count my money. It was then that I found out why Fawn was so happy. Apparently, when I gave her the money, one of those green R$ 1 notes was actually a US$ 100 bill that I wanted to change at the cambio. No wonder I made her happy, I gave her the equivalent of approximately US$ 140 to go away. Put another more succinct way: I paid her US$ 140 not fuck me! Yeah, yeah -- I know, I'm fucking it up for the rest of you but it was an honest mistake. Remember, I told you I had trouble with money.

Brazilian Forensic Files

One thing I‘ve noticed about Brazilian girls, they can quickly become very possessive of you if you let them. Unfortunately, by the time I’ve this figured out it’s too late. In other words, I’m royally fucked. Just to complicate matters more, because of the intricacies of their culture, they don't trust you once you're out of their sight. I found that if I let Lurch have the afternoon off, when she returned the first thing she did was pick up my digital camera to see what photos I had taken while she was gone. After the second time this happened, I quickly learned that I had to be quick at changing memory cards or else she might find herself looking at some very embarrassing pictures from Luomo. The next thing she did upon entering the room was go into the bathroom to see if there were any signs that another woman had been there. Simply put, she conducted a thorough forensic examination each time she returned. Oh, what little trust she had in me! What this meant was that I had to be smarter, quicker and more intelligent than her or else she would catch me and beat the shit out of me. This was going to be somewhat difficult because as you have probably correctly surmised, I’m one step from being labeled mental challenged. No, I never rode the short bus; I lived only one block from the school and they wouldn’t bus me that short a distance! Regardless, I love a test and two days later when Fawn returned, the test was on.

I gave Lurch the day off, telling her I was going to spend some quality time with Sandman, then went to the beach and waited for Fawn to arrive. We planned to meet at 10; she arrived at noontime (a typical Brazilian occurrence), had a secretive lunch then went to my hotel hoping the whole way there I wouldn't run into Lurch. As we entered my room, Fawn grabs my digital camera and started to look at my pictures but I was one step ahead of her, I had already changed the card. Then she threw me a curve ball, as she put my camera back in the camera bag, she grabbed one of the other cards and put it in the camera. What that was on that card? Oh shit, I'm dead. She said, “Who’s this?” Oh, shit!! Then I remembered that when I changed cards, I put the card containing all the good (bad) pictures in my safe. I'd even outsmarted myself! The picture was of my son and his girlfriend. Whew! After going through the cards, Fawn decided to forgive me for being with Lurch just so long as I was with her and made her happy. I tried my damnedest to make her happy and one of the strangest things happen after we fucked. She was lying on the bed on her stomach and she told me to enter her pussy from behind and just lie down on her back, which I immediately did. She then proceeded to twitch her ass cheeks in a rhythmic way that was absolutely phenomenal and before I knew it, I came again -- twice in 10 minutes. I haven't done that since I was 18 -- I just lied, I don't think I've ever done it before.

Photos: Fawn 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

After we lay there for about an hour, she told me she had go back to Buzios that night and that she wanted to take a shower before she left. She put on the disposable shower cap, climbed in with me then started playing with my “crock,” as she sometimes called it. On the way out she grabbed herself bottled water and me a coca-lite, then swiped a bag of chips from the mini-bar. Well, what the fuck, she brought the rubbers because if we used any of mine and the count was off, Lurch would kill me. “Honey, you got the rubbers,” I asked. “You no trust me,” she replied. Then she said “Yes!” Whew I thought. We got in the elevator, went down to the lobby and I gave her US$100 (remember, she took a shitty 3 hour bus ride just to see me) then I put her in the taxi bound for the bus terminal. I felt like I was getting a bargain because sex with her costs less than sending her away the other day!

As I walked back into the lobby I told Leonardo, the day manager, to get housekeeping up to my room immediately to change the bed, put out new towels and clean up the room real good because I was expecting Lurch back. Leonardo smiled at me and asked if I had a good afternoon, I told him that if Lurch found out I had someone else in the room, my afternoon was going to be pretty miserable indeed. He assured me that housekeeping would do a thorough job of cleaning the room. He then raised his arm, bent his wrist in that familiar salute and shrugged his shoulders as if to ask, where was Lurch? I don’t know; just get the fucking suite cleaned before she gets back. When Lurch returned she immediately grabbed my camera but, I was once again one step ahead of her, I'd changed the card so she wouldn't see any pictures of Fawn – they’re conveniently locked in my security safe. She then did a complete forensic exam of the entire apartment, especially the bathroom -- no trace evidence or DNA anywhere or so I thought. Then she put me to the final test -- she wanted to fuck and if I didn't want to, I was in trouble. Mind you, just two hours before I came twice in 10 minutes and at my age there is a long recycling time before you can pull the trigger again and she was making me push the envelope. Luck was on my side, I completed the task and lay next to her totally exhausted; I think only dust was coming out of my dick because I was completely dehydrated -- yet absolutely and totally satisfied.

After a few minutes Lurch wanted to take a shower and the thought of a nice cool shower seemed so inviting to me that I agreed to take one with her. That turned out to be the smartest thing I did the entire trip. Why you might ask? Just read on. We climbed into the shower and it was then that I noticed it: a long 30 inch hair conveniently placed high up on the wall in the shower. For those of you who have stayed at the Princess Copacabana, you know that the showers are the size of a phone booth with snow white tiles on the walls. Oh shit, I was dead! Lurch had hair about 12 inches long and I knew that if she saw this hair there was no way that I could convince her that it was one of hers. How could this happen, Fawn was wearing a shower cap? Damn it Fawn, why did you have to do that -- then I realized that she was only marking her territory, which they all do at one time or another just to screw you up. Why the fuck this time? Oh yeah, to get even! Now I understand; I feel so much better. Like hell I do!

Lurch is standing there in the shower looking at me and I'm trying to look over her (which is not easy by any stretch of the imagination) to figure out how to get the hair off the wall without her seeing it. She wanted to change positions with me so that she could scrub my back, putting her right in position to see the hair on the wall, now, what do I do? Act horny, start kissing her and put your fingers inside her -- that should take her mind off of scrubbing my back. I'll be damned, it worked -- I got her all turned around and bent over (no, I didn't say Presbyterian) and with one swipe of my hand missed the fucking hair on the wall. Then I realized that I hadn't missed it at all, Fawn must've put it up on the wall with some of my hair gel because it didn't want to come off when I swiped at it. Have you ever seen a dog furiously scratching at the door to go out because it has a bad case of diarrhea? Well, now you have a perfect mental picture of what I looked like. No matter how hard I scratched, the fucking hair wouldn’t budge.

Lurch was getting a little suspicious, turned her head around and said, “What are you doing?” Oh shit, if she looks up she’ll see the hair! “Just trying something, does that feel any better?” “No,” was her response. “Let’s try moving around a little Honey.” Finally, after about thirty anxious scratches it comes off but, now it’s wrapped around my right hand and forearm. Lurch doesn’t want to fuck any more or try any more weird positions, she just wants to get back to scrubbing me and she grabs the hand with the hair on it. If she sees it, she’ll throw me through the glass shower door and really fuck up my vacation-- think fast, real fast. I get up on my toes and whisper into her ear, “I love you.” That should buy me some time! Her quick response is, “I love you, James, TODAY.” Today, what, not always or forever? I act terribly hurt, stare into her eyes and try to convince her that the water on my cheeks isn’t from the shower but really heartfelt tears. She buys it! Meanwhile, I’m rubbing my right arm like I have a bad case of poison ivy; avert my gaze briefly only to see the hair now stuck to the white shower floor. The damn thing won’t go down the fucking drain, and then I see why. In Brazil, for some strange reason they put drains in showers that can be closed and my fucking drain was now in the closed position with the hair still partially stuck to the floor. The rest of the hair was floating on top of the rapidly rising water like a wounded anaconda twisting in agony. To end the suspense, yes, it finally went down the drain and I was out of the proverbial woods or so I thought.

We stepped out of the shower; she toweled me off then dried herself off, grabbed a tissue and proceeded to take off her smeared eye liner. I’m standing there briefly basking in my triumph for a few moments when she goes to toss away the tissue, opens the lid to the trash receptacle and says, “What’s this?” Oh shit, the rubbers and their opened wrappers that Fawn brought—can’t be she took them, didn’t she? She reaches in the can; I’m about to have a heart attack, I think, Oh God just let it be quick. She looks over at me suspiciously and pulls out the fucking shower cap, “What’s this,” she repeats. Think quickly you fucking moron!! My brain is in overdrive but the wheels are only spinning and I say, “Oh, I put my CD player in it when I went to the beach today, so sand wouldn’t get all over it.” It was the best I come up with on such short notice. “I didn’t mean to throw it away because I’ll use it tomorrow, give it to me.” She put it in my hand; I crumpled it up and threw it into the camera bag. Whew! After that close call, I had visions of that ambulance once again outside the hotel with another body in it—mine. Now, where the fuck did that bitch, Fawn, hide those used rubbers and wrappers?

Fawn was much smarter than I thought. Clearly, I had underestimated her. One booby trap wasn’t enough, the hair was the obvious one that if found I might be able to reasonably explain away. And she probably suspected as much! Finding used rubbers, now that’s a whole different story. If Lurch found them, she’d go ballistic in a heart beat and Fawn knew it! Man, I’m so fucked! Don’t loose you cool, I said to myself as my legs started to tremble at the prospect of Lurch holding up a come filled used rubber. The fucking shower cap incident almost killed me a few minutes before but, now my life was really on the line. It was simple, all I had to do was find them first but, how do I do that without raising Lurch’s already elevated level of suspicion? Using the familiar Homeland Security Advisory System; her Threat Level was already at Red Level right now and soon to go well beyond that, all the way to thermo nuclear. I should have been watching more crime shows instead of the freaking History and Discovery channels, and then I would know what to do. I knew they couldn’t be in the bed because it had already been changed (Fawn would have figured that out too) so where can they be. Under the bed, on top of TV, on the desk, on the balcony, couch, radio, Oh shit, I kept coming up empty.

We go out to dinner and the whole time I’m trying to figure out where Fawn put those little suckers: they’re in there somewhere, but where? I’m getting a fucking headache from thinking so hard and for a brief moment consider overdosing on that codeine, just to end my tortuous misery. Where would I put them if I were her? Somewhere Lurch would be sure to look, of course, but where? I was still coming up empty and the thought of going back to the hotel after dinner became a frightening thought. We get back and fortunately she wants to fuck immediately, at least that takes my mind off of my impending death and the current problem at hand. As we’re laying there my mind goes blank for a few moments (a somewhat common occurrence for me) and when my brain slips back in gear again Lurch isn’t in bed anymore, where is she? “Honey where are you?” Getting juice, she replies. “Get me a coca-lite, please” I ask and then suddenly freeze with terror. I never checked inside the fucking refrigerator and I remembered Fawn was in there getting bottled water. Oh fuck—Harry, I’m coming to join you!!

Now, since I had that brain burp I didn’t have a clue as to exactly where Lurch was, for all I knew she could be in the fridge right now. Think quickly you asshole!! “Honey, come here and see what I have for you, you’ll really like it.” Apparently she hadn’t made fridge yet, because suddenly she was on the bed bouncing around like a kid on Christmas. As she bouncing there in front of me I still don’t have a clue as to what I can give her when suddenly my brain launches into hyper speed (first time it’s ever done that) and I remembered the thongs. When I first met Sandman he suggested that I bring gifts for the ladies when I return and told me that they love : chocolate, perfume, dildos, vibrators ( I would pass on them because of Roots) and thong panties only in sizes small and extra small. In the beginning of our extended relationship, I gave her a bottle of perfume and a big Hershey bar but passed on giving her any of the 8 pair of thongs I brought because, well, as you might have correctly surmised; Lurch is not quite a small or extra small. Regardless of what size she was I was going to give her the remaining 6 pairs I had left. Fawn already took the other two pair of extra small, that fucking bitch! I pulled them out and she squealed with delight, stood up and somehow managed to squeeze into one. It truly looked painful, that thing was cutting into her but she didn’t mind and she got up and paraded around the bedroom. As she was doing that I was slowly edging my way towards the kitchen area and that’s when I told her that I would bring her some juice. I’m such a fucking gentleman, aren’t I? I open the fridge and there they are right on top of the juice boxes, fucking Fawn set me up! I almost collapsed because Lurch is suddenly behind me and the used rubbers are not more than 3 feet from her. I knock the rubbers off one box and hand it to Lurch then give her my most sincere smile. She looks back at me and frowns, oh shit what’s wrong now? She wants a pineapple juice box not orange like I gave her. Of course the pineapple juice box is the one with two leaky rubbers on it, so I suggest she go in the bedroom and I will bring the pineapple juice while she tries on each pair of thongs. Quickly I clean off the juice box, bring it to her and casually slip the rubbers and wrappers in my camera bag because it happened to be the closest thing to me. Okay, back to watching Lurch struggle with the thongs. Very clever Fawn, very clever, indeed!

My last day with Lurch was very touching -- we fucked our brains out till checkout time at four o'clock then went to Meia Pataca for a couple of farewell beers. She walked me back to my hotel hand-in-hand; I got my luggage and put it in a cab, gave her a great big kiss and squeezed some money into her hand. Thunder started a rumble in the distance just like in the movies, I waved goodbye and drove away. The only good thing about this trip to the airport was that it didn't rain. Traffic was abysmal; we just crept along at about 5 miles an hour, constantly having to pull over to let police and emergency vehicles through. What the hell happened ahead of us? It took us over half an hour to get through that long fucking tunnel and shortly after we emerged, the traffic suddenly thinned and we were able to resume a somewhat normal speed. Just as I thought we had clear sailing ahead, traffic came to a standstill. I was smoking one of my big ass cigars when I noticed a no fumar sign on the dashboard, and in my best Portuguese I apologized to the driver and told him he would get a big tip for letting me smoking in his cab. I said, “Grande tipo.”

