“Staying alive, staying alive…”—Bee Gees
I’m 61. I’m 60 pounds overweight. Following a 22-hour trip from Manila to Hong Kong to Chicago, I scheduled a 12+ hour trip from Chicago to Panana City to Rio just 72 hours later. Stupid, sure. Complicating factors I won’t list. Had 3 hours sleep the night before in Manila, then no sleep on the flight. Before the Rio flight I had two hours sleep, then no sleep on the flight. Never schedule a flight July 5 if you need to sleep the night before. July 4th fireworks. Stupid, sure.
Meet Pauly Vegas, the basket case, who learned this lesson: When you push the body, the body pushes back.
BEGINNINGS
We’ll get to the pussy toot sweet, but first some context. Even before my AC/Thailand trip, I had back, neck, and foot issues—mostly weight-related.
Got up at 4am for a 9am flight because of notorious O’Hare and Copa Air lines and I’m a get-there-early guy. So up early after not sleeping because of the fireworks explosions outside my window ‘til 1 or 2am.
Stumble to the El with bags, onto the Blue Line, up to O’Hare, lug the bags up onto the shuttle bus (no tram, and no help from driver, whatever you bring you’re power- pressing up the stairs). Oh, how the Gods do love to mock me…I hit the Copa ticketing counter exactly as it opens, only two other people in line. Check in, 5 minutes. Hit Customs. At 6:15am, exactly nobody ahead of me. Right through. Done with the process at 6:30, hours ahead of the flight. Pretty much a zombie getting on the plane.
Told Bwana that Rio was found money. Fucked 48 women in six weeks in the PI and Thailand. Would be perfectly happy to have Rio be about laying on a beach for 12 days, eating well, and sleeping. Needed this trip to be about YES, to be about health, and simplicity. So it was, arriving for the first time in my life in Rio, the Gods threw me a bone. The Copa bag people had my bags ready as I arrived. No line at Customs. Sailed the fuck through. And there with a sign in his hand was my driver.
So many firsts this trip. Driver to the hotel isn’t a first but he wasn’t taking me to a hotel. This would be my first AIRBNB stay. Place was spacious. Large bedroom, kitchen, living room. Washer-drier turned out to be huge. Nice to have all the cutlery, big fridge and AC that rocked. Not nice was the weak toilet and toilet paper not meant to be flushed (the owner told me at the END of the trip when I told him “Dude, you need a plunger.” He responded: “No, don’t put toilet paper in the toilet” “What?” “You use the bidet, you spray your ass in Brazil.”—At 61, Pauly Vegas does not spray his ass, sorry bro.) The other downside was hearing everything in every apartment in the building, including the sex. That doesn’t happen when you’re in a Bangkok noise-sealed tower. Takes some getting used to, but overall it was location, location, location…1/2 a block from Centaurus, 2 blocks to Posto 8 Ipanema, truly one of the great beaches of the world.
DAY 1: MARACANA
Beginner’s luck... My driver told me that the Copa de American Final between Brazil and Peru was being played at Maracana. First time on the Metro, why the fuck not. Out to Maracana I go.
Metro is easy. Chart says there are 4 lines but likely you’ll only use 2 and maybe even just one, the Orange line that gets you to and from Centro. This first trip I jumped on the Green Line out to the Maracana stop. Bought a “prepago” card and put 50R on it which covered a bunch of rides at 4.60 per. Upside on the Metro is all stops are introduced in two languages (cosmopolitan Chicago’s EL doesn’t do that), it’s $1.25 a ride (Chicago? Nope), trains come every few minutes (Chicago?) Musicians allowed to play on the train, and they play accomplished jazz (Chicago?) and get APPLAUSE upon finishing (Chicago? 😊☹) Only downside is if you have a foot issue—cars are packed day and night so don’t expect to sit. And if you find a seat and the inevitable old lady shows up, please give up the seat. The good nature and order of these Brazilians is on display in the Metro. Based on the sex emanations in my apartment building, I’m guessing they’re happy because everyone is getting laid all the time.
Simplicity is walking the one block to the Metro and being hit the face with 19C temps and wind…19!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! After six solid weeks of PI and Thailand 33’s? Oh my God, gorgeous air!
It’s an hour before the match and the train car is a party, green and yellow jersey wearing maniacs singing the whole way. Those colors are damn close to my own Green Bay Packers’ green and gold so I wore my Aaron Kampman jersey to the game (fans were looking at me like—Kampman?) Transferred to an even rowdier car, 3 stops and we’re there. Thousands of people! Long winding sweep of raised embankment leads fans to the iconic Maracana stadium.
Lived in London in the 80’s so been to Tottenham Hotspur, Arsenal, Chelsea’s Stamford Bridge--the hooliganism is ever on display. Not to say these Brazilian fans aren’t plenty hard but my first impression was at least they can drink AND dance. Caught 5 live reports for TV and celebration was in the air. Hospitality guys screaming into bullhorns. 2 hotties heading toward the VVIP gate. Got no ticket, just taking it all in. Some Old School scalpers (what, no Stubhub here?) are on me. Should I buy one? Probably hundreds of bucks, probably counterfeit.
Took the train back. Brazil won, 3-1. The town partied, song in the air…found my fav restaurant that night, the Belmonte.
https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g303506-d3292298-Reviews-Belmonte_Bar-Rio_de_Janeiro_State_of_Rio_de_Janeiro.html
CENTAURUS- MY FIRST TERMA
“Oh, my, God Becky, look at her butt
It is so big, she looks like
One of those rap guys' girlfriends.
But, ya know, who understands those rap guys?
They only talk to her, because,
She looks like a total prostitute, 'kay?
I mean, her butt, is just so big
I can't believe it's just so round, it's like out there
I mean gross….