Since the trip was so long, I finished the bottle water that I brought with me and started to anxiously look for a vendor along the highway. For those of you that have never been to Brazil, you'd be amazed at what they sell right in the middle of a highway during rush hour. These idiots stand right in traffic hawking their wares and, I must admit I found their choice of locations and sales technique somewhat baffling. Essential, they slow traffic to a crawl by being on the highway then try to be your friend and sell you something you can’t do without. On each trip I saw someone selling bags of popcorn along the center barrier of the highway and because of the boring trip; I decided to buy a bag. This ranks as one of my all-time idiotic moves because after I put a handful of the stuff in my mouth, I realized this was the driest, stalest popcorn in Brazil, if not all of South America. Dirty cotton balls would have been tastier and easier to swallow! Cigar smoke and stale popcorn is not a tasty combination and suddenly my mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert. I’m gagging and coughing like a cat struggling with a life threatening hair ball. For a few moments I was sorely tempted to ask the driver to pull over so that I could lap up some water from one of the mud puddles left over from the last fucking downpour. Then I saw one of those mangy Brazilian dogs that always seem to be strolling by the highway, squat down and pee in the puddle I was looking at. I guess I could wait. Please, don’t eat the popcorn! We pull up to the terminal; I grab my luggage and run inside desperately looking for a water fountain or a Coca-Lite to ease my pain. Can’t find one but there’s a small coffee cart against the wall. Quickly I hold up a finger and hoarsely mumble, “Café.” He pours me one of those freaking thimble sized cups; I swallow it down when suddenly I realize that this stuff is twice as hot as McDonald’s coffee. I put up two more fingers and try to talk but nothing comes out, absolutely nothing at all. He gets my drift, pours two more thimbles of java lava which I slug back like tequila shots. When will my pain ever end? Then and only then, after I’ve scorched the shit out of my mouth and throat, do I notice not five feet from me a water fountain recessed into a tiny alcove. God damn it. Seeing relief at last, I leap the five feet only to find that the fountain is out of order. I’m glad to be leaving Brazil.

After scorching my mouth, tongue and throat, I drag my luggage over to the Continental area in the terminal and I’m told they have a pleasant surprise for me-- they have upgraded me. What a pleasant surprise I thought. They tell me to go over to the Elite counter where they will check me in. As I get over there, a beautiful gate agent asks me a few security questions such as: who packed my bags, did I accept any packages, etc. Then she threw my a curve; Do you have any electronics? If so, please turn them all on. Told her my cell phone was dead but she still insisted I turn on the CD player and my digital camera. I cheerfully obliged, first the CD player, she nodded approval when it lit up. Next came the camera, I opened the bag and there were the freaking dried rubbers all over my camera and the damn shower cap, brushed them all aside and when I turned the camera on, the LCD screen lit up with a picture of Lurch that more appropriately belonged in Gynecology Today magazine. I cringed, the agent called a male agent over, whispered something in his ear then proceeded to scroll back through 5 more pictures, each worse than the previous one. I forgot to change cards and now I got caught; I was going to jail, I was sure of it! After an embarrassing minute, she handed the camera back to me, smiled and told me to proceed to the counter. I’m a nervous wreck, my shirt is now sweat stained and I’m convinced that jail is my next stop not the freaking ticket counter. Trying to make small talk in an effort to ease my anxiety, I casually ask the ticket agent why I was selected for an upgrade and she replied, “Oh, that’s easy, you were the only passenger on the flight paying full fare!! At that moment, my state of mind was terribly fragile and now this bitch is rubbing salt into my severe mental and emotional wounds.

After I made it home safely, all my male friends wanted to see my digital Rio treasures (I have two sets: one for the men, another for the less fortunate) and their damn wives kept asking me questions about tourist sights such as: Sugar Loaf and the statue of Jesus Christ. The only time I made it out of Copacabana was when Roots was sick and we were going to her house -- other than that I never strayed more than two blocks from the beach. By the way, do any of you guys have any good photos of these sites that I can claim that I took? Oh I lied, I just remembered that side trip to Vila Mimosa, for some reason I repressed it. To continue with my train of thought, the guys were jealous (I love it) and their wives kept telling me what a dangerous place Rio de Janeiro was as if that would keep me from going back. Dangerous my eye! I walked around Copacabana without a problem and the only people that approach me were little kids begging for money. What the fuck did they know about Rio -- I was a seasoned veteran. Then one of the wives handed me a DVD entitled “City of God.” For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s like a low budget “Scar Face.” Pure fiction and I knew it. After watching it I knew she was fucking with my mind because it’s just a movie and nothing like that ever happens in Copacabana. I did learn something from it though, warm up the banana first. God, I love educational movies. Despite what I told my friends wives about maybe never going back there, I was rapidly formulating a master plan for my next trip.

Back to Rio for another trip and, yes, Stupid here told Fawn that he was coming to town soon but not the exact dates. I must be a glutton for punishment! I figured that if I spent a couple of days somewhat incognito in Copacabana then called Fawn, had her down to Rio for a couple of days we could perhaps go to Buzios for a week or so afterwards. All I had to do is keep a low profile, not be seen with any other girls, fuck a few on the side, call Fawn and make it appear like I just arrived in town. The plan was foolproof and I was ready! I arrived in Rio at about 10:45 a.m. and get to my hotel around noontime, quickly change into my bathing suit and run down the beach to get some sun. Go to the beach across from the Rio Othon Palace and I’m immediately accosted by four guys trying to rent me a beach chair. I wave off all four of them and start to walk along the beach to take in the sights. I come to a chaise that's unoccupied; a girl is sitting next to it on a blanket, one of the four rental criminals runs up to me and I ask him, "Is this for rent?" The girl on the blanket responds, "Yes, I'm available, short time? Brazil is wonderful, isn't it?

Three Fingers in Rio

I asked the chair guy to drag the chaise over near three gorgeous thong clad women so I didn’t have to squint to get a good look at them. Don’t want to get anymore crows feet than necessary particularly at my age. As he set up the chair, he told if I needed anything and he repeated “anything”, this time raising his eyebrows, to just raise my hand and he would come running. He had this funny misshapen Novocain grin; you know what I mean if you’ve ever been to the dentist and had your mouth blasted with the stuff, which seemed truly sincere. Now that’s what I like, someone who’s service oriented and honest. By the way, what’s your name? “Jorge” is his prompt and efficient reply. Just like in the Allstate Commercials, “I’m in good hands.” I settle back in my chair, start to relax, fall into a blissful slumber when I’m suddenly accosted by someone armed to the teeth. What the fuck is going on! Is there an armed insurrection that I missed reading about? Now there are two guys standing over me pulling machetes out of their sheaths, I scream to Jorge hoping he’s nearby. In seconds he’s there and I ask him what’s going on. “Oh, these guys just want to sell you a machete,” he says. I ask him to explain to them that I really don’t need one now but, I’ll keep them in mind. God damn machetes, what the fuck am I supposed to cut down with it? I’m on a sandy beach!! There’re only people here!!! Now, I don’t know about you but, when I go to the beach, a machete is not the first thing that comes to mind. Like, who are they selling them to: the guy who forgot to bring his to the beach and, therefore, needs a replacement or is it the guy who just wants to buy one and Copacabana beach comes to his mind before Home Depot? I’m not stupid but I can tell you this, nothing, I repeat, nothing could every make me want buy a machete while I’m sunning myself on the beach. Strange things trouble me, oh shit; you’re on vacation-- just relax. What the hell, it was March back home but seemed like July here! Here they’re selling machetes, back home it’s snow shovels—relax, you stupid bastard, relax.

The three thronged beauties were absolute eye candy, I couldn’t keep my eyes off them and, since the machete incident unnerved me so much, I decided to stay awake and concentrate on getting laid. Which of the three did I want? As Jorge was strolling by, I told him to ask the girls if they wanted anything to drink. Sure enough, they’re thirsty so I tell Jorge to bring them drinks. They turn their chairs around and face me so that we can get to know each other. Boy, this vacation is starting off great. Only after I buy the drinks do I find out these girls are real bitches and only want my money and the rounds of drinks that I can buy them. They don’t even pretend, not even for my sake. Although they look great, they really turn me off by wanting me to buy each of them a bikinis and all the other shit on the beach, which I intelligently refuse. I’m getting wiser and wiser each trip and now I know what to look out for when dealing with Brazilians. Then they take a different tack and try to make me feel guilty. Where am I; I thought I was in Brazil? Feels just like I’m right back in the States! I decided I didn’t want any of the three; they were just too much trouble. After a few minutes I close my eyes and pretended to go to sleep. Now, I’m not smart enough to pretend for too long that’s when I doze off for real. After a while one of the girls nudges me and asks me for more drinks, I say “No.” Again she asks and this was the start of a tragic error on my part because when I said I already bought them a round, she responded by saying, “How many drinks?” “Three,” I replied. She held up two fingers and said “three,” how fucking stupid was this bitch? I held my hand up and extended three fingers to correct her “three,” I said and thought you dumb bitch. “Ok, you go sleep,” she said. Thanks Bitch! About a half hour later, we had exactly the same exchange and each time I would have to correct her when she only put up two finger (she must be a slow learner) by holding up three fingers. “Ok, you go sleep,” was always her reply.

This fucking drama went on for the next three hours. As the sun goes behind the Othon Palace, Jorge presents me with my bill. What the fuck! This isn’t sticker shock, this is financial rape!! The bill was R$ 118 for three drinks and a fucking chair; “Jorge, are you crazy?” I asked. He explained that the chair cost R$ 10 as we agreed (Sandman later told me it should only cost R$ 6—Shit!), and the 18 drinks cost R$ 108. What fucking 18 drinks, I only bought three! Jorge then explained to me that about every half hour the girls would tell him that I was buying them drinks. He told the girls he would only bring drinks if he saw me order them. The girls agreed and he’d look over when the girls got his attention and, sure enough, I’d be laying there with three fingers up in the air! It took me a few long moments to comprehend what just took place. I turned around to get some money from those bitches but all I saw was three empty chairs. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!! Felt like the Allstate Good Hands just clapped and I was still in them. Oh shit, I’ve only been here 5 hours so far! I don’t even dare think “what could go wrong” because I know that would jinx me. I’m that lucky.

That night I go to Help, don't see anything that intrigues me so I go home and get a good night's rest. I should've taken up that first girls offer on the beach, damn it. At long last, I'm acting my age. The next day is absolutely fantastic, a perfect beach day and I'm not going to let it get away from me. Once again I fight with the vendors over who's going to rent me a chair. Again I choose Jorge despite what happened the day before because he still seems the least criminal of the bunch. That should give you a good mental image of what his competition looked like. Jorge drags my chair to the perfect spot then asks me if I want anything to drink. I think not!! There is this beautiful girl on a chaise about 30 feet away with a fantastic athletic body, well toned with a tight, taut round ass that I am dying to meet. Every time I get up to approach her, some other idiot with exactly the same idea beats me to it. I have positioned myself perfectly; there is a group of heavyset Germans right behind me, each out weighing me by about 75 pounds so in comparison, I look slender. Okay, not quite slender but I'm trying to work the demographics and camouflage in my favor. She waves off every guy that approaches her so I figure, rather than go down in flames, I wouldn't even make the approach. There's always tomorrow! Now I can concentrate on just roasting myself in the sun which I do for the next four hours. Go to Meia Pataca for a burger when all of a sudden a beautiful cinnamon skinned girl comes up to me and says, "Oi, James Bond." Fuck, my cover’s blown! So much for my thoughts of remaining incognito in Copacabana this trip. I knew that within minutes someone would be calling Fawn telling her I was here but what the fuck, although my master plan was already in tatters, I was still going to wait a few days before calling her. I go back to my hotel, turn on my cell phone to run the batteries down, that excuse worked the last time and wait for Fawn to appear. She doesn't show up; I'm getting luckier every day so I decide to celebrate by finding a girl at Help and screwing my brains out. Lady luck was finally shining on me!

Walk into Help and who's the first girl I see, the hot babe from the beach. My luck has truly changed and I'm going to take advantage of it. I approach her directly and ask if I can buy her a drink? "Yes," is her reply, then I asked her what she wants, hoping it's nothing that contains red bull, that stuff costs a fortune in Help. Fortunately, she asks for a fruit drink and we start to get to know each other. Strangely, she asks me why I didn’t approach her on the beach today. I lied and told her I was with my four German friends and didn't want to abandon them. I'm such a humanitarian! After about half an hour we strike a deal and I tell her that I have to make a quick phone call from the phone booth outside, would she mind meeting me outside in a few minutes? Ah ha, nobody will see is leaving together and, since I left first it looks like I was solo that night, which is exactly the impression I wanted to convey.