I like big butts and I cannot lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, want to pull up tough
'Cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh baby, I want to get wit'cha
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But with that butt you got makes (me so horny)
Ooh, Rump-o'-smooth-skin
You say you want to get in my Benz?
Well, use me, use me
'Cause you ain't that average groupie
I've seen her dancin'
To hell with romancin'
She's sweat, wet,
Got it goin' like a turbo 'Vette
I'm tired of magazines
Sayin' flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back
So, fellas (yeah) Fellas (yeah)
Has your girlfriend got the butt? (hell yeah)
Tell 'em to shake it (shake it) shake it (shake it)
Shake that healthy butt
Baby got back (L.A. fits with the Oakland booty)
Baby got back (L.A. fits with the Oakland booty)”
-Sir Mix A Lot
Here’s how clueless I was. Stepped out of my pad, Bwana said Centaurus was ½ a block away, but I jumped in a cab anyhow. I had the address of every Terma and Centro casa in a master book. I speak conversational Spanish, which means jack shit down here. Flash the driver the address and he proceeds to get lost.
Have to say about the cabbies, they were pretty damn great. This guy turned off his meter and didn’t want to accept payment when we finally found the joint. They are cheap and everywhere and every one of them turned on the meter without ladrone cabbie games.
So here I am outside Centaurus, renowned for rip off prices but the hottest stunners in town. 160R buy in-- @3.70per that’s what, $45 bucks to see the goods…whatever, I’m in, let’s do this.
No upfront money to the cashier, she just hands me the key to a locker. And the first ROBE RITUAL commences.
Can I just say—there are few things in life I hate worse than putting on the motherfucking straight-jacket rubber that destroys all feelings of sex. But I found a new one this trip--the necessity of donning a terrycloth robe and ill-fitting flip-flops to view Terma women.
This first time maybe it was charming, trying to navigate stairs in flip flops. Goofy. Passing the sauna and jacuzzi (I’m here to fuck, not to roast—if I wanted to roast, I would have stayed in Manila). My mentality is obviously New York Type A. Show me what you got. Open the door expecting Goddesses, expecting…I don’t know…horny Miss Brazils? Brazilian women are supposed to rival the Colombianas and those are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Anticipation high, and…
Oh.
12 women (I thought there were supposed to be dozens?) The place looks like somebody’s living room. Compared to huge Asian clubs like AC’s Crystal Palace or anything at Nana…this can’t be it.
But it was.
12 women, 8 guys. This is 7pm. Was this not a good time? Sorry, this being my first time I’m not hip to the exact hour on the best day I’m supposed to be here.
Two women approach. They TOWER over me. What a turn off. I’m the President and CEO of the 40-Kilo Club. I’m looking for chicks who weigh 95 pounds. Come to Brazil looking for that, you might be disappointed. These two never met a rack of pork ribs they didn’t embrace. Imagine Gal Gadot from Wonder Woman after downing 2000 Whoppers and 500 silver dollar pancakes.
I wanted Miss Universe; I got BABY GOT BACK.
Ginormous bundas. Bodies hard so you can’t call ‘em fat, but you most certainly can’t call ‘em slim. Days later I would see plenty of spinners at the beach, plenty of 40-Kilo girls. But not at Centaurus. Door guy said lots of guys in town for the America’s Cup, come back another day. Maybe the models were at the game. I buy a Coke and sit to drink it. I told the Amazons it was my first night in town and I wouldn’t be partying. They left me alone after I turned down their offer to buy them a drink. So, I’m sitting watching a girl slip her hand into a dude’s robe strategically. Kissing deep. Looks nice. She’s hot, for a 140 pounder… C’mon Pauly, you’re fucking them not weighing them!
No no no, see… this is MY fantasy. There are no Goddesses at Centaurus through MY eyes! And they wanted 650R @3.70 per! Noooo, thank you! Sitting there drinking a Coke in a stupid robe, looking at 12 hardcore pros. Other mongers would have more patience, see who wanders in, give it 30 minutes, go for a sauna, chill out Pauly!
Nope. I finish the Coke and split. As I was leaving 5 more eager dudes were coming up the stairs in robes. Great, that knocks the ratio to more guys than chicks. Have fun, fellas. Ciao Centaurus.
VILA MIMOSA
How do you wash away that non-experience? How about hitting Vila Mimosa for the first time? Love that juxtaposition, from top Terma to slimiest dump.
Legendary low-life spot. Pauly V has had his share of low life mongering; all the way back to Costa Rica in ‘99. Used to live at Calle 2, Avenida 6 y 8, party central for every crackhead in town. In Medellin the street scene around 53 y De Grief used to be sleaze central. The rooms upstairs at Raymond street in AC are quite nasty.
Unintimidated at 10pm, I grab a cab and head out there.
Long way out of town, reminds me of the drive to another sleazy area, Mayorista. First time in Rio, I wasn’t letting this cabbie go as we approached. Place seemed in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Didn’t see any cabs so I paid the guy to hang out while I took a spin around. “15 minutes, ok?” Got out and hit VM.
It appeared to be just a single short street. I walked up and down in about 5 minutes. What the fuck? Acid Brazilian hip hop blasting from every mega-speaker in every bar on either side of the street. Locals grilling beef and pork sausages.
As expected, it’s 99.8% big fat mamas, pass a fat black mama and impossibly, there’s an even fatter one selling her pussy right next to her. Bars in lime green neon, full on Van Gogh absinthe trip, mostly empty. I’m a fat white guy in shorts, completely out of place. Doubling back, planning to head out, I notice…a sort of horseshoe configuration of bars. First time here, not a cop in sight, sure, I’ll just mosey on down that strip…and I do… There’s Ipanema and then there’s this.
I’m thinking this is a quick in and out, got the cabbie waiting, when I see…
A rail-thin chick. Walked by her almost in disbelief. Did I just see a ho who wasn’t 150 pounds? Walk back. She’s got her denim jacket open, no shirt and PERFECT tits. I walk right up and fondle her tits, just like we do in Wrigleyville. Piedrera (rock head) for sure, wasted—and the more wasted, the hotter the female is for one Pauly Vegas. She says vamos and I’m thinking…the cabbie…about 8 minutes left…
Vamos.
Pay the bill, molesting her in front of the cashier. She doesn’t care. Into the smallest room in the world. Filthy beyond words. Just a foam brick 2-inches deep, nothing resembling a sheet. I’m 61 and no gymnast. Not setting any part of my body on that foam. Deep slow kissing, those tits, licking those tits. Unconsciously nasty. 15 minutes later I remember the cabbie and wrap it up. There was no chair and my clothes were not going on that bed. I had balanced them on my shoes on the floor, but they must have fallen off. I picked them up and they were WET, FULLY WET! FUCK! Please tell me that isn’t piss! I carefully smell…beer…thank Christ. Put on the sopping wet shorts, shirt, been a slice babe. She stops me…my apartment keys were on the floor! Can you believe a crackhead noticed that? I tipped the cabbie big for sticking around, and for having to clean my sticky shorts spot in the back of his cab, Travis Bickle style. Vila Mimosa, I’ll cherish the memory.
CENTRO CASAS
“Waist of a wasp, ass of a mule…” -Sugar Blue
Got off at Carioca and hit the Rio Branco casas, one of which, 185, is right on top of the Metro stop. The major difference from the Medellin casa scene at first sight is that these are professional buildings. Research had me clasping a list of about 40 casas, of which that first day I hit about 20. Hit every big one in both the 156 and 185 Rio Branco buildings. Found exactly 3 chicks I would have tried. But the goal the first day was reconnaissance, find out who was where and come back another day. Problem with that strategy is unless you get down there by 11 or 11:30 there’s a good chance the local lunch crowd will beat you to the hotties and you’ll not see them. I know because I went back twice and never found the 3 chicks from the first trip down. Shopping for women in professional buildings is surreal…room 3308 is a dentist’s office. 3310 is a doctor’s office. 3309 is where blowjobs happen. On the cheap too. Like 20 bucks for a quickie. Too bad the chicks, 98% of them are, shall we say, “thick”?
The ritual is the same as Medellin. You are led in, sat down, and in they come one at a time, a kiss on either cheek, Hi, I’m ---, she smiles and leaves, followed by the next one. When all the available girls introduce themselves, the boss comes in and asks who you want to fuck. That’s where I did a soft-shoe, politely say maybe some other time and split. Shiiit, my dick would get lost in there. Asses like two blubbery pillows for my cock to sleep and shrink, wet noodle time.
FIY, two of the chicks I would have fucked are to be found in the 156 building, Sala 1833. The best girl’s name is Vanessa.
Avoid any building operated by a psycho elevator operator. The 13th de Mayo building has a completely insane woman running the only working elevator. (Purgatory is 10 hours a day running that rickety box, every day of your life, up and down and up and down…a job only Samuel Beckett could love). I ended up walking down 13 flights of stairs after waiting for her to stop on my floor.
URUGUANABANANA 24, PART 1: THE MOUTH OF HELL
That’s not how it’s spelled but there are just too many vowels for me to handle in Uruguaiana 24.
Street level is a tiny shop. They sell watches. They make Xerox copies. Shit you not, the sign is right there, Xerox copies. Looks like the store in Men In Black where they find the talking dog. There are a couple guys out front and you can vaguely see a staircase behind them. Metal. Corkscrew. I approach the first time and make my way up.
Darkness. Within just a few steps the full noon-day sun is obliterated. Then you hit the Dali Disco.
Disco ball lights. Purple, pink, red. 70’s style. The music filtering in from the first-floor club is pulsing, acid Brazilian fuck music—like the stuff at Vila Mimosa. Then appear woman, in the cheesiest lingerie ever conceived, women dredged up from R. Crumb fantasies. Porcine, portly, in shoddy heels. As you stumble up, they are all over you, leading with their asses, coaxing, teasing… how about it, sailor?
This scene has no equivalent in any city I have mongered. Nothing like it in Medellin, certainly not in Asia. As if the first floor isn’t weird enough, if you’ve done homework you know this building is six stories of clubs. There are five more just like this.
I walk up two more flights of stairs and can’t believe my eyes. A whore who weighs 100 pounds appears. Baby is her name and she’s all about “let’s do this.” Second City basic philosophy teaches us: Yes, and…
How about a half hour together to explore the tragic poetry of Arthur Rimbaud? Yes, and!
We get into the room. It’s barely bigger than the Vila Mimosa closet. There is no talk. Strip the clothes off to the primordial pulse, and it commences. Girl is a piedrera for sure, I can smell the pipe burn in the air, and in her kisses. So fucking nasty, so fucking hot. She gets up on the bed which is two forearm lengths across. Missionary, sidesaddle…yep, only way it’s gonna work cause I’m not jumping on that foam core with the cum-encrusted sheet. This is a pillow-less, shower-less realm. At first, here, I was careful about the rubber—this was not the place you want to go bareback (how many guys a day do you think Baby does?) Acid hip-hop, no talk, speaking in tongues and body fluid…one of the greatest 30 minutes of my life.
Shattered. Stumble out into 2pm sun. Walking Rua Uruguanabanana in shock.