Within minutes she meets me outside next to the phone booth on the side street between Help and Meia Pataca, we hop in a taxi, it pulls away from the curb making a thump, thump, thump noise -- the left rear tire is flat. The taxi pulls over the side and it's then that I notice a couple walking behind the taxi going towards Meia Pataca when suddenly they're attacked by a group of six 18 to 20 year olds. The six large banditos crowded around the frightened couple making it impossible for them to move when suddenly a group of eight, 10-year-olds come up to them and start reaching in their pockets and grabbing their valuables such as hand bags etc.. At this point I made a tragic error, a terribly tragic one -- something in me snapped, I got out of the taxi and ran towards them shouting, screaming and waving my arms like an attacking chimpanzee. The little kids scattered and four of the big kids took off but two remained and they had their backs to me. I came up behind them and grabbed both around the neck -- oh what a shame, I had a cigar my right hand and just happen to put it into that kid's face -- hope he forgives me. The bandito on my right was black and started kicking me like hell so I just pushed a little harder with the cigar and he stopped (I nicknamed him Black Stallion). The other criminal tried to scratch and bite me but fortunately he was a nail biter, consequently had no nails but he still fought like a tiger so I nicknamed him "Tigger". Now what the fuck do I do with these guys wrapped in my arms? I'm not too smart and I didn't have a lot of time to think this over so I just smacked their heads together and they both fell down on the ground bruised and stunned. When I turned around and looked towards Help, there not more than 50 feet away is a police car with three military policemen standing next to it, they’re not flinching a single muscle to help me. I grabbed the beach babe out of the taxi, hopped into another one and sped away to my hotel. On the way to my hotel, she told me that I was lucky I wasn’t arrested because the cops get part of the take and I messed up their cash flow. Somehow I just raised my profile—an unwelcome event. Suddenly I felt like the sign for Target Stores, you know what I mean, the big red and white bulls eye.

The beach babe was alright, nothing spectacular and it turns out she’s a professional body builder. I had never run across one before, I usually prefer the softer, curvier body types but, since I was committed I gave it a try. She was into pain; you know she wanted to be spanked, bitten, hair pulled, etc. That’s not my pleasure spot so after I cracked a nut I sent her packing. Well, at least I got home safely, now just keep a low profile and everything will be alright.

Traffic Patterns

The next day I change some money, get breakfast at Mondego and as I’m sitting there a horrific event occurs right in front of me. Mondego is a sidewalk cafe on Atlantico Ave and I’m sitting right in front next to the hedge looking out towards the ocean. In other words I’m about 15 feet from the road and traffic is streaming by into the city. Atlantica Ave is a six lane road next to the beach with a wide center median separating the directional traffic and it’s controlled by traffic signals about every 4 blocks. In the morning they sometimes make all six lanes one way into the city till 10:00a.m., and then they return 3 lanes back to their original direction. Its 10:00a.m they just returned 3 lanes when a lady looks right, see no cars coming then steps into to roadway. Wham, she gets waffled by a speeding taxi coming from her left, does two and a half flips and lands on her head about 30 feet down the road. The taxi screeches to a halt, the driver gets out looks at the lady lying in the road, slowly makes his way around the car. He bends down trembling with tears clearly in his eyes, reaches ever so carefully and gently grabs the broken headlight then tries to fit it in its misshapen fender. Fuck the pedestrian – cars always have right of way in Brazil. Within minutes an ambulance arrives and they just pick her up without bracing her- I’m sure they killed her with that brilliant Brazilian life saving maneuver and off they went to the hospital. A Street cleaning team arrives, there’s a large puddle of blood that needs to be cleaned up but, guess what—they only sweep up the broken glass and plastic from the damaged taxi. Two days later you could still see the dried puddle. Learn traffic patterns- it could save your life. How ironic, I’m giving you advice, particularly if you’ve read this far you know what a moron I am.

After the breakfast excitement I decide to walk along the ocean and have a cigar to calm my shattered nerves. I carefully navigate my way across all 6 lanes of Atlantico Ave so, therefore, I’m safe and sound, right? Wrong. I forgot about the damn bike lane and suddenly a 70 year old woman, who is probably training for the Senior Olympics, plows into me going about 20MPH. Remember to learn traffic patterns!! After the senior citizen almost turns me into road kill, I light my cigar and stroll along the sidewalk next to the beach when whom do I pass sleeping on the beach with his merry band of banditos not more then 10 feet from the sidewalk, none other than Tigger. Like a teenager tiptoeing past a sleeping parent after arriving home at 3:00 a.m., drunk and smelling of pussy, I creep by silently hoping they don’t awaken. Fortunately, they sleep soundly and I know this is the last time our path will cross. Black Stallion’s face looks like shit and I swear to myself that I will always carry a lit cigar no matter what. Well, perhaps not in church but, I that hope experience doesn’t befall me again in Rio—once was enough!

Gecko

It’s a beautiful sunny day, the beach seems like a good option so I grab my gear and head for the sand ready to do battle with the four ubiquitous honest chaise lounge rental agents; I use that term rather loosely because I have a sneaking suspicion that Tigger is one of their offspring. At least they all come from similar gene pools, well perhaps more appropriately described as primordial gene ponds. Jorge isn’t anywhere to be seen, but one of his friendly associates tells me that Jorge wouldn’t be there today and that he wants me to rent from him. Sounds plausible, I ask him his name and he replies, “Louis” or something like that. He has wide set eyes, really far apart, he’s a little wall-eyed and his left eye drifts off when he’s talking to me, so I nickname him Gecko—Yup, just like the critter in the GEICO commercials. Well, Gecko slowly drags along a chair till I find a bevy of overweight tourist (camouflage- remember) and declare this my spot. Suddenly out of nowhere appears Jorge and he pissed, really pissed—not at Gecko but at me. So much for customer loyalty! Swiftly, he turns his anger at Gecko; I feel relieved and tell him that Gecko told me he wasn’t around today. Yeah, I’m making friends all over Copacabana today. Before WW III breaks out, I agree to give all my future business to Jorge, Gecko reluctantly nods in agreement. I get out my CD player , put in a Pimsleur MP3 with 30 freaking lessons on it, place the player inside a folded towel on my lap, lie back and get ready to speak fluent Portuguese in a couple of hours. Unfortunately, Pimsleur almost immediately puts me to sleep; after listening for months, I’ve never gotten further than 12 minutes into lesson one—that’s right lesson one! Today is no different, I’m asleep within minutes! After attempting the “learn in your sleep method,” I wake up to silence—fucking batteries died. I grab the CD player but come up empty, look down and there’s the end of my headphone’s cord dangling off the chair. Have a sneaking suspicion Gecko has extracted his revenge. Fuck, now how am I going to learn Portuguese?

Green Eyed Girl

Another typical night in Copacabana, a big fillet for dinner, a fine cigar afterwards and then my nightly trip to Help to look over the talent. Shortly after I get there a stunning green eyed beauty with long dark hair comes up to me, flashes a beautiful smile with the ubiquitous braces that most young girls have on their teeth, and then starts with a touchy-feely routine that melts my heart and hardens my cock. She speaks a little English but to avoid any confusion I use my tried-and-true technique, I take her hand, open it and with my finger write the following numbers on it: 100. She counters with 300 written on my palm and we finally compromised at R$200 for the whole night. Communicating this way is so fucking easy! Once again, I use phone booth excuse and tell her that I will meet her outside in a few minutes. Five minutes later she shows up, we get in a taxi and go to my hotel. Now I have a standing rule that I have never broken and that is never to screw anyone younger than my youngest daughter who's 20 year old.

When we get to my hotel, she takes out her identity card to sign in and that's when I notice that she's born in June 1985 and is a year younger than my daughter. Well, as the saying goes, rules are meant to be broken and, since I agreed to spend all night with her, I took her up to my room. Shortly after getting there, she goes in the bathroom to get comfortable. She comes out in her panties and I notice that something's different about her but can't quite put my finger on it. Then I notice that instead of the beautiful green eyes looking back at me, they have changed to a deep dark brown. She then informs me that she wears contacts and I figure that I really didn't pick her up for her eyes after all. She goes down on me and starts to give me a great BBBJ, I place my hand on her head and suddenly her hair starts to move around in ways it shouldn't. She stops gets up and goes in the bathroom and, when she emerges with her hair is a lot shorter, in kind of a Halle Berry look. She was wearing a damn wig and then I started to wonder what direction her next metamorphosis would take. Her teeth couldn't be false, whoever heard of putting braces on false teeth? I haven’t! Then a sickening thought flashed through my tiny reptilian brain, what if I went down on her and found dick between her legs because she was a pre-op? Oh shit, Sandman put these nasty thoughts of post and pre-ops in my mind! The thought of having a dick in my mouth momentarily made me nauseous; little did I know I was precognizant -- exactly that would happen to me within the next week. If that doesn't keep you guys reading this report, nothing will!!

Okay, to get to the sex, no, she didn’t have a dick; she's all right, nothing spectacular and a little on the loose side, if you know what I mean. I thought girls that young were supposed to be tight but she was like trying to screw the Grand Canyon. I couldn’t remember her name so the next morning I tell her to please spell out her name for me (pretty sly way to ask for it, huh?) she tells me that the name she gave me last night (Melissa) wasn’t her real name, her real name was **********. Holy shit, that’s my youngest daughter’s name! Oh please, put me out of my misery! After this fiasco, I decided to call Buzios as soon as I got rid of her and ask Fawn to hop on a bus because I was terribly anxious to see her. Hopefully, she would buy that one!

Photo: Melissa 36

I call Fawn and tell her I'm in Copacabana. She immediately asks when I arrived, I once again use the dead cell phone as an excuse and now, it is really dead just in case she checks (any of you guys have a better excuse, please let me know) and she tells me she’ll take a bus down and meet me at Meia Pataca around 3 p.m. maybe just a little later. After the room is cleaned by housekeeping, I go over it with a fine tooth comb looking for any forensic evidence left behind by the other two girls because I know as soon as Fawn gets in the room, she'll conduct her own CSI:Rio examination. 3 p.m. comes and goes with no Fawn in sight but, after all this is Brazil and things don't run on time so I start pounding back to beers with two friends from Boston. After about six beers Fawn appears, sits down and quickly pounds down four of those tequila and lime drinks that are so popular in Brazil. Her first question for me is, how many girls have I been with in Copa? Clearly she doesn’t trust me so I respond, “No, no, James, solo sempre, honesto!” She glares at me then a smile forms on her face and she says, “I know, four girlfriends call me and say you leave Help solo each night.” Shit, they were watching me! Ha, ha, ha, my plan worked like a charm. She kisses me all over my face and inwardly I smile, my foolproof master plan actually worked with no major catastrophe other than the banditos. By six o’clock, she's got a good buzz on, leans close to me and says, "I so horny." An interesting twist on the words of that familiar saying, "me so horny," from “Full Metal Jacket” but, who was I to correct her English? Then she says she wants to suck my "duck," what fucking duck is she talking about, then I realize she means my dick. Oh well, at least I know I'm in for a good time. We go back to the room, she inspects it thoroughly then we fuck our brains out for the next two hours, I get to come twice and she comes five times. For a fleeting moment, I think that maybe I should buy her a dildo or a pocket rocket to help satisfy her but then I remember what happened with Roots and immediately dismiss the idea. I was just going to have to satisfy her the old fashioned way for as long my body could hold out and endure the punishment/pleasure. We went out for dinner and ate ravenously then I suggested that at 11:58 p.m. we go over to Help to re-create our first meeting in October -- I'm such a fucking romantic!

Fawn loves to dance and when we enter Help there's no one on the dance floor so she goes out all by herself and dances all over the place. As the place starts to fill up, I decide to join her on the dance floor and for the next hour and a half she has me dancing continuously. Fawn slowly approaches me, turns her back to me and starts to grind her ass into my crotch and suddenly one of the strangest things happens to me. The security guard comes over, taps me on the shoulder and waves his finger back and forth just like Babu, essentially letting me know that this behavior is frowned upon in Help. Now I'm not one to complain but I've seen guys getting blow jobs in the booths, hand jobs and finger fucking at the bar and they're telling me we can't bump and grind a little on the dance floor. Apparently they have a morals code but, for the life of me, I can't figure it out! Finally, I start to get tired and figure I had better save a little stamina for later on in the evening because, after all I do want to get laid again. I get bottled water and one of those lime drinks for her, stand at the edge of the dance floor and watch her put on a magnificent show. Unfortunately, I didn't pay attention where I was standing -- right in front of the massive sound system speakers; you’ve seen them, the ones that are seven feet high and three feet wide. Within minutes I couldn't hear a fucking thing, but what the hell, hearing was the most useless of my five senses in Brazil because I couldn't understand the language anyway. My hearing wasn't completely gone; I just wasn't listening very well. I always try to put a positive spin on everything, just so I can make it through each day. You have to do that when you’re dragging around a brain like mine; believe me its sheer torture.

At around 3 a.m., I'm getting a little tired, decide to use the same phone booth routine on Fawn and tell her I'll meet her outside a few minutes. After I’m outside I think, wait a second, I don't need to do this to her, I only did it so her girlfriends wouldn't see me leaving with other girls, not her. Told you I was stupid! As I'm waiting for her I see Tigger and his merry band of banditos cruising the streets looking for another victim, he sees me, acknowledges my presence then shouts something at me which I couldn't quite hear because of those fucking speakers in Help. Because of my promise to always carry a lit cigar, I light a fresh cigar with my Brazilian blowtorch butane lighter and suddenly it goes into afterburner mode, shooting a flame out about 6 inches and burning my upper lip -- God that hurts. 20 minutes later Fawn emerges from Help, she's a typical Brazilian in that the concept of time is totally lost on her, we grab a taxi and as we leave Tigger runs alongside the cab shaking his fist -- no doubt wishing me good luck with Fawn. I take a long drag on the cigar, smile at Tigger, turn and kiss Fawn deeply and recoil in pain. She wonders why I pull away so quickly and, in my best Portuguese I try to let her know that I burned my lip and show it to her. She quickly backs away with frightened look on her face and in her broken English tells me that she thinks I have a raging herpes infection on my lip. Shit, this can't be happening to me so I wait till we get to the hotel and when we are in the elevator, I look at the mirrored wall and sure enough it looks bad, real bad. I explained what happened with the crappy blowtorch lighter and tried to duplicate its malfunction but, of course, the little bastard performed perfectly, too fucking perfectly. Luckily on about the 50th try it went into afterburner mode, she then hugged me, kissed me and put some aloe lotion on my lip when we got to the suite.

Fucked up phones in Brazil

I’m completely baffled by the cell phones, phone numbers and pay phones in Brazil. Once I rented a cell phone from Sandman and he took it away from me two days later because I still couldn’t make phone calls with it even though he showed me how to use it three times. Sometimes he just doesn’t have much patience. Those of you who have been to Brazil know about the city codes but what I didn’t know is that if you go to a different city , you get another city code but your eight digit number stays the same. For example, when Fawn is in Buzios I have to dial 022 and when she’s in Rio it’s 021. This is exactly the same as if you left your home area code of Washington, D.C. which is 202 and, say go to NYC which is 212: now the only way I can call you is to dial 212 and your original seven digit number. Sounds easy but, it means that I have to know where you are to call you because if I guess wrong, the call won’t go through. Maybe it doesn’t confuse you but it really fucks me up unmercifully. Pay phones are another pain in the ass. Simply put, you need a prepaid phone card to use them and only certain branded cards will work in certain pay phones. As you can imagine, my phone card never works in any of the phone booths I choose. It must be a fucking Brazilian conspiracy against me. Are you with me or against me? Fine, I’m used to going it alone anyway!

Telephone credit cards are practically non existent in Brazil because from what I understand the general population doesn’t have a very good track record at paying their bills. Essentially, Brazil is a cash society but they are used to seeing tourist using credit cards and they understand how they work. Debit card are prevalent but as we all know, you can only takeout what’s in your account, nothing more. However, they don’t know that this same credit card concept works with telephones if you have, for example, an ATT phone credit card. One day Fawn and I are walking along and I remember that I have to call a friend in the states to let him know that I was still alive. I don’t know why they worry about me; I’m perfectly safe in Copacabana. As I approach an elephant eared phone booth Fawn asks me what I plan on doing. “Make a phone call, why? I ask. “Do you have a phone card?” she asks. I tell her I don’t need one. She puts her hands on her luscious hips and looks at me like I’m stupid or something. Apparently, she’s getting to know me quite well!

Again I tell her that I don’t need one and proceed to dial the in-country access code, my friend’s number and, finally, my credit card number with the PIN, which all together totals 35 fucking digits. My hand’s tired but the call goes through and soon I’m talking to my good buddy. Fawn’s watching me closely then tells me that she thinks I’m faking it, there’s no one on the phone or at least, so she believes. This is getting real bad because now she doesn’t trust me and I haven’t even left her sight. Oh, what little faith she had in me. “Here Honey why don’t you speak to him,” and I hand the phone to her. Suddenly it looks like she’s having an orgasm because her eyes open widely and her jaw drops. Ha, ha, ha, this is so much fucking fun!! After a few moments she gently hands the phone back to me and her hands are trembling. Good, I’m glad I fucked you up for a change, I thought. Don’t you just adore love hate relationships, I do! I hang up the phone and she practically attacks me desperately wanting to know how I could possible make such a call without a phone card? Let’s toy with her some more, I mischievously think. How can I really screw with her mind? Let me think. Ah come on, think faster brain before the moment gets away. After a long pregnant pause I say, “MI6.” A perplexed look comes across her face so I say something that everyone in South America knows well, “CIA.” Her face looks like she’s experiencing a massive orgasm because her eyes open wider than I have ever seen then I think, wish I could make her eyes do that with my dick. Shit, guess I’ll just keep on lying to her. Questions, questions and more questions but all I would say is, “I can’t talk about it.” Ha, ha, ha you bitch.

Buzios

Four days later Fawn convinces me to go with her to Buzios for the week I have left in Brazil. I want to take a cab but she insists we take a bus and I suddenly have visions of one of those overcrowded buses in India with people hanging all over it, taking me up to Buzios. I check out of the Princess Copacabana, wait around for Fawn to have her hair combed out in the salon down the street from the hotel; I can’t believe she needs to get her hair done for a bus ride, we’re not going to a cocktail party. We rush get a taxi to the bus terminal way over on the other side of town to catch a three o'clock bus. When we get there at 2:55 p.m. there’s a freaking line of about 20 people waiting to buy tickets to the same destination. Of course we missed the bus, I'm pissed and it doesn't phase Fawn one bit. Love that Brazilian temperament! I pick up my book and start to read and after a few minutes Fawn suggests we go to the restaurant in the terminal, have a few drinks and maybe some lunch. We go in, I quickly pound down two beers and she has several of those lime drinks then suggests we order a steak. I leave the ordering in her hands because the waiter doesn't speak any English and by now you have a good understanding of my language skills. Within 10 minutes they bring out a magnificent cut of fillet, one of the biggest, roundest cuts I have ever seen, at least an inch and a half thick and cooked to a perfect medium rare, just like we ordered. It's absolutely delicious and luckily for me Fawn's mesmerized by the novella on TV, so I get to eat most of it just quietly sitting there with my knife and fork, plowing right through the big sucker. We have a few more drinks then about 4:45 p.m. we walk down to get our bus which, to my complete surprise, is a modern motor coach with reclining seats and all the amenities of an airplane except there's no bathroom. I quickly take a leak in the men's room, climb on the bus, recline my seat, put my earphones on and grab my CD player to listen to tunes, wait a second -- it's been stolen, angrily I take off my headphones, get out my book and start to read. Fucking Gecko!! It's rush hour and the traffic is horrendous but we creep out of the city, crossed the bridge over the inlet and slowly proceed to Buzios.

"DICTATE"

After about a half-hour into the three-hour trip, Fawn burps and says, "That steak taste good." I agreed, and then she says, "That is the best part of the bull." Since she only started learning English last September, I gently corrected her and said, "No honey, you mean the best part of the cow." She deeply furrows her brow and says, "No, you can only get that part from the bull." "What part, not cojones?" I asked, hoping that wouldn't be her answer. "No, no, no," she said. I thank my lucky stars and then she said, "it's the pen something or other, I couldn't hear what she said because the truck in the lane next to us was accelerating and its muffler was severely malfunctioning making a tremendous racket. "Repeat that dear." Again she said "pen-ease." Obviously, my hearing was still terribly affected by the recent speaker episode in Help so I asked her to repeat it again, "pen-ease." She then pointed to my crotch and I finally comprehended what she was saying. Oh God no, I felt like a rape victim, I was horribly violated, I wanted to take a shower because I felt dirty, I wanted to cry and finally, I wanted to barf. My body readily accommodated me with my last request and I promptly started to gag as bile rapidly worked its way up the back of my throat. I reached into the pocket behind the seat ahead of me to grab a barf bag only to find that they don't have any on the bus. No fucking bathroom either! I’m making strange sounds; just like the ones my dog makes when he’s hacking his guts out to get rid of the pill I just stuck halfway down his throat. It’s a loud disgusting stomach turning noise. All the other passengers turn around to see what all the commotion is about and Fawn explains to them that apparently bull's penis is not eaten in the United States and that I just ate one in the bus terminal. They all politely laugh and I feel like the biggest idiot on the bus, which of course I am. Fortunately, I got my gag reflex under control for a few seconds and I thought, "You just had some animals dick in your mouth and you swallowed!" Wretch, wretch, and more wretches -- was this agony ever going to end? Fawn looked at me and said, "Dictate good, no?" Her English was atrocious but her heart was in the right place, I started to laugh and the bile slowly subsided. Technically, I think I performed a BBBJTC, what do you guys think?

Pouseta--Pousada

It’s around 8:00 p.m. as our bus starts to pull onto the peninsular where Buzios is located and it’s obvious that we’re getting closer to our destination because there are a lot of billboards with Buzios on them. You probably already have a keen sense of my linguistic skills but, I must highlight this unique conversation for you so that you can fully comprehend my complete capabilities. First, I must give you some background. Last October when I met Fawn as we were lying in bed after we had just fucked our brains out, I asked her how do you say pussy in Portuguese? Since she wouldn’t know what I was talking about—now, how do I communicate this—then I pointed between her legs and she got the idea. “Pouseta,” she replied. She also gave me several other words for it but, I latched on to pouseta because it sounded so delicious. She asked me what it’s called in English, “pussy,” I said in the sexiest way I could. That’s great; I can certainly remember that because it sounds so much like pussy. It’s a fucking no-brainer, or so I thought. Now flash ahead to the end of March and you might realize that the passage of time has fogged my memory somewhat, couple that with my retarded language skills and you have a sure fired recipe for disaster. Suddenly a billboard catches my eye; I’m sure it said pussy on it somewhere. It whizzes by before I can get a good look, shit I’m pissed off. There goes another one, I’m absolutely sure of it and I grab Fawn’s arm and tell her to look out the window. By the time she finally does, the billboard is long gone. She looks at me like I’m nuts and that’s when I’m sure I hear her mumble “Loco” under her breath. I’ll show her and she’ll be proud that I remembered a word she taught me. She’ll be eating her words in no time. The bus stops as traffic comes to a complete halt, that’s when I see it, a billboard with pussy on it, it says Terrasse Pousada in big bold letters right outside our window. Terrasse’s Pussy, I was positive it said in 3 foot high brilliant blue letters. I bet she’s quite a piece of ass. Man, they sure do advertise great things up here; Buzios must make Copacabana look tame in comparison, now I can’t wait to get there. I anxiously point out the window and smile at her. She looks out, turns to me and shrugs her shoulders. What the fuck is going on? Did she miss the sign, it’s not more than 40 feet from her and it’s lit up like a night game at Camden Field. What is she blind or just plain stupid? Again I point out the window and get exactly the same response in return. Am I nuts or what? One more try, with the same exact response. What can I do? Brain, go into 5th gear and help me out and guess what, it didn’t let me down like it often does. Again, I point at the sign then put my hand on her crotch and read the word from the billboard. “Pousada,” I said. She had to follow this. God, I was looking like Steven Hawkings compared to her. Then my world collapsed when she turned to me and said, “This is pouseta for pussy. The sign is an advertisement for a local hostel; pousada means youth hostel.” God damn it, I feel like I’m the fucking Titanic and she, I mean the fucking bitch next to me, is the God damn killer iceberg. After all, she’s the one who let me eat a bull’s dick. Oh shit brain, why did you have to bring that episode up again! I’m going to barf, I just know it. I’ve got to give up on Portuguese, it’s killing me inch by fucking precious inch. By the way, what language do they speak in England? I think I’ll start going there for vacation from now on. Then after a long period of tense silence, I’m positive I hear her mutter “loco “again. I think she’s just fucking with me, isn’t she? In conclusion, if you want to meet loose women, I suggest you avoid Buzios. Let’s just say that you would have more success hunting for pussy at Disney World on Mothers Day than you would in Buzios.

Fleeing Buzios

I spent two glorious days in Buzios and after an ugly episode with biting ants, swarming mosquitoes and hungry dogs that I don’t really want to get into, I had to get out of there so I turned the tables on Fawn and took a taxi back to Rio. How did I do this you might ask? First of all, Fawn lives in what could best be called "favella chic," and to make matters worse she insisted that I stay with her rather than in a local hotel. The air-conditioning didn't work, there were ants all over her apartment and her mother was in the apartment next door, with a very thin wall separating us. Fawn had this wonderful habit of screaming, loves spanking and talking dirty as she gets fucked and after the first night in her apartment, her mom started giving me strange, very strange looks. I had to get out of there as fast as possible and it only took my little reptilian brain two full days to come up with the solution. All I had to do was to get her drunk then tell her I loved her and when she responded, "No you don't," as she usually does, act hurt and emotionally wounded. It worked like a charm. Again I told her I loved her, same response. This is so fucking easy!! Then I told her that she was essentially calling me a liar (which I was) and that made me extremely uncomfortable. Simply put, I turned the tables on her and did exactly to her what women have done to me for years -- try to make me feel guilty and like shit. I'll be damned, it worked! She started crying and telling me how stupid she was for not believing me but, I told her my mind was made up and I had to go back to Rio because her comments severely upset me (shit, it just rolled off my back). She called a taxi, it picked us up; she insisted on accompanying me on the ride and I was expecting a scene when we got to Rio but luckily she was still in a drunken stupor and didn't have the energy. Kisses, hugs, “Bye-bye honey, I’ll call soon.” I think not!!!

When I walked in the front door of the Princess Copacabana at 1:45 a.m., Carlos looks at me like I’m a fucking yo-yo because I left a few days ago and now quite unexpectedly, I’m back with a reservation. Once again he gives me that familiar Lurch salute and shrugged his shoulders. No, I’m solo and not with the giraffe but not for long, my tiny little brain thought. It was now 2:00 a.m. and I decided to celebrate my new found freedom by going to Help, find some horny honey and fuck my brains out. I knew you would approve of my simple plan. Luckily, I ran into a stunning girl who had lips like Angelina Jolie, come to think of it, tits, just like her too; her nickname was a no-brainer—Angelina. I decided not to haggle about price so I asked her how much for the night? Angelina held up her right hand with all of her fingers and thumb extended and said, "R$ 300." I was a little perplexed because she had five digits up yet only quoted R$300 so I grabbed her hand counted out three fingers and asked her if that's what she meant. There was no fucking way that I was going to fall for the “fingers in the air” scam again. That’s why I grabbed her hand, pretty fucking smart, huh. She said "yes." We went outside together, Tigger waved to me, what a Prince he is, and we climbed into a taxi and off to the Princess Copacabana. She was absolutely fantastic, tight as a virgin with the experience of a madam, what a tremendous combination. We spent two glorious days together then I had to go solo because, between her and Fawn, my pubic bone was severely bruised, so much so that just touching it caused me agonizing pain. Well, if you're going to get a bone bruise I sure did it in the best possible way.