MONTE CARLO- TERMA 2
Another one in the Ipanema neighborhood. Maybe there’s a future Miss Brazil here. The entrance fee is steep. That’s cool, I’m a fucking screenwriting guru who teaches writers the Save The Cat method all year for this very moment! Into Monte Carlo we go…
Not bad enough you gotta pay up to see the product (and yes, I know NOW there are whiskerias where you don’t actually have to take your clothes off to see the girls)….they give me the key and point me to the lockers. Great. There’s the robe lady handing me my fucking robe and flip flops. I awkwardly make my way up the stairs like a penguin, past the sauna (folks, if I wanted a sauna I would have stayed in Bangkok) Let’s see what you got.
Déjà vu. 15 women, 14 guys. Pauly as ghost, buying his Coke, moving to a corner to survey the landscape. I have been trained on Walking streets from AC to Pattaya to survey a lineup in two minutes. I do that here and find the identical bodies I saw in Centaurus. They ain’t fat, they’re bionic. Must be something in the water. There is nothing here, nothing that says—OH MY GOD, JESUS, I HAVE G O T TO FUCK THAT GIRL! No Goddesses I’m paying 550R all-in for. Fat Bottom Girls, you make you rocking world go round… but not for Pauly V. Drink my Coke and leave. Ciao, Monte Carlo.
THE BEACHES
Took the wrong turn, of course. Walked out of the house and went left, then another 6 blocks until I ended up between Posto 5 (guard stations are “Posto” markers) so what I thought was Ipanema was probably Copacabana (still not sure—is there a Posto 5 in Copa AND Ipanema? This report-- hilarious for its ignorance!)
First impressions:
• White buildings line the sweep of beach. Like old pics of Miami, or even Firenze where all the roofs are mandated to be red. Every hotel and condo seems white, some of the buildings quite graceful and Old World.
• The sweep of beach itself. Not even Manuel Antonio can compete with the pure length of what I was looking at.
• SugarLoaf. From Posto 5 it looks like a giant dickhead. From Posto 8 it looks like a pair of perfectly formed tits. Prehistoric. Stunning.
• The chaos that I need is to be found on Avenue Atlantico. Guy with a tray of shrimp just grabs my camera and hands me his tray, taking my picture. Tip him 5 bucks. Pattaya’s Beach Road has this energy and chaos, but this beach is 1000X less polluted and more beautiful. And did I mention I was walking in 19-degree winds, not 30 motherfucking 3?
• I started walking, and eating, and drinking. First time in Copacabana! Such the tourist…Never in my life had a caipirinha but saw some dude order one so fuck it give me one too—no booze though. They mashed 3 full limes to pulp, added tons of sugar, then water. OH YES! Became the official drink of the trip.
• Tons of bikini vendors, beach towels, artists, the usual tourist trinkets with Christ the Redeemer image. Small restaurants with THAT view. Only thing missing was the Girl From Ipanema soundtrack.
• Two offers of cocaine from shady types.
• Brazilian flags celebrating the Copa America victory waving like crazy.
I need beach culture. Beach culture diffuses Type A behavior. It’s big on the checklist. When I lived in Atlantic City, I would hit the Boardwalk and never know what would happen. I need that. I think of Pattaya and fucking Jomtien and it makes me depressed compared to this. Even Manuel Antonio can’t compete. Yeah, it’s spectacular nature-wise, but have you ever tried to get laid out there? It’s hippies and 8pm bedtime. This beach just went to the top of my list—and it wasn’t even the right beach!
4 X 4- TERMA 3
I was told by Bwana that 4pm is the best hour here. I got down the first time at 6:30. Couldn’t be helped. The cashier lady (who I became friendly with) said here’s your key, get into the robe and flip-flops. I said is there ANY way I can avoid that? She said I could go downstairs to the whiskeria, some of the girls filter down there. I said I didn’t want filtering, I wanted to see ALL the girls NOW. Nope, can’t do it. So, on goes the robe and I waddle into the action… About 20 chicks in there, 10 or 12 dudes. That was the most chicks and best guy girl ratio but there was nothing even close to making me bite. Huge disappointment. Same dark blue light, same glorified living room feel, same Amazonian bodies who never met a plate of fries they didn’t chomp. What am I missing? I’m doing something wrong, right? I should stick around for an hour and see who emerges… too bad I just don’t have the patience. Walking street and Nana have trained me, in and out, if she’s there, grab her, if not it’s on to the next. Too bad there aren’t 50 clubs like Nana here. Hey, if you’re seeking out curvy MTV hip hop video chicks—this is your paradise. Drank my Coke in 15 minutes and left. The cashier lady in English said, hey why you leaving so soon? Because nobody in there is 95 pounds. What an asshole! Too bad, it’s my fucking trip and that’s what I want. Guess I should have stayed at Nana, huh?
I will say, my 4X4 luck changed 2 days later, when the hottest girl of the trip appeared.
SMALLER TERMAS
Had the terma addresses in a book. It’s 7pm and I’m running them down, Terma 65, Terma Cancun…Cancun allowed me to peek in without changing “for two minutes only.” I was in and out in exactly 2 minutes, nothing there. They didn’t even charge me cover. That “just for two minutes” line became my mantra to avoid the robe/flip flops for the rest of the trip.
It was 8:30pm and I was gonna beat it out of Centro. Just one more stop to make…
CARIOCA 59 & CINE IRIS
Carioca 59 was last on the list. Grab a cab and the drive is a surprisingly long way. Fuck, this is a shady area. Thinking I’m not letting this cabbie go as he pulls up. “Wait right here.” Up the stairs at Carioca 59 I go. Two fat chicks, zero inspiration. Takes me one minute, in and out. Back on the street, my cabbie is waiting in front of a movie theater. What the fuck is this?
It was Cine Iris, an Old School porno palace—the kind that hasn’t existed since that thing called the internet happened. Times Square special, circa 1975. Wow…$5 bucks to see the show? I wave to the cabbie, just a minute! I pay my money and get a ticket. I become Travis Bickle in TAXI DRIVER…20R transports me back to 1975! I hesitate to touch the curtains, but I slip in.