Photos: Angelina 37 38 39

I only have four full days left in Rio and I'm getting a little worried because Tigger and some of his associates have been following me around for several days and I'm sure there up to no good. Tigger and I have something in common; he apparently gives people nicknames like I do because he's obviously named me. How do I know this, well, one day about a week ago I was coming out of the supermarket and there was Tigger across Copacabana Avenue waving his hands and calling me "Morty, Morty, Morty." From then on every time he saw me he shouted my nickname, "Morty." Later that day I went over to Sandman's apartment and during our conversation I told about my incident with the banditos and then described how Tigger followed me around and shouted my name out. He asked, "How does he know your name?" "No, you misunderstand me; he has a nickname for me." "What's the nickname?" Sandman asked. "Morty," I tell him. Once again he gets that is exasperated, pissed off look on his face, leans in closely and asks me, "by any chance could he be saying morte?" “Yeah, that's it,” I replied. Then he gives me the bad news, morte means dead or death in Portuguese. Now I'm really pissed at Gecko because if he hadn't stolen my CD player with the Pimsleur MP3 in it, I would probably be on lesson 30 right now and know what the fuck Tigger was yelling in Portuguese.

Rock Demonstration

Today's Good Friday so I walk up to the Marriott to get my New York Times Digest, which they give out free to guests; I feel that since I dropped so much money there with Roots, I'm entitled to a free lifetime subscription regardless of where I stay. On my way back, I notice four young kids and two large teenagers following me somewhat closely behind and I figure they're up to no good. One thing I neglected to tell you about, I always carry around one of those heavy granite sidewalk rocks in my pocket for protection; it's something I've done since my first visit there. Pick one up sometime, you’ll find that they are quite heavy and have lots of sharp edges on them. Suddenly the six banditos start rapidly approaching me, I quickly turn around, point at them and tell them to stop, which miraculously they do. I reach in my pocket and slowly pull out the stone and hold it up, they all laugh in unison, why not, they're six of them and only one rock. With that I point down the sidewalk, pull my arm back and let the rock fly. It just creases the leaves of one of the shade trees along the sidewalk and neatly clips one of those nut-like things that hang from the branches and it falls to the ground. I turn around and look at the six of them, their mouths wide open, clearly astounded at the accuracy of my throw. I walk down the sidewalk, retrieve my stone then menacingly walk towards them and when I'm about 20 feet away, I hold the stone up high and yell, "vamos!" They take off like scared rabbits. What they didn't know and, what I wasn't about to tell them, was that I was actually aiming for a large street sign about 12 feet to left of what I hit. I felt invincible and, oh, how terribly wrong I was. It was fun fucking with their corrupt little criminal minds.

Saturday's a beautiful day so once again I trek down the beach and look for Jorge and his thriving chair rental agency. He's nowhere in sight, I look up and down the beach but can't find him anywhere then, slowly but surely Gecko shuffles toward me. He approaches as slowly as a Gila monster stalking its prey. I wonder what his story is today and will a bastard cough up my CD player? I'm so fucking naïve, aren't I? Well his story is quite simple, Jorge's not to be at the beach today because he has a family commitment and he has turned over all his business that day to guess who -- of course, Gecko! All right, I'm done with all the drama so I tell him to grab a chair and follow me down toward the fattest people on the beach. As we get to the perfect spot, I turn and look Gecko straight in the eye and ask him, "You're not lying to me about Jorge are you?" He looks back at me straight in the eye and says, "Yes!" Now what do I do? He's lying to me and he’s telling me that he’s lying but, where the fuck is Jorge and what do I do now? This was as confusing to me as dealing with a double negative or converting money so I just nodded, at what I didn’t know, he nodded back. Thank God that exchange was over! For a fleeting moment I'm tempted to ask him about the CD player but I don't want to push my luck. Then a grim thought crosses my mind, what if he didn't take it but Tigger did -- oh shit, he could have slit my throat as I lay there; that would have really fucked up my Portuguese linguistic effort. Now what do I do to protect myself? Then it comes to me like a bolt of lightning, just keep a sharp eye out for those vendors who have bugged me every day since I arrived in Copacabana, you know, the two guys trying to sell me a machete; suddenly I feel an desperate urge to buy one. I scan the beach several times and don't see them; I turn to Gecko and tell him the drop the chair next to the five Germans, leave me alone but keep a sharp eye on me. He nods. Oh, Gecko, “tell me if you see the machete guys, I want to talk with them!” I’m so fucking smart!!

Honey Bee

Within minutes of plopping down next to the pink, plump Germans, my friend comes over to join me. God he’s fucking everything up! I call him Honey Bee because he’s trying to pollinate the entire female population of Copacabana. He flits from girl to girl and it’s a delight to watch him in action. How does he fuck up everything, you might ask? He’s black, very good-looking with a shaved head just like Kojak but, that not why? No, the bastard's built like Terrell Owens and now he makes me look obese in comparison. So much for my clever camouflage scheme! Then I remember he’s a cop, yeah, I had better keep him close because Tigger’s out there somewhere and I haven't found the machete guys yet. We have a great day on the beach and when we’re ready to leave Gecko presents me with the bill—another episode of sticker shock. I pay him half of what he’s asking, he gives me a great big smile back--- shit, I should have only paid him a quarter of what he wanted. I’m a slow learner. We wander over to Meia Pataca, power drink for awhile then Honey Bee suggests we try something different tonight and go to an upscale Disco in Ipanema to find girls. I’m half in the bag and it makes perfect sense to me. We decide to grab dinner there because we’re lazy and half drunk. I’m still eating only chicken after the bus terminal incident, he orders a fillet and I almost barf when it arrives. Somehow I manage to get through dinner. We get cleaned up, meet in the hotel lobby, grab a taxi and off to this disco in Ipanema, unfortunately its name escapes us and that leads to a torturous cab ride. Eventually we find it and there’s a huge crowd outside, separated into three distinct queues Which one do we get into? I don’t have a clue so I walk up to a bouncer at the head of one line and ask him to suggest which line would be best for us Americanos. Honey Bee is standing right behind me when the bouncer says, “You want to get in, just stand here.” He points to a spot right next to him and within a minute we’re walking up to the front desk where we have to fill out some form before we can get in. Honey Bee leans forward and says, “White boy, you always stay in front.” I walk back outside and appropriately reward the bouncer and thank him profusely because everyone else in line looks like they want to kill me for cutting ahead. Yup, I’m making more friends here too! When we get inside it’s obvious that there are no working girls here. Simply put, they are all lily white, 22 to 30 year olds spending Daddy’s money with reckless abandon. Fuck, while I was down here with these rich kids, my kids are back in the States doing exactly same thing to me at this very moment. Is there no Justice? Suddenly, I felt about as out of place as the time I wore a pair of brown shoes with my tuxedo at a Black Tie Dinner. Unfortunately, that smooth move escaped nobody’s attention. Well at least I had some consolation, Honey Bee was even more out of place; he was the only black in there.

Within minutes, I’m again cursing Gecko and or Tigger for stealing my CD player because, we soon come to the drunken realization that these rich, beautiful Brazilian girls don’t speak a word of English and, neither of us knows much Portuguese. I speak it like I’m mentally challenged, basically putting an “O” at the end of English words and Honey Bee, well, let’s just say, he belongs in the same Special Ed class as me. I can’t use my Braille method because these girls aren’t on the Program. They don’t give a shit about learning English because they don’t need to mingle with tourists to get money; they already have tons of Daddy’s money. So now what do we do? Accidentally, I come upon a solution which I figure will solve our problem. Once again disastrous results ensue! There’s a second floor to this Disco and, when we try to go upstairs, we are told that it’s the VIP section and it doesn’t open up till 2:00a.m. The bouncer indicates that we need a special bracelet to get in. No problem, it’s now 1:00 a.m. so I get the friendly bouncer outside to render assistance. Two bracelets for R$50—Brazilian Capitalism at its best!! Problem solved! Not quite. With VIP bracelets on our right wrists, girls zero in on them as we continue to pound back Heinekens with our right hands so that the girls can clearly see them as we hoist the bottles to our lips. Suddenly we’re treated like rock stars. Girls swarm around us but that only complicates matters because they’re jabbering away in Portuguese and we still don’t have a fucking clue what they’re saying.

An American couple approaches us because they hear us slurring English, tell us they just arrived in Rio, never been there before and that they’ve been dating each other for two years. Is it possible, this couple makes me look intelligent! Why would anyone in his right mind take his girlfriend to Rio? The four of us talk for awhile then we go our merry way to cruise the bar area then Honey Bee whispers to me, “I want to get laid, let’s go to Help.” I figure to cut my losses, pay our tab and go to Help. Fuck going upstairs, they probably only speak Portuguese up there anyway. As we approach the cashier we walk by the American couple and the girls asks me,” Where are you going? I keep walking and let Honey Bee handle her; after all he’s a cop and has lots of experience in dealing with delicate situations. As we’re leaving, Honey Bee starts giving me some crap about leaving him to do the explaining to the wide-eyed, fresh faced American couple so I asked him what he told them. He said, “First, I thought about telling them we were going to Help then thought better of it; told them Melt was our destination but, why the fuck didn’t you help me out? That’s when I repeated his remark, “White boy, always stay in front,” which, much to his dismay, was exactly what I was doing.

I Took a Rock to a Knife Fight

It's Easter Sunday, another beautiful day, another trek to the beach, another fight with Gecko -- this is getting to be my daily routine but today will be my last full day in Copacabana. I roast in the sun for four hours, meet Angelina for a late lunch then take her back to my hotel for one last fling before she has to go to her parent’s house for Easter dinner. After a refreshing nap, I shower, put on some jeans and a white button-down shirt, and then proceed to Terraco for my first beef dinner in days. For some strange reason I couldn't face the prospect of eating any part of a cow, consequently, I ate only chicken for six days in a row. I think I am experiencing denial. I eat alone because I'm getting severely depressed at the prospect of leaving tomorrow and, the thought of keeping up a conversation with anybody at this point only adds to my depression. I finish dinner around 8:30 p.m., light up one of my big ass cigars and walk back to my hotel via the side street between Terraco and Bob's Hamburgers. As I'm approaching Copacabana Avenue I see Tigger up ahead, what the fuck is he doing up there? At least I'm glad I see him and can follow his movements then I quickly check behind me to make sure I'm not being followed by any of his close associates. Nope, I don’t see anyone behind me.

As I get up to Copacabana Avenue and turn right towards my hotel, I see Tigger slowly walking up the block ahead of me, then I lose him as he passes one of those bus stop structures along the side of the road. As I approach the bus stop structure, I notice two teenaged boys sitting on a ledge in front of a building to my right both holding what looked like clear plastic eating utensils and I figure that makes sense, they probably went somewhere and had a big Easter dinner and brought it with them . All of a sudden out in front of me jumps Tigger from behind the bus stop and he has an 8 inch knife in his right hand. It’s got a huge wide blade on it kind of like a chef’s knife and he’s hoping to do some damage with it. Since I fucked up his business and publicly embarrassed him in his own neighborhood, he wasn't out to rob me but to kill me. Many thanks to those of you out there who made a point to scare the shit out of me by highlighting this fact. To make matters worse, the two kids climb off the ledge and suddenly brandish knives -- oh fuck, my vacations going down the toilet rapidly! I put the cigar in my left hand, start waving it around and hollering to distract them, quickly reach into my pocket and pull out my trusty rock. Tigger is in heaven because he has the advantage of three to one, the Americano is acting nutty again by making stupid loud noises. Slowly he approaches me, slashing with his knife. His eyes glow with a well deserved confidence. His two associate banditos see the rock in my hand (I recognize them as the two teenagers who attended my impromptu rock demonstration on Good Friday), suddenly a frightful look comes over their faces, they turn and run past Tigger who’s terribly perplexed by this sudden unfortunate turn of events. In a heartbeat Tigger's shocked eyes go from extreme satisfaction to ultimate terror; I continue to holler and shout then bear in on him with my lit cigar and my rock. In a millisecond he decides to turn tail and run and I start running after them, taking careful aim with my rock I launch it and it strikes one of the teenagers in the back just below the neck, he screams but continues to run. Fuck, I was aiming at Tigger! My only remaining cigar falls out of my pocket, I briefly see a pedestrian extend a leg and trip Tigger, I bend down to pick up my cigar, look up and he’s gone.

Interestingly, the knife fight lifts my spirits and suddenly I'm no longer depressed. I don't recommend that anyone else try this as a therapeutic antidepressant technique but, for some reason it worked reasonably well for me. Went back to the room, called Angelina and before you know it, I'm in heavenly bliss. All of a sudden a strange thought goes through my little mind as I’m fucking Miss Bubble Lips, what if I’m really dead like Patrick Swazye in “Ghost?” If I’m really dead then where the fuck is Harry? Come to think of it, who’s to say we’ll both wind up in the same place? No, it’s not too hot here. Whew!! If I’m dead so what because the very first thing I get to do here is fuck some hot babe—this must be heaven, well perhaps it’s hell depending on what comes next. Regrettably, I’m brought back to reality because as I’m fucking Miss Croft doggie style she grabs the bedspread and in a fit of orgasmic pleasure puts it in her mouth to stifle a scream. I don’t need to tell you guys that a bedspread in Rio probably has the equivalent of the entire bacterial culture stock of the CDC on it. All in about 3 square meters. Will I ever kiss her again? Yeah, after she takes her Cipro. Needless to say, I have a great time with her but for the very first time I welcome the prospect of getting on a Continental jet. Now, if I can only remember to remove the memory card for my camera before I get to the airport, I don’t want to go through that again. Oh yeah, I can't forget to look for the guy who selling those zipper bags, I need to add at least one more to my growing collection. One last question plagues me, how do I get that machete on the fucking plane tomorrow? Sleep overtakes my body, shit my mind’s almost always asleep.

Sam Yuri

My plane leaves at 7:55 p.m. tonight but, despite the fact that I ‘m leaving, the day starts out great. Lara Croft fucks me till I’m close to death then tells me she has to go home but will be back around 4:00 p. m. to kiss me good-bye. Start your Cipro dear; remember you were swallowing that bedspread last night. What a sweetheart! The hotel lets me have a late check out so it’s off to the beach with Honey Bee till 3:00 p. m. I’m keeping him close because I’m sure Tigger is out there somewhere waiting for me and he’s a cop. Shit, he’ll take a bullet for me, won’t he? Just in case he doesn’t I’m prepared; I now have two rocks with me. Gecko beckons us when we arrive at the beach and I wonder why do, all of a sudden, I feel like a fly approaching a spider web. I quickly shake off this feeling because Gecko can only hurt me financially not physically. He really has my best interests at heart; after all, he did hook me up with the machete guys. Damn it, I left the fucking thing in the room. Well, so much for that stellar personal security plan. Okay, Honey Bee and I set up our base camp and start watching all the sights as they stroll by. There’s a guy sitting about twenty feet away, I’ve seen him before at Terraco, he wears a beautiful black leather cowboy hat carved with all sorts of dragons, smokes a Sherlock Holmes pipe and seems well connected with the women in the area. We start talking and he tells me he’s in show business, actually he’s a professional knife thrower. What a coincidence, just what I need after last night. I quickly tell him about how I’m like Robin Hood with a rock and ask him his advice. He’s a wise man, not unlike that blind monk in the old TV series Kung Fu, he reserves judgment till he can accurately asses my mental capabilities and physical stamina. I’m confident because he is wise beyond his years! Within minutes I’m dreaming of nailing house flies at 100 yards. My knife blade cleaving there bodies in half. Here’s where my brain starts to run wild and, since it’s connected to my mouth, I start blabbering and after awhile Sammy looks at me closely then speaks. I lean in and listen to each word very carefully. “Stick with the rock,” he says. What the fuck does he know?

Sammy is real smart and sees that I'm hurt by his last comment so he uses that old parental trick that moms and dads often use on their children and that is to end a dressing down by saying something nice to take the sting out of the rebuke. That reminds me of the time that I took my dad's new car out just to run it around town and clean out the carburetor. I read somewhere that the car engine needed that occasionally. I was 16 years old and had my license for two months. It was a windy day and as I was cleaning out the carburetor by going about 70 miles an hour down an old country road, I suddenly came upon a large brown grocery bag in the middle-of-the-road. What an inviting target I thought so I bore down on it. When I hit it all hell broke loose because apparently someone left a cinder block in the bag and it tore out the engine and transmission out of the car. Fucking teenagers! Needless to say, my Dad was not very happy with my carburetor cleaning efforts and he read me the riot act. God damn it, I'm going to be paying this off till I'm 30 years old. Oh shit! "It was a windy day, didn't you stop to think that the bag wasn't blowing across the street," he said. "Dad, I'm only 16, what do I know?" I replied. Parents just hate it when you feed their own lines back to them but I was in a bad spot and didn't know what else to do. He went ballistic with that comment. Well, he went on for about another half hour and then when he saw that I was beaten down, he decided to say something nice in an effort to make me feel a little better. What he said I'll always remember and that was, "Your pimples are starting to clear up a little."

I think that was the day my brain went into permanent hibernation, randomly, waking up only an hour each day. By that I mean that I never know what hour of the day it will wake up. Actually, those days it awakes up when my body's asleep are the most enjoyable because I don't have to contend with the problems that it presents me with. With that said let's get back to Sammy's comment. He looked at me and said, "Aren't you the one they call James Bond?" "Yup, that's me," I replied. Then he told me that I looked a little like Roger Moore from the eyebrows up. What the fuck did that mean? He then told me that he was a stunt man in the James Bond movie, Octopussy and he performed in the knife throwing scene. He said he got to spend a lot of time with Roger Moore, apparently, he's a real upstanding guy and I should be pleased that I look like him. That really made me feel great but I wish he would teach me how to throw a fucking knife at Tigger; that would certainly be more helpful. Oh, what the fuck, I'm leaving in a couple of hours and my life will go back to its usual shitty self. Thanks for all the help Sammy!

For about the next half hour I moped around in my chaise not talking to anyone even Honey Bee. Then something piqued my interest, I saw Sammy take out his cell phone, call a girl over and have her do a dance in front of him while he videotaped it on his phone. What a terrific way to pick up girls. After the girl left I sauntered over to Sammy and asked if I could see his phone. Sure enough he gave it to me and told me to scroll through some of the other pictures. I can only tell you that it was better than watching pictures on Club Hombre. He had stills and a whole shitload of fantastic video. It was then that I noticed that I had recently purchased the exact same phone (I still don’t know how to use it) and I asked him that if I went and got it would he show me how to use it so that I could take pictures like he did. For some reason, he reluctantly agreed. I really think he wanted to just get me away from thinking about throwing knives and having me fiddle with my cell phone was a sure fire way of doing it.

I ran back to the Princess Copacabana, keeping a sharp eye out for Tigger the whole way and within 15 minutes was back on the beach ready to work with my own personal sarcastic Q., you know the gadget guy on James Bond. I sat down next to Q., opened my phone and turned it on only to find a fucking battery was dead as a door nail. God damn fucking Fawn! If she hadn't been so nosy, I never would have turned on the phone to drain the battery. Right now I'd be sitting with Sammy learning how to take pictures of the gorgeous beach eye candy and then use his same technique to pick up some hot girl for some quality time before I left. Oh fuck! Sammy, however, didn't look too disappointed, after all the prospect of dealing with the combination of technology and my brain probably seemed to him like a futile endeavor at best. Again I say, "What the fuck does he know?" Back to that bitch Fawn. You know what the worst thing is about her? She doesn't even have to be in the city to fuck me. I'm done with her! Well, at least till my next trip.

As you can see its very difficult living with what's trapped in my brain; how would you like to possess a screwed up mind like this? No, didn't think you'd like it either. At least you’re honest. I’m sure most of you think with your head, I don’t. For example, when you have to run for an elevator, your mind sub-consciously wills your body to follow instructions to get you there and inside it safely. Are you still with me, because it might get a little confusing very quickly? I think with my body not, as you might have already figured out, with my brain very often. My brain hibernates about 23 hours a day. Multitasking is only a vague concept to me and something I can rarely even spell correctly, I just can’t do it. Eating a steak with a knife and fork is multitasking to me, if you try to talk to me while I’m eating; everything shuts down due to a sensory overload. Let’s go back to the same elevator example; while your brain does all the light work and your body the heavy work, I’m the exact opposite. My body floats like a butterfly (oh fuck, that Ali movie and Will Smith come to my thoughts) and my mind acts like a fucking sea anchor dragging behind me everywhere, slowing me down to a crawl. All right, back to the elevator example. As you go through the door you’re careful not to get your arm caught in the door. Here’s where we’re 180 degrees apart; my body slowly shuffles through the elevator door in an attempt to catch my head between the doors so that when the elevator goes either up or down it will break my neck. Pretty fucking devious, huh! Sounds crazy doesn’t it but, I can assure you every word is true. Sandman will substantiate how devious my body is because he’s seen the scars of my strange injuries. Shit, if any of you should ever have the misfortune to meet me, I’ll show you the scars to prove to you beyond a reasonable doubt that my allegations are true.

Whom Do I Blame for this Mess?

I could place blame everywhere and make my self a victim, for example: I could characterize my alcoholism and gambling addiction as diseases (that's very popular now) in an effort to deflect any of the blame away from me and, hopefully, retain some sense of self-esteem. I could also blame others for my past chronic substance-abuse problems but, I don't. Each and every time I look across the street and see the fast food restaurant that I frequent every day, I don't place the blame of my expanding girth upon them. Well, on second thought maybe I'll join that class action suit against McDonald's. No, I'll tell you precisely how I handle it. This may be an epiphany to many of you so pay close attention. Each and every morning I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, look deeply into my bloodshot baby blue eyes and say, I won't blame anyone for my own problems. It's my fucking genes that made me the way I am -- I just can't help myself. By the way, that’s a scientific fact!! I saw it on the Discover channel.

Now for those of you who read this whole report and got this far; I congratulate you. For those of you who didn't and just skipped to the end; I salute you, you lazy fucks. And for those of you, who don't believe a word of this report, I can only tell you this -- everything is true except where I've taken some literary license such as condensing the trips for continuity sake and, of course, to protect the innocent. Unfortunately I have many witnesses to my stupidity but probably the only one that you know and respect is Sandman; he can corroborate most everything. Without his help, I wouldn't have survived my six trips to Brazil in the last seven months. Naturally, I have changed the identities of everybody else but, I can assure you they are real people and, in reality, I gave each the nickname used in this report. Now I have to tell you about a little problem I have that might cause you all to be somewhat pissed at me; I promised each girl in the report that I would not publish their faces on the Internet -- I said nothing about their bodies. Cropped photos are the best I can do, accept my sincere apologies. I'll do better next time. If I can figure out how to tile out faces, I’ll do that. No promises.

Conclusion--Thank God

Hopefully one or two of you out there enjoyed reading this report; it’s been fun putting it down on paper. The best part of each trip was meeting so many interesting people and during my travels I have run across several other board members. That said I hope you will forgive me for not mentioning you because, quite frankly, I probably forgot your handle right after you said it. I have a few more stories left in me, after all, I’ve spent a total of 56 days there and I can assure I fucked up each and every day. Disasters with the TSA, horrendous pharmacy encounters and a life threatening barber shop visit are just some of my travails.

Let me know what you think but just remember that my mind is terribly fragile so be very, very gentle.

just got back from first trip yesterday. this report just blows me away! i wish i could have written it! it's fabulous! every word so true and colorful and i especially appreciate the faceless girls big time! thanks man. now i'm gonna read it again w/o skipping to get to the chance to say WOW! blown away!

now about that green eyed girl.....could it be D sans braces?

some guy named wallstreet once said medellin has a HUGE scene....if that's so then rio was just a dream and the last 2 weeks never happened. :-)

(Message edited by tamaroy on May 04, 2005)

Great adventures!!! My maiden voyage to Rio is scheduled for August, hope I have as many adventures sans the Tigger and piglet attacks,

Brilliant!!!

Entertaining, funny, informative!!!

Better than the movies!

Oh..when will I make it to Rio?

Thanks for a great report!

Yep, that was a fun read. Now, I'll need to find Lurch. Got her number?

That was an incredibly fun read! BTW, Lurch's real name is (was) Flavio Silva - he was a unix admininstrator for Diveo Broadband in Sao Paulo before being promoted to Director of Networks at Telemar in Rio. With that job came the money he needed for that operation he had wanted most of his life.

Ah, just fuckin' with ya. Sounds like you had a blast - keep in touch and let us know when you're going back down - would love to hook up with you one day.

The beach babe you described(bodybuilder). Is she Kelli, from Sao P.?

Now THAT is a cool report.

I noticed it's pretty long - almost as long as one of Porker's days... but you have more pics.

E

Finally, she told me that Copacabana was extremely dangerous and it’s full of prostitutes. I quickly got off the phone, and immediately reserved a room at the J.W. Marriott in Copacabana.

Probably the best report I have read in the last year. Incredibly colourful and funny.

I feel for you, you joined but you should have read the forum before going. Save money on the hotels and feck for all it's worth!

Well done Jag...James! CYA on your next trip.

Belly laughs at your exploits made me snort Miller Lite through my nose. And that was just the first paragraph. By the second paragraph, I fired up one of my few remaining cuban Romeo & Julietas and settled in to finish your epic diary.

Yours is a compelling tale of newbie problemas. A must read for anyone considering going unprepared. "If ignorance is bliss, this joker is helluva happy hampster!" Reading your report was at times as difficult as a landlord watching "Pacific Heights". Someone should go through this report and give a playbyplay "after the game" chalkboard of all the newbie blunders you made!!

Thanks for sharing Jaguar. And good luck keeping your monogrammed condoms outta harms way.

Guys I just want you to know, I have went on two trips to the DR with Jaguar and the same stuff happened to him there. Before he posted this report he e-mailed it to me to read. Guess what, the report ended up at his sisters address. I don't think he will be allowed to Thanksgiving at her house this year. He then posted report and about 35 to 40 pictures. There is only 6 pictures up, so the rest are at CH, or out in cyber land somewhere. I am a Rio virgin that has read 30 to 35 Rio reports. I can't wait to meet as many people as I can soon because I will be going on Jaguar's next epic journey in June. Just got off the phone with him and I told him to leave the blue blazer at home this trip, we will see in June if listens.

Jaquar - great report and well written. I laughed so hard at times my sides locked up on me. The last time that happened was when I read DeeG's report that he was deported from San Paulo Airport a year ago or so. - Hemp

jaquar, great trip report. Fantastic job on the details.

I have read every report on Rio on this board and they have all made me want to visit. After reading this report I am making flight arrangements as I type. For sure this is an award winner

BTW I sure would like to know the web site, you son's friend found where you can meet Brazil women online.

Additional photos integrated into report

Very entertaining report but Im starting to notice a disturbing trend this year with all the faceless Brazilian pics...why bother. Was this your choice or did they request that their faces not be shown.

it just isn't a thread without blazers complaining about faceless pics!

which is not to say that SOME of blazers pics could be better appreciated if they WERE faceless!