Complete blackness, less the movie…which is Super 8, small framing, no sound. Unbelievable. As my eyes adjust, I make out human beings. Not a sound in the place. Not many people, but I think I recognize somebody getting a blowjob. Most surreal scene of my life. How surreal? It was weirder than either VM or U24.
I head up the spiral staircase to the balcony. It’s so dark, almost impossible to make people out. The tiny framing of the Super 8 would be a kick for my film school buddies but I’m guessing few film school professors have ever peeked into this abyss.
Nothing more to see, I head back down to the cab.
It was only later when I emailed Bwana that I learned that Cine Iris is not off the map at all. It’s a well-known local hangout for trannies!
I juxtapose Cine Iris with Carretao, a silver-service churrascaria. Hitchcock said cinema is the juxtaposition of images for emotional response.
So is Rio.
FREELANCERS
I was aware of the local boards but got tired running down name after name of recommended girls only to find out they didn't appeal to me sexually. So, I hit PhotoAccompanias.com and started looking for spinners. Ended with a list of about 25. The plan was to get the local SIM card, get my shitty $60 buck throwaway Target phone up and running, then call and make do with my conversational Spanish and get them over to my apartment for some loving with that 61-year-old hunka hunka burning love, Pauly Vegas.
Ahhh, wrong.
When I dialed, I got recorded voice messages for 95% of them that I didn’t understand. I actually got through to a few but could understand next to nothing as they talked. Nope, without Whatsapp texts, no shot here. So all those PhotoA girls were basically just a tease, those doctored photos just a taste of what might have been if I had WhatsApp. And so, a resolution…I’m done fighting. When you can’t monger without WhatsApp then either use WhatsApp or stop mongering. So, I will buy a cellphone. I will leave it in the motherfucking suitcase for 10-months a year and for the other two months I will take it out and I too will have the magic access of Whatsapp females at my command. Can’t beat the online mongers, so join them. You win, Lawnmower Men. With a caveat: It might look like I’m with you, but I’m not WITH you.
Most of my trip pics are freelancers. More I look at the pics the hotter the chicks look. Odd though, when you open the door and you’ve never actually SEEN the chick. All but one I would not have chosen face to face. But take off the clothes, look at those tan 20-year-old bodies and yes, yes sure, hahaha, don’t understand a word you’re saying but you are SO funny…shall we fuck?
Most freelancers agreed to photos. The best two did not. Sorry, guys.
Sex with these, after the otherworldly doings of U24, was a bit tame for me. Still, most of these were fully into the sex and so, while not anywhere near the freelancers of AC, can’t think of one that wasn’t worth the 200R+.
URAGUANABANANA 24, PART 2: CENTRO OR CRISTO?
Found myself downtown at noon, prime time. With all the tons of casas in those professional building up by Carioca, I never got laid once there, gravitating much more to Olavo Bilac 13 and 15, plus U24. Like a heroin addict, my feet lead me down toward Uruguanabanana 24, up the staircase into the dark and the pulsing beat, the disco ball pink and purple strobe lighting, up to the 3rd floor hoping for a repeat with Baby. She gave me her phone number but c’mon, taking her out of this place and fucking in my clean bed would be like trying to feed foie gras to a yellow-headed vulture. Up to the 3rd floor but she’s absent, or more likely getting pounded. I never made it higher than her club so hit the stairs. Up on the 6th floor I see Gogi (pronounced Ho-Ji, appropriate!) This girl is lean enough so that she’d been considered the skinny one at any Terma. Long body, good face. A 6 for $22 bucks? And she’s wasted. Pay the cashier and I’m fondling her as usual. The #MeToo Movement would have an issue with my propensity to disrespect a clearly impaired female! Hit the room, peel off the fucking clothes to that music, and we attack each other. Savage. The rubber came off fast. She didn’t stop me, and I didn’t stop me.
She took all 3 vibrators including the egg. A clarification: When I say “the egg”, I’m talking about the battery-operated Kegel vibrator all the chat girls currently use that makes the chicks lose her shit…
https://www.google.com/search?q=kegel+vibrator&client=firefox-b-1-d&tbm=isch&source=lnms&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjW9NqFscTjAhUDVa0KHdzOAEYQ_AUIDSgB&biw=1366&bih=590
Look at that Mona Lisa face. Mona Lisa moans all day, every day, on this 6th Circle of Dante’s Inferno.
We finish. I tumble down past the 3rd Floor and Baby sees me. Oh fuck. She takes my arm and I don’t stop her. In we go.
30-minutes with Ho-ji had taken a bite out of me, plus the “strange” was missing this time around with Baby, but she’s athletic (from fucking 8 times a day perhaps?) and INTO it. Drop the shorts to the ground in one move, dump the oil and vibes on the bed, she’s naked now.
We attack each other.
SOLARIUM- TERMA 5
Again, I'm sure the problem is me. Rolled in at 8pm Saturday, you'd think that would be prime time but for all I know it's the worst time to get to Solarium. Who the fuck knows, I don’t have the time to deduce the perfect hour to arrive at each terma. Including the two 25R cab rides, the entrance fee to Solarium is more than Centaurus, where I can just walk up to the door with zero cab fare. 120R + 50R gets me a peek at the smoking-est hot goddesses in the city. Fine, ante up, I'm in. Oh wait, I have to wear the stupid robe and flip flops, no exceptions? Ok, I’ll keep my clothes on and wear the robe over them. Looks as stupid as it sounds. Upstairs I go, open the magic door and see... the same thing I saw at Centaurus, same thing I saw at Monte Carlo, and 65, and for the most part 4 x4...a ratio close to 1 to 1 male/female. Ex-frat boy party guys (more obnoxious here than anywhere else, drunken dancing, howling, high fiving) hey guys, stay the fuck away from me. Even they could have been tolerable if the female payoff was there. The OH MY GOD, I HAVE GOT TO FUCK THAT WOMAN woman.