Excellent writing, Jaguar. A long read, but well worth it for the entertainment. But I certainly felt your pain--R$1176 per night, ouch. For a small room? And the rest of the financial mistakes? They got it wrong--your nickname should have been "Santa Claus."

That situation with Tigger could be a real problem, though. I hope it will work out OK somehow.

Wow it took me four sittings to get through this whole trip report. Hell Atlas Shrugged only took me about ten sittings! Awesome report, but I find is disconcerting that you are deathly afraid of pissing off the girls but are almost fearless in confrontations with knife weilding gangs of hardened street criminals. It doesn't add up. Maybe you should show the girls the rock in your pocket and recover your freedom?

Look, I like to fuck Lurch not tangle with her. I don't want to fuck Tigger, so I have to knife fight with him. Sounds logical, huh? If I caught my brain awake and could locate Lurch, I'd send her after Tigger and his merry band of criminals; they would be toast within minutes.By the way, who wants to join my posse for my trip in June?I might need help!!

Looking forward to meeting you, I'll see you there the week of memorial day!

Jaquar,
I have never laughed so hard in my life. I think I would enjoy hanging with you a few days in Rio. I am a newbe at CH and have not made my first trip to Rio yet, but I am planning one in the near future like mabe the middle to the end of June. Your report was certainly enlightning and entertainingly informative. I think you missed your calling...You should have been a stand up comic....LOL
I thoroughly enjoyed reading your report....especially the Budha - Presbyterian part...LOL!

You guys must be really scared of those Brazilian girls because report after report after report, nothing but pics of faceless butts and tits. We all know Brazilian girls are beautiful but are these girls that adamant about not showing pics of their face or are you guys scared that it will come back to you because of dipshit mongers outing you?....Dont get me wrong, the report is excellent but faceless pics are becoming a Brazilian report trademark now.

nah, I think it's just cuz their butt ugly.

I clicked on the report link and did a search for Brazil reports. Of the 31 reports on Brazil for 2005, 18 of them had photos in them. Of these 18 Brazil photo reports, Jaguar's was the only one with all faceless pics.

(Message edited by bigfish on May 6, 2005)

Bigfish, if you research the matter just a little bit more, you'll find that Blazers is the only one who actually complains about it.

In his defense, he has posted 311 photos, the vast majority of which show faces. (Five bucks to the guy who looks at all 311 to find how many are faceless)

Apparently he's never had a Brazilian finger in his face while getting his ass chewed out for 'putting my picture on the internetche'.

I have encountered this phenomenon.

So by going faceless, we'll call it one of the few things that Jaguar actually did right.

One of you statistician gurus needs to make a more thorough study. If you throw out Jaguars "faceless photos" the next 100 behind it largely have faces shown and I´ll bet if you did a study on the 500 behind it, the majority would have faces as well. But don´t take my word for it, lets see some hard fact data on the subject.....

Don't care about faces.. I want more "Buddhas"!

Great read, reminds me of my original report and learning the ropes long before I knew this board even existed. You write you are mentally challenged-what a crock of shit, nobody writes this creatively and thinks as quick on their feet (Fawn's condoms in the hotel) without plenty of grey matter. Two points...when you go to the beach, do not deal with the beach thieves. If you go in front of Rio Othon, go directly to one of those beach kiosks in the sand, you will be treated fairly. Also, you might even now want to read Bwana-Diks guide to Rio on this board. You would then not be surprised by the reach of the GarotaNet. By the way, you put together a great plan to avoid the Net at Help, especially since you are, in your opinion, not the brightest candle in the cathedral.

As his friend, let me tell you he has the brain of James Bond with the luck of Gomer Pyle.

Jaguar,

Did you really send this report to your sister?

I once printed out a report of mine that I posted on a German board for a girl who heard about it and requested it. She left it on her table at home, and her mom read it. Her mom knew what she did, but didn't want to know that exactly.

That was Domi, here in Germany, here is a pic:

Great report Jaguar. Amazing! Can`t wait to make a few mistakes myself in Desember when I`m off to do, or get done in by Rio. Think I`ll go thru my closet and look for a blazer before I leave.... Or not. They would probably call me Vanilla Ice or something, and that can scar you for life...

Jag,

I started to read your report at home right after you posted it. Now today, I finally had the chance to spend a couple of hours being fully entertained by your literary work. I was laughing many times, and yet I felt for you as all of us have been in the same situations that you were in. We have learned, and are still learning to this day.

You also experienced the BGN, The Brazilian Garota Network, the fastest means of communications known on this planet. In other parts of Latin America, there are other LCN's, or Latin Chica Networks, but the end result is the same: You can not hide, they know....

Thanks again for sharing a most entertaining series of stories. Roots is a very pretty girl.

Enjoy the life,

Moondog

Jaguar,

If you ever decide to quit doing whatever you're doing for employment, you can always write humor for a living.... Great report, and yes, I made it through the whole thing. You're just going to have to put more effort into learning more Portuguese. Then, you'll be able to extricate yourself from some of these situations, before they escalate into something major. In spite of being a newbie, you did show resourcefulness in your response to a lot of the things that happened, and no, I don't think you're mentally challenged either, as you stated in the thread. I wouldn't mind running into you down there either. It sounds as though you're travelling down there pretty regularly. Take care.

Jaguar, you really should have let your head doing the homework of reading CH reports, Bwana Diks Rio guide, and Brazil Specialist's "Rio safety tips for the paranoid".

You could have profited from hiring a professional Rio tour guide. I am glad that Sandman prevented you from doing even worse damage to yourself.

First I was going to suggest that you could have stayed at my apartment. You would have saved R$ 1000 per night in housing cost, and another 500 or more for girl expenses.

Then it dawned to me that your capacity to auto-inflict damage is greater then my capacity to protect you from yourself. If I did not watch out 24 hours a day, you might have managed to draw me into trouble too.

Maybe you would have invited Tiger and his friends for a warm meal to my apartment. Or brought a group of homeless underage girls to surf the internet here on my computer?

Or asked some criminal girls on the beach to watch the apartment keys while you were going on a swim!?

You could have taken your codeine to sleep 24 hours while blissfully forgetting to lock the entrance key away in the safe. Or get some Rohypnol put into your drink so the girls could invite their ghetto boyfriends to jointly rob the apartment.

You will be better off in a hotel with professional safety staff.


The Tiger problem is quite serious. If I were you, would switch to another city (Curitiba, Fortaleza, Sao Paulo, whatever) and avoid Rio. Alternatively, hire 1-2 professional bodyguards or policemen to protect you whenever you step onto the street. A cheaper alternative would be to have the police exterminate Tiger. This Tiger guy could kill you 5 years from now, when he has grown bigger. They don't forget easily.

Here in Rio you learn to become a coward. Don't help other people, don't get involved. Or become a macho and really back it up with unlimited violence, getting the sucker killed.

By the way, a Brazilian acquaintance of mine, a whoremongering lawyer, is in intensive care after getting hit in an ambush with 12 shots 2 days ago. He meddled with people he should have not messed with.

I downloaded it onto a word file and it was 42 pages long.

One of the best reads I have ever had.

I would be seriously worried about the Tigger situation, maybe even take up BS's advice.

I guess this is the wrong venue to ask you to introduce me to your 20 year old daughter. haha.

I would love you as a father in law.

Peter29: I guess this is the wrong venue to ask you to introduce me to your 20 year old daughter. haha.

I would love you as a father in law.

Peter, You are a shameless animal, LOL

underage killers get a slap on the wrist by the criminal justice system here. Gets out of an institution after maximum 2 years and gets his criminal record purged at 18 years of age.

If he ever gets cought, of course.

Thanks Jaquar.

Wow is this a record for longest trip report ever?

I started reading it not realizing how long it was. I then realized it was a half hour sitcom script but no way that was just the first trip.
And it is more like a script of a miniseries!

Damn the first trip is all I've read so far and I have not even made a dent in the report.

Very detailed, entertaining, and informative.
I'm dead tired I will finish as the week goes on.

I finally got around to reading the whole trip report today.. hilarious! Thank you, Jaguar/James for laying it all out.

Some comments:

"Fawn" was pulling your leg about "pen-ease", no-one eats bull's cock in Brazil (testicles yes, penis no). You probably ate picanha, which is a kind of top round.

Amazing that you managed not to get yourself killed by "Tigger" and crew. But no reason to stay out of Rio, BS is over-reacting.

Never, ever, visit a brazilian garota's house. Why mess up your vacation by particiapting in someone else's reality?

Other than that, I'm sure you've already been filled up with everyone else's advice, so nothing more to add. God protects small children and idiots... and we've all been one or the other (or both) at times!

Abraco,

BS

Damn it, Badseed, I was looking forward to trying something new, and now you tell me it doesn't exist. I had the bulls' balls last trip (and they were tasty). These could be a virility-enhancing foods, não é?

Hunterman:

Yeah, sure, and if you suck a lot of cock, your sperm-count will go up, I'm sure. Send us a report...

In the meantime, if you REALLY want bull's penis, head down to your local Vietnamese or Cambodian supermarket (assuming there's one in your town), I've seen them, much to my amazement, in teh frozen meats section. Looks like a big pink snake, all coiled up, but it's appropriately labeled: "Bull Penis". From then on, I've avoided any "sausage specials" in our local Chinatown! I'd rather eat Paraiabas... ;-)

Abraco,

BS

Good Lord!!!!!!!! Great report Jaguar. I better start planning to go to Rio.

NOW i get it.

Jaguar is trying to get a lot of guys to go to Rio, wear blue blazers and fight with Tigger.

This guy is brilliant. If enough newbies follow his lead, he'll blend right in and Tigger will NEVER find him...

Badseed, you are CERTAINLY NOT going to get a report from me on...(gag) I can't even say it (especially after my experiences in Thailand).

But the "thick steaks" Jaguar described sounded good. I love Brasilian meat. Coiled up pink snakes don't do it for me. I think I'll pass.

BTW, I'm still trying to figure out what "Presbyterian" means?????

Hunterman:

You do have a strange magnetic attraction to (or for) ladyboys. Must be one of those karmic curses

As for steaks, go to any Brazilian rodizio restuarant here in the USA and ask for picanha and picanha only (don't let them fill you up with all the other crap). Picanha is pronounced "pee-cuh-NYA".

Jaguar's "Presbyterian" story was the best part of teh whole trip report

BS

wow...if your street smarts were as good as your writing skills...well, we'd have nothing good to read. great report, you'll get my nomination for report of the month.

Been tired and bummed out since returning from my 7th trip yesterday. But reading this was like a hysterical Phillip Roth novel.
Gonna go put a ticket on hold for this summer.

I have picanha often in Rio--and had it in Porto Alegre at that place you said was famous--but I don't want the pale imitation of things Brasileiros here in the EUA. Unless anyone knows of a truly delicious (and reasonably priced) Brasilian restaurant in LA....

I still want to know what "Presbyterian" means (it must be something in mangled Portuguese, I got the Buddha part). The episode certainly was hilarious, but what does it actually almost mean? I'm trying to learn Portuguese here....

Hunterman:

I think you missed the point - "Presbyterian" means nothing at all.

BS

Heavy sigh...
She says bundha
He hears Buddhist
He responds "Presbyterian"

Thankfully I've met Hunterman, and can vouch that his elevator does in fact go all the way to the top floor

Thanks, DeeG, but before anyone can respond that my top floor is the basement, let me quote Jaguar:

"as soon as I said "Presbyterian," she took my cock out of her pussy and put it in her ass and started to fuck my brains out."

This left ME with the impression that she "heard" something that made her act. "presbyteri-SIM?"

OK, OK, I know the horse is dead. I'm just having withdrawal symptoms, which DeeG's photos aren't helping.

I know this guy, he's going to submit this for a Pulitzer Prize for Travel Journalism.

I agree with BS on this one. You've made yourself a huge target in Copa, now and in the future, unless Tigger meets an early demise. I spend the last two weeks there without any problems. I had a young local girl (Denellia) constantly begging for $ and I finally pulled the old, I'll buy you food but no cash. She was about 10-12 yrs and carried someone elses baby at night for vending purposes. Amyway the second or third day she hit me up again outside the store and we went into our regular routine. Finally she asked me to by the baby food and I agreed, to my surprise she only asked for a small can of powdered baby formula. I agreed and she ran back to hand off the baby to it's real mother, which lived with some others at the rear kitchen door of help on the back street. She came back to thank me and for the rest of my time there she always come up to say Oi and introduced me to her little begger friends. Never had a problem with young beggers after that.

I guess it's all about how you handle yourself and that will determine how you get handled back. Personally, the rock and cigar is pretty lame but it seemed to work

Just spoke with Fawn and somehow it slipped out that I was visiting Rio in June- now I'm fucked again. I think BS is right, I need 24 hr supervision. Putting a positive spin on this situation, at least I haven't heard from Tigger!

Jaguar,

Do yourself a favor, admit yourself into a treatment facility of some kind immediately, because who knows what they fuck you will end up doing at some point on this upcoming trip.

Watching you in action in Rio must be like watching an orgy at the Hellen Keller Institute - while interesting, you can't believe what you're seeing and you're afraid of what's going to happen next.

You do realize that now that Fawn knows, somehow, someway...Lurch will find out too. I bet the reservations agent tells that doorman you are coming and Lurch gets brought back to the hotel by somebody else and she overhears the conversation.....sound farfetched? Not with the type of shit that happens to you!

time to book your hotel in Barra.....hit the termas, stay away from help, stay out of copa and you will be fine......

better yet, visit WWW.voegol.com.br and go to sao paulo to visit Hemps future ex..... gol still has $99R fares between rio and sao paulo..

or just hang a target on your back and wear the double breasted sport coat. it is winter in Brasil....