That woman was not here.
I saw hotter chicks at Ipanema beach every day, and in the streets. I saw normal-sized chicks at Copacabana, in Centro, so why did none filter into this group of chocolate-chip cookie dough air pumped Baby Got Back Solarium females? I could put a blindfold on and pull 20 chicks out of Nana’s Billboard hotter than the hottest woman here. Weren't even 20 chicks in the joint, or maybe there were, and I just had to have the patience to wait for the best ones to stop fucking upstairs and come down. I don’t drink to get drunk, and have neither the time, nor the inclination, to spend an hour with high-fiving 44-year-old-ex-drunken frat boys-now-lawyers in hopes of a stunner coming down those stairs. If that means I missed the stunner who was upstairs the whole time, then that's what it means. Ciao, Solarium.
With the Termas and freelancers from PhotoA as complete bust outs, how the hell could trip be considered any sort of victory? Simple. Just like in Pattaya where Soi 6 saved the day, here it was the unrelenting, hallucinatory sex of Centro.
OLAVIO BILAC 13, AGATHA
“Put ‘em on, put ‘em on, put ‘em on me…put your hands on me”—Sinead O’Conner
Learned to pack a day bag with condoms, baby oil, all 3 vibrators, camera, notebooks, water, towels. Hit the casas I missed the first time at noon, fuck, eat something, then hit 4x4 at the best 4pm time. That was the plan.
Now blow up the plan.
Olavo Bilac 13. Hmmm, nice blonde, long and lean. Agatha. Stoned at noon, champagne-glass tits. She’s eating rice and beans. Puts the food down and tongue-kisses me. Jesus babe, how about a quick pass with a toothbrush? Ok, that’s Wrigleyville talking…shall we share some more bacteria? Hand the cashier a hundred and in we go. Wait, there’s no music. It’s 2R for each song she says. I give her 20. Give us some fucking acid music please.
Look, there were—and still are—plenty of small fuck rooms like this in Medellin. And back in ’07-’09 they were filled with utterly gorgeous street chicks. Even two years ago when I revisited, the street scene around the church in the Botero Plaza was kick ass with much hotter chicks than here.
But to fuck with that pounding acid music, in that strobe lighting, no talking, no nothing but savagery—Medellin cannot compete.
We’re naked and I’m about to lick her entire body when she drops to her knees amidst the used condoms to suck my cock. Oh, that’s inspired.
Odd fucking a real blonde with white skin, chick in full trashy Courtney Love-mode (maybe early Courtney when she was KINDA hot?)
Use all 3 vibrators on her while I facefuck her (the egg goes inside the pussy, the wand on the clit, the other pink one right into her mouth. Then out with the egg, in with the dick, out with the dick, in with the egg…) riding, doggie, pull that fucking hair back and make her swallow the whole vibrator. She not only doesn’t struggle but pushes back against my dick. There are no no’s in this room. Oil her up full and lick that hard belly and great tits. Unconscious, otherworldly. And it’s $22 bucks.
I need a bath, a shower, a rub down, a Martini, and a head shrinker after an hour with Agatha.
I had found my element. Centro is where Pauly Vegas belongs. Stumble out into the Centro noon time beehive. All that is man-made is sold on these cobblestone streets…circular saws, super glue, po-peel vegemite slicers, sombreros, tiki torches, Bart Simpson knockoff coffee cups, Calvin Klein knockoff underwear…
I can’t possibly stick around down here for two hours. Wasted and bacteria-infested (I mean, I plucked my underwear from the condom-filled garbage can) My clothes need to be boiled. There are no shower facilities at Olavo Bilac 13, can you imagine? Grab a cab home.
Make it to the Arpoador rocks by 6pm…. this is a pure tourist event. Most English I heard was here, and at the Copacabana Palace for Sunday brunch. Magnificent 6-color sunset over Ipanema. From Olavo Bilac 13 to this? The juxtaposition astounds. What a life down here.
Went full tourist that night, hit the Girl From Ipanema restaurant where the song was penned. Near me was a table with 25 American chicks, all drunk. I took photos of the little monument for Vinicius De Moraes and ate a very good filet mignon.
LIVING THE BWANA LIFE
So, let me get this right, my friend… Every morning you go to your window, and if you see clouds, you know you're heading to Centro for the day. If you see sun, you know it’s an Ipanema Posto 8 day, one of the great beaches in the world. Later that afternoon when you have a yen for hen, you order in some fine freelancer pussy via Whatsapp. Then at 6 you double back to the Arpoador rocks for a stunning sunset. Then eat a fine dinner with a good bottle of red wine, and perhaps follow that with a Terma visit, all in 70-degree, zero humidity air?
No. Life can't be that simple.
Now I see, Bwana…now I see.
4x4: THE BREAKING OF PAULY’S TERMA CHERRY
Finally made it down to 4 x 4 at the right time, 4pm. This is because if you session before 5 they wave the 60R entry fee. By this point the cashier lady knew me and I had my “let me peek for two minutes” bit down. She said the boss said it was OK so I put my bag into a locker (locker girl knew me too—I tip, too much, all the time and she’s laughing, hopes I find someone this time. So, in street clothes, I go in.
I take 3 steps in before I see a smoking hot beauty in schoolgirl glasses—her name is Isabela and you should try to find her. I knew, in 5 seconds. See how that works? Then came the real hustle to get into a fucking robe before some 40-year-old frat boy grabbed her. Hustled in there and grabbed her. We “talked” (Spanish isn’t going to help you much, guys.) There was no massive interview. I didn’t need to make out with her or have her hand work into my robe. I wanted to fuck her, vamos, let’s go.