I don't know what the fuck is the matter with me; for some God awful reason I can't lie to Fawn over the phone. When she asked me if I was coming to Rio anytime soon, I just answered, "June 9." I am such a fucking asshole!! Looking on the bright side of the situation, fortunately I have no difficulty lying to her in person but that didn't do me any good yesterday.
Catocony, you're advice is great, I'll check myself into the first treatment facility I find in Rio. That way I won't be troubled unnecessarily by their diagnosis because I won't know what the Doctors are saying. There is a distinct method to my madness!
Thanks to you guys I now have a clearer understanding of why my friends always say, " Let the Agony begin," when I'm around them. I have been mildly troubled by that phrase for years.

Diversity, what the fuck do you mean it's winter in Brazil? I'm going there in June and everyone knows that's when summer begins. I just hate it when you guys mess with my little fucked up mind.

jag:

common fella you know the toilets flush the other direction in brasil.....

opposite side of the equator.....opposite seasons....except the winter in rio is still mid 70's, to 60's

weather.com info below:
"Right Now for
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Save this Location

Cloudy 68°F
Feels Like
68°F
Updated May 22 05:00 p.m. Local Time
UV Index: 0 Low
Wind: From S at 9 mph
Humidity: 94%
Pressure: 29.91 in.
Dew Point: 66°F
Visibility: 5.0 miles"

so wtf...it is winter and bring your jacket.....and plenty of raincoats...

Long live the blue blazer!

Stop messing with me!! BTW, what the fuck does Dew Point mean?

From what I have seen of the God Damn low flow toilets in Brazil, they don't go in any direction, clockwise or whatever that other way is called. All I know is that when I flush, water fills the bowl then nothing happens. Is this just some sick trick to keep me in my room flushing my toilet? You have to think of something better to keep me out of Help.

Next trip I might just leave the Blazer behind and bring my Tux jacket instead.

Travelsrr-
I think Lurch went back home which has a name that sounds something like 'minature," consequently, I always called it "Tiny Town." Anyway, she's not the one I'm really worried about because she doesn't trust me very far. "Roots" is my real nemisis because she thinks I'm trustworthy and somewhat honest. If she caught me there again, I'd be talking two octives higher.

Oh, what a mess surrounds me!

Strange subject, but I know what Jaguar is talking about when he mentioned the toilets flowing in no particular direction... the water just rushes down from all sides and it's over... Oh well, what does it matter anyway...

Cheers,

YnR

Young N restlez-

Thank God someone else agrees with me! You know, you're the only one, don't you?

That water going down the other way is a misnomer. It depends a lot more on the shape of the sink and the placement of the downspout. I saw a report on it in TV, and there are 2 or 3 european countries where it goes the othe direction as well.

So let me get this clear, the clocks move backwards in Brazil. That might explain why when I once showed up for a 7:00 flight at 7:00pm they told me I was twelve hours late.

Does any of this have to do with why I need to put the T.P. in the receptacle next to the toilet.

KKM,

Because you're pissing and shitting in the bidet instead of the toilet? Other than that, I don't have a clue as to what you're talking about, I think most of us dropped used toilet paper into the toilet and flush. That procedure works the same in Brasil as in the US.

Diversity- I would love to go to Sao Paulo again but I have a slightly bigger problem there than the Tigger situation in Rio. Like George Lucas has done with the Star Wars Saga by not starting in the beginning, I too have a prequel in the works about my first trip to Sao Paulo,Brazil last September. I didn't write about it first because, as one of my psychiatrists says, "It was a repressed memory simialar to the Alter Boy incidents you experienced." Whew, I thought I was going nuts!

Catocony- When I was in Buzios with Fawn at what I affectionately call "Favella Chic" I saw her take a piss, wipe herself and throw the TP in a little receptical next to the toilet. When I asked her why, she told me they never flush TP down the toilet in Brazil. Must fuck up the Bottled Water plant down the road. I only threw rubbers and that damned shower cap in the receptical; TP went down the fucking low flow toilet but, only after two flushes

Cat,

If you carefully read the signs posted in many a public water closet they ask you to not flush the T.P. This is the reason for the receptical very often found next to the toilet. The actual reason is because of small sewage pipes that were used in construction. It is not a problem in the better hotels because they were either constructed better or improved over the years because Americans can not get used to this absurd notion.

It is common in undeveloped countries throughout South America, and also Asia and Africa where you still have the squat toilets, that the TP is put in a trash can. If you are asking yourself, does this create a hellish smell, lots of insects, and a stomach destabilizing sight in the public rooms, the answer is yes.
Funny story about the squat toilets - I was in a "western" public bathroom with seat toilets at a hotel in China. You know traffic signs with the circle and line through them to say don't do something? On the back of the door of the cubicle was a sign with a print in the middle of a circle of an asian person squatting on the seat of the toilet, with a line through it! Many asians just don't understand the concept.
Okay Jaguar it's official, your madness is contagious. We've got a thread discussing international crappers.

KKM,

What fucking signs are you referring to? Bet they're all printed in Portuguese. If they are then they might as well be in Chinese as far as I'm concerned. Why if the America dollar is accepted all over the world, can't our English be just as accepted and understood?

One of my friends once suggested I look at going to bermuda to find hot women. all I can say is Bermuda is looking better all the time. Are there many loose garotas on the program there? How many termas do they have on the island? Somebody out there must have an answer for me. No more mind fucks, please! I heard they don't have any favellas there, so at least somebody of Tigger's ilk won't be lurking around.

Actually Cat, Jaguar is correct on this one. In Brazil, you never flush the toilet paper down the toilet. I stayed at my Brazilian Wife's apartment for a week once and I flushed the TP down the shitter and sure enough it backed up.

There plumbing is not capable of handling paper. However, when I stay at the Marriott and the Hilton, I flush away.

Jaguar, best crock of bullshit I've read in a long time. You've spawned your own genre -- monger-fiction. It's a wonder why others don't devote weeks on end to making up such yarns.

Porcão,
Are you on the rag, boy? What's with all the negativity? Feeling ignored? Be nice.

Not all toilets resist the flushing of TP. I've spent the past 5 months in 2 different apartments and have never had a problem. I've tested the systen very thoroughly this past week thanks to a nasty case of food poisoning, and the plumbing in POA has not let me down. Thank goodness, as I would not have survived a minute in the presence of the used TP.

I believe I complimented the guy on the skill with which he wrote fiction, did I not?

So it's bad to put toilet paper in the shitter and flush it. So why do 80% of garotas take the used rubbers and flush them down the toilet? Or is it just the extra classy GPs I bring back that do that?

Funny story - from the 14 Korean girlfriends I had over a 7 year period (2 in Korea, 12 in the US), a good percentage did the old hover manuever over the toilet seat. I asked one why and she said hygene. That's cool, to each their own as long as they hit the bowl.

About 2 weeks after I brought it up, I'm in the kitchen and I hear a racket coming from the bathroom in the hallway. I go out and she's sprawled on the floor of the bathroom - I had put a new toilet seat on the day before, it was still slick and she had hopped up (most lift the seat but she said the bowl was too cold for her) and about halfway through she moved and her foot slipped out and off she went.

Shortly thereafter she stopped squatting on the commode and took up the Western method.

You guys are great! Sometimes these threads are as funny as comedy central!

Dear Diary:
The past few days have been absolutely miserable because I feel like shit and people are messing with me all the time. I’m following Shrink # 2 orders when he said,” Write your thoughts on paper, it will help you relieve stress,” I’ll try it again but, you remember what happened last time. Anyway, what the fuck does he know, he’s as nutty as I am! Okay, back to my present problem and why I’m writing it down in a safe and secure place.

First of all the guys on that web site I go to started mind fucking me big time. They told me that the clocks run backwards, it’s winter in June and the fucking toilets flush the wrong way in Brazil. Yesterday I spent two hours flushing my toilets and filling my sinks with water then opening the drains quickly, only to be more confused than before listening to them. Then one of them attacks me personally, claiming my educational travel journal to Rio is pure fiction. Can you believe that? My lawyer told me the only person who can call me a liar and a fraud and get away with it is my bitchy wife’s divorce lawyer. Apparently lawyers the have some stupid rules allowing it just so they are the only ones in court having all the fun. Remember what a blast her fucking lawyer had with me in court! Anyway, after 5 years of him calling me every name in the book and accusing me of all sorts of deviant crimes, I’m naturally a little sick and tired of it. Now, all of a sudden this clown comes after me and all I ask is: why target me, especially, after I told the guys to be gentle, very, very gentle with my fragile mind. But, oh no, one guy decides to drive me to Shrink # 1, who immediately ups my meds and tells me not to drive or operate heavy equipment. Like what does he think; I have a fucking backhoe in my backyard or something like that? Doctors can be so crazy sometimes, particularly when they tag team you.

Stuck at home with nothing to do and strung out on what I affectionately call a “Shrink Cocktail,” I decide to start a little spring cleaning outside my house. After all it is the end of May and, despite what those guys on the web site say, summer is almost here. I know winter is not right around the corner—-they must think I’ll fall for anything. Back to my story; I can’t plant anything because I can’t get to the fucking store so as I look around for a job to do, I see that my gutters are blocked with pine needles and leaves and need to be cleaned. Into the garage I go, grab a ladder and go up to the eves to start my chore. Things are going real good until my meds kick in (perhaps I shouldn’t have added those other pills to the mix) then the ladder started to wobble like a limp lo mien noodle and you can guess what happens next. Fortunately I landed on the most worthless part of my body, that’s right-- my head. My fucking body was trying to do in my mind again but, like always, failed miserably. The wind got knocked out of me and I remember thinking as I’m struggling for gasps of air that this might be a good time to give up cigars. Within a minute I’m breathing all right and what is the first thing I do—you guessed it, pick my cigar off the ground and take a deep puff. Perhaps, I have a death wish or something like that.
I’m really fucking pissed that my body’s not responding the way it should and my mind is a bit hazy so I call the person who’s totally responsible for this whole mess—-Shrink # 1. Rather than accept responsibility for my problems he repeated, “I told you not to drive or operate heavy equipment.” I said, “But the ladder was light.” He immediately hung up!! What the fuck is his problem? Now, I’m nursing a sick mind and a bruised body and cursing both Shrinks. He was wrong—writing this down didn’t help at all. Fucking Shrinks!!

Jag,

Since you probably had to pay out the ass to your bitchy ex wife, doesn't it feel good that you are finally fulfilling all those deviant behaviours?

Save the Shrink money, just fly to hobby destinations more often, and fuck away your problems.

If you ever visit North Dakota, you'll upstage GCL.

Dear Diary,

Today I called Shrink #2 to tell him that Shrink #1 hung up on me and he said it was not very professional of him to do that, and I agreed with him. He then told me that under no circumstances would he ever do that to a patient and I again agreed with him. I told him what happened with the ladder then sat back and listened to him pick apart his competitor; it was fun hearing him bitch and when he was done, he asked why I called in the first place. I then told him his advice to put everything down on paper to relieve the stress wasn’t working as well as anticipated. He then said, “I told you not to write anything down because you would relive the stress.” Oh fuck, how could I mess this up, it was so fucking simple. I strongly suggested he put any instructions down in writing so there would be no more misunderstanding and that’s when I heard a click. “Hello Doc, are you there?” Are you listening? No fucking answer! The bastard hung up on me, can you believe that? He’s so fucking unprofessional!!

Peter29,

Aren't you the one who wants to date my 20 yr old daughter? I would have thought that you wouldn't want me spending all the dowry money fucking around the world. With regard to getting fleeced in divorce court, yes, I lost my ass but gained my freedom. It was a small price to pay compared to the benefits.

not to be overly paranoid but: at the current situation it is already dangerous to talk to an underage girl.

Police can charge you with soliciting a 12 year old. If the girl wants to set you up then you are really doomed. If not, you still can be in trouble.

I know I am paranoid, but I have newspaper reports and eyewitness reports that guys were arrested for having lunch with underage girls.

Of course, the real danger is if the police grill the girl and she spills the news that you actually did her the night before.

===========================================

this is in reply to>>

By Back12draft on Wednesday, May 18, 2005 - 09:37 am: Edit

I had a young local girl (Denellia) constantly begging for $ and I finally pulled the old, I'll buy you food but no cash. She was about 10-12 yrs and carried someone elses baby at night for vending purposes. Amyway the second or third day she hit me up again outside the store and we went into our regular routine.

Dude, the story was great but you say you stayed in Copa. You have a picture of a girl in front of a window and that view could only come from the Sheraton which is just south of Leblon ... like in Vidigal. What gives? This throws your whole story into doubt for me. Fun read but I'd like to know about that picture and why you were at the Sheraton quite aways from Copa.

Garo-what he loses in memory, he makes up for in writing style. when he first called me, he was at the Sheraton in Leblon where he had been hanging out with his internet friend. I convinced him to move to Copa.

I have received several PM's congratulating me on writing a great piece of fiction under an anonymous name. Fellas, i gotta tell ya, it wasn't me and jaguar exists as many now know who have met him (travellers, evil twin and others).

Wait till you hear about his most recent adventures. I got to hear some of the notes he was keeping to try and keep track of his...er...um...mis adventures! I also got to witness first hand several that occured. Priceless!

I did keep a safe distance from him when we walked somewhere in case Tigger and his buddies decided to pay a visit.....

Good thing Jaguar did not try any boat rides while he was there....with his luck....

One year later!

I am a newbie.

Just have to comment that Fawn has one of the most fantastic Bods I have ever seen!

That ass must taste and smell delicious!

Tor

Tor,

I can't go into details, but let me just say she has a fantastic ass in every respect.

Jag

Since no one is posting , i thought i would bring out an old classic report. I still have a question...how does one go from Fawn and Angelina to Miss September?