After U24 and OB13 this room was the Plaza. The total without the entry fee was about 450. 125$. She was an 8, and a sex freak, it turns out. Too bad she was also a rubber checker (you may have noted my difficulty with rubber fucks—that cause in AC it never happens) So the session downgraded from what could have been spectacular to pretty damn great. Look at her riding me… Look at that! Got a few rushed photos, hiding the face stuff…next trip bring outfits but also a mask and you’ll have more luck taking Terma girl photos. This was the most beautiful girl of my trip.
URGUANABANANA 24, PART 3—90 MINUTES, 90 DEGREES
Last day at U24 was the worst, and it was still insane.
First off, it wasn’t 19C like the first couple days. It was 30, which is pushing 90F. And yes, those 20 degrees F make a difference when you’re walking six flights of stairs in that airless hellhole. I was technically in there for 90 minutes, though I bailed on the first two chicks. Huh? The first one I found on the first floor. Hadn't seen her before. Liked her look, athletic, great face and she rubbed that ass on me as if to say "you're not going anywhere". Fine. Get into the room and unpack my day bag and she starts questioning what's this, what's that. Well Doll, this is baby oil, those are the 3 vibrators I'm going to penetrate your hardcore pussy with... Oh no no no, she says. I'm sorry, what? “No” and U24 do not go together. No oil, no vibes, and questioning my rubbers? I say ciao and start dressing. She’s like—what are you doing? I don't DO no, doll. With just two days left, time becomes a more precious commodity than money. And I've burned much more than $22 on this trip. Upstairs to floor 6 I go...it's 30C and I’m fully sweating and disgusting, I see Ho-Ji, the one I did three days ago. Vamos! We get in the cubicle, no questions on the vibes and such but last time she was wasted enough that there was no rubber and no issues. This time, different story. Long story short, it became work. That dinky room, the sweat, and trying to keep the rubber on with her checking all the way. I called it after 15 minutes. Headed back down.
Walking down past the 3rd floor, I saw a powerful chick, short, no fat, ripped belly. Looked like a Romanian gymnast. I was done in with zero intention of doing anything, but I just couldn't walk away. Hand the cashier $25 bucks and in we go. She was a watch checker and I hate that, but she loved to suck cock and I laid her out on that shit bed and smothered her hot body with baby oil then licked every fucking inch while she sucked me. OH....... about 20 minutes in I got tired of the rubber dance and
offered her 100R to take it off. She said, I believe, the session is over, so I went out half-dressed, to buy another 30 minutes, basically throwing money at the cashier. Back into the brutal room and she was willing, and we got a couple good positions in. Amazing body for such a low-brow setting. Go figure.
Stumbled outside into blazing sun, fell into a cab and was almost home before I realized I barely had enough to pay the cabbie his 50R. Showered and burned my clothes.
U24 is a hallucination.
TERMA 502
Last terma on the list. Figured it was another in & out, scratch it off the list thing. Doorguy hands me a small card and up I go. Love it #1- there is no robe stuff here. Bit more space, like an actual club. And only 10R entrance? Love it #2. Wow, the place is packed. Probably 2x1 dudes to chicks. Expecting the usual big fat zero when I see… a goddess. Oh really?! Fuck yeah #3.
7, maybe 7.5—smoking hot face, hard body, long dark hair. Next to the 4x4 stunner Isabella, this is the hottest chick I’ve seen in a Terma. Too bad she’s locked up—happily chatting with a dude. Ah well, would have been nice… I take a tour of the place, finish my Coke, nothing else here. For some reason I go back in the main party room to see—she’s gone. No idea why I brought my glass back to the bar but I did, and I saw her…ALONE.
Took about 3 minutes to go from “Hi!” to cashier (150R for 30 minutes?! If only I knew that an hour was 200—fucking best bargain in town!) to the small room where she starts to strip for me. She’s drunk or stoned or otherwise impaired, works for me. I hand her a 50R tip before we start and she likes that, she likes that very much if licking my ear is any indication. This room is a notch down from 4x4 but two notches above U24. There’s a sheet and a 1-inch prison pillow. A crude shower but it doesn’t matter because this is going to be a showerless fuck and showerless fucks are always the hottest. Pulling at the strings of her bikini, in one motion she naked and lays back and I’m eating her…moans…I’m on top of her with a pre-emptive strike, pulling out 100R from my wallet: “propina…sem preservafuckingtivo…”
She pauses, you no cum in me.
I no cum in you, hand to God!
Ok…
OK!
Thus, commences Goddess sex. The session you hear about on the monger boards, where the chick is an 8 before the sex starts, then you discover she’s one of the Sirens that lured Odysseus against the rocks of Scylla.
One of the best lays of my life. This was a U24 fuck, but not with a skank. No need for a blow by blow. I lost track of the number of times she came—like in BARBARELLA when Jane Fonda melts the sex machine with her orgasms.
Ze is her name. 3 rushed pictures included. Look for her.
On the way back to Ipanema the cabbie shows me Cristo Redentor and says I have to make my way up there and I say yeah, I want to, but I’ve had a choice up ‘til now of making my way to Christ or to Centro whores, and it’s been the whores. He laughs.
There are no adventures like here in Thailand or AC. I know those places too well. In Rio, every day it's an acid trip of your own creation.
SUNDAY WITH PAULY VEGAS, THE WANNABE TOURIST
Tour guide Jocelyn charges 250R for a full 10-hour tour day. Gotta be up at 8 though…
My driver Carlos does a day tour to Sugarloaf and the Christ statue, but he wants 500R for half the day plus the expenses of the locations are extra.
I’m thinking, fuck that. Wake up at 11, leave the house at 12, how about I just make my own way up there? Do just that, grab a cab (and they are everywhere, and the cabbies honest, every one of them turned the meter on, and I took a hundred of them) Head up the hill for my Come To Jesus moment at last. It’s only ten bucks to get up the hill and the cabbie drops me off, points me to the ticket line. Tickets for the tram are 80R, so far so good, ‘til I see the next tram isn’t for NINETY minutes! And tourists have massed. Oh yes, must have been 100 people already in line willing to wait the 90 minutes. Oh yeah, and the little sign about the elevators being out and my bum foot was howling and... Tourist Pauly crumbles. Jumps into a cab and cuts his loses. Bwana talked about a $90 buck buffet at the Copacabana Palace…vamos! When I’m living a 1500$ a month fixed income life, I’ll miss the days I pissed away cab fares and 90 buck meals. Gonna get my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames…
Waiting at the Copacabana Palace reception desk, I see two model-quality spinners talking at the desk. THIS is what I expected at the Termas. Breathtaking. Good to know they actually exist.
I’m told there’s a one hour wait and unlike with Cristo Redentor this is cool because I can stroll out onto Copacabana Beach, pull up a folding chair for a buck, order a caipirinha for five bucks and take in the mellow smooth sun. I’m getting darker by the day and each new shade burns out my pale-white Chicago heritage.
This would be a fine place to wind down Act 3, I’ve decided. It’s now in the conversation for what happens if and when Pauly Vegas makes it to early Social Security—along with Pattaya, Angeles City, Medellin, and Costa Rica.
I sip the drink on Copacabana beach, then hit the $90 buck buffet.
Have to say, while the grilled lobster tail and champagne poolside was rad, the lamb shanks, bottomless oysters, and 20 desserts quite fantabulous, but nothing compares to the Bangkok buffet served up at the Marriot. This would be the last time I would fuck the buffet on this trip. Hearing Tony Montana here: “This what it about? Fucking, sucking, eating? This what it about?”
LAST DAY
It’s done. I’m done. Been on the road since 3rd week of May, two solid months. Started this journey with a bad foot that pained with every step, with a bum knee, a neck injury. Then taking dick pills, add constant stomach acid which had me consume an entire Target mega-bottle of antacids, had me taking 4 ibuprofen a day for two months. Not good, but my back pain demanded it. Frail and fat is no way to go through life, son.
Add to this a curious chest pang that was new.
I was toast.
But I had two freelancers scheduled, including Camile, the most beautiful freelancer of them all. 19, she looks like Little Lupe:
(https://www.google.com/search?q=little+lupe&client=firefox-b-1-d&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjDpK_AxcTjAhWYZs0KHZ_fCc4Q_AUIEigC&biw=1366&bih=590).
Too bad this lay didn’t happen back in May, and with no rubber. Would have been one for the books. As it was, wow, safada to the max…how can a 19-year-old girl this hot be so into sex with a 240-pound 61-year-old marshmallow? I guess this is the voraciousness the Rio mongers talk about. I gave her what I had left, leaning hard on the vibes. They all cum, they can’t leave my pad if they don’t cum. Got her twice with tongue and vibe. Gave her a 50R tip and she was gone.
Within an hour I had a 99.9 fever and called off the last date. Persistent cough, tightness in my left side just under the ribs, trouble breathing. 12 hours before a 12+ hour plane trip. Crash at 10:30 and up at 6. Stuff a thermometer in my pocket along with about 20 iburprofin.
The long, strange trip was at an end.
LONG TRIP HOME
The first pain shot under the ribs on my left side about an hour into the 6-hour flight to Panama City. It would not relent. Thoughts: 1-Heart Attack? 2-Press the button and the airplane returns emergency style, I’m wheeled off and every passenger is really, really UNhappy at me. Nah, not going that route. Pulled out the tray and rested the arm, popped 4 ibuprofen, and gutted it out. When the plane landed and I hit the 100-degree Panama City heat, I almost doubled over, couldn’t breathe. It seemed to get better in the AC of the airport. Tried to eat a sandwich and when I reached for it, I winced. The counter lady saw. “Are you in pain?” “Yes.” “Do you want me to call a doctor?” THIS close to nodding yes. But c’mon, I nod yes there, I’m not leaving Panama. I don’t make the transfer flight and then I’m stuck in Panama City laid out in who knows what hospital costing who knows how many thousand dollars. Then again, maybe the hospitals there are cheaper and better than Chicago? Just want to get home. I shake no.
Second flight took 2 more ibuprofen and stabilized the arm on tray. Less strife. Miraculously, there were only two ropes of people ahead of me at US Customs though the bags took 30 minutes to come out from Copa and in pain at 1am, those are some cold dues. I had already decided I wasn’t going to lug my bags onto the transfer bus, wheel them down to the Blue Line, 30 minutes via the Blue Line home, then lug them down the El stairs, then the 10-minute half a mile walk home. Best $60 spent on a cab ever. He pulled them out of the trunk and all I had to do was lift them up one flight of stairs. The pain in my left side was so strong I was doubled over and gasping for air in the humid Chicago heat (fuck you too, Chicago, 97? Really?).
After a 12+ hour plane ride—was I calling 911 right now?
Inside, cooler, I was breathing fine, and without the exertion of power-pressing a 50-pound bag, the pain relented.
Scheduled an MRI the next morning.
In the four days since, walked many miles in 95 heat to the doctor and back, other places--no issues. Fever is gone. No shooting rib/side pain, breathing fine. So what was that pain then? Like the trip itself, a hallucination?
Michael Jordan—leave it all on the court.
Pauly Vegas
Photos: Dali Disco A 01 02
Photos: Dali Disco B 03 04 05 06 07
Photos: Dali Disco C 08 09 10
Photos: Dali Disco D 11 12 13 14 15
Photos: Dali Disco E 16 17 18 19 20
Photos: Dali Disco F 21 22 23
