2003/03 Spruce - Into the Arms of the Redeemer (Brazil)
ClubHombre.com:
-TripReports-:
Trip Report Archive:
South America:
Brazil:
2003 Reports:
2003/03 Spruce - Into the Arms of the Redeemer (Brazil)
Prologue
Rio brought the unexpected. I had done all the research, read the boards, listened to my Pimsleur, bought the phrasebooks, purchases some chocolate condoms, and even managed to get my hands on a copy of Hot! International. I was ready. Or so I thought.
United we stand
United Airlines overbooked their flights for Carnival. I received a call the week before I was to leave asking me if I would mind leaving the following Monday. Since they could not promise me accommodations I declined. They call back in 30 minutes due to the fact that I had purchased the ticket for one of my companions. They called thinking it was him. By the end of the conversation I agreed to leave one day earlier than originally scheduled, stay four days later, and take a business class upgrade, all at no additional cost.
Sitting in that Business Class seat, I stretched out and non-chalantly turned down the complimentary champagne. After a few minutes I hear the voice of the captain.
There’s a problem with one of the air conditioners. He says it doesn’t look like we’re going to make it out on this plane. Words are spoken throughout the cabin and flight attendants are questioned. After 20 minutes we find out we are all staying in Miami for the night. Re-scheduled, now, to fly out at 11:00 am the next morning. I see my first full day in Rio slip through my fingers.
I spend the night in a dingy, humid, windowless room in the Miami Airport Hotel. I think about taking the Ambien I’ve brought with me but it’s already late and I worry about sleeping in and somehow missing the flight. I get up at 6:45 for no particular reason and decide to call the airline and check the flight status. I’m told the boarding begins in 30 minutes. Scheduled now take off is 8:00 am instead of 11:00.
I call Jose, a guide, who I’ve hired for our Carnival trip, and give him the details of the flight change. He meets me at the gate with a folder full of itineraries for Carnival week. I’m grateful, as the guys that are coming in the next day are only staying for the weekend and would like to get the most out of their time on the ground.
I’ve arranged an apartment in Ipanema on Praca General Osorio, a great little neighborhood park, two blocks from the beach and right around the corner from Centaurus. In one of the emails the owner warned me, in a nice enough way, that it might not be a good deal to bring strangers in the apartment as I might have less then what I came with once they leave. Well I really plan on having strangers and will be really bummed out if it doesn’t work out. I ask Jose to please discuss this with our doorman.
On the way up the elevator, Jose, the seasoned pro, waits for the appropriate moment, after a few minutes of chit chat then hits him with it. They talk, I don’t understand I just see the doorman shake his head no, but in a very positive way. A few seconds later Jose looks over at me, “No problem”
Sweet. We’re in the place. It’s hot as hell and we figure out right away that the air conditioner doesn’t work. We also figure out that there is no hot water. The doorman turns on the hot water but we don’t feel it. He says wait a while but after a week I never felt it. Turns out that temps are in the 90s all week. Cool showers were in order.
I’m tired. Haven’t slept the night before in the crappy hotel room. Took little cap naps on the plane. It’s still early where I am but all the movement has got me bushed. Jose wants to get started. I can’t blame him. I do too and I’m glad he’s along or I’d really just hit the hay.
It’s too late for the termas so we decide on Help. After an ATM, a phone card purchase, and a shower for Jose (who has spent the whole day trying to hunt down a new window for the one that was smashed when his van was broken into about 5 hours before my arrival) we show up outside.
“You like big butts?”
It’s crawling with women and I can’t believe they’re all on the Program. We find a seat order some food then sit back. I think I’m going to sit back and wait, but I know better, pretty soon I’m going to have to make a move. No better time than the present. After our food comes I point to the girl sitting right behind Jose.
He looks down at her.
“You like big butts?”
Well, no, damn, I don’t like big butts but goddamn I’ve got to get this ball rollin’. I’ve already missed a full day. I’ve got to get something under my belt. I’ve been reading about this shit for the past six months. Yes I like big butts, who gives a rat’s ass.
We trade seats so that I’ll be in a position to talk with her. She sees me approach, our eyes meet, and she’s nice. She got long jet black hair, a little pudgy face, beautifully dark charcoal eyes, and smooth bronzed smartly tanned skin. I think I’m in.
I sit down and begin with Portuguese I. After a few simple things we start to talk about Help, dancing etc. I’m doing well or at least I think I am. After a few more minutes I turn back towards my table, comfortable that my foot is in the door.
Not 30 seconds later a guy comes down. A fuckin’ vulture comes down. He swoops down, puts his arm around her, moves in close and begins his rap. At this point I’m sitting there thinking she’s going to say she’s with me. I have a sip of beer; next thing I know he’s has her wrist and is lifting her out of her seat. They walk off. And it’s not to the bathroom.
I lick my wounds; we finish our beers then head towards Help. I’m determined now, a little savvier, better off for the lesson I’ve just learned.
Inside Help the place is packed. I’ve read about it. Heard it discussed and was also warned about the crowds during Carnival. It is fuckin’ packed. Wall to wall and difficult to walk through. I follow Jose on what will be the first of many ‘laps’ throughout my stay in Rio. We make it around once. He sees one of his friends so we stop to talk with her. Jose is very cordial and introduces me to everyone he talks too, be them guy or girl. This one happens too be a girl. A very, incredibly cute girl. After brief introductions we say goodbye but as I’m walking away I realize ‘why not’.
I go back, buy her a water, and we hit the dance floor. She’s not cute. She is absolutely gorgeous. Barely five feet tall, eyes like Dora the Explorer, and a body perfectly portioned to come sliding out of a genie bottle. By the second song I’ve spun her around and she begins to move her ass graciously against my crotch. All I can think about is what it would be like to bring this girl home. I stare up at the dance floor lights and bring my hands down on her hips reassuring her of her movements.
When we finish dancing we walk off the dance floor and I ask,
“How much to dance back at my apartment?”
I’ve never had to ask 'how much for sex?' or at least it hadn't felt like it before tongiht. In the past it’s just been a brothel in Old San Juan or a memorable time with a street hooker not to far from my house. All those times sex was implied. You asked how much but this was usually after the girl had her tongue down your ear and her hand on your balls.
So she asks, “Only dance, no sex?”
I hide my embarrassment and say,
“No, sex, of course”.
Then she hits me with $200.00 US.
Demais (jee – mis, pronounce the “i” like “mile”)
I made a point of remembering the word ‘demais’ as I was studying Pimsleur. I say it now, probably say it twice and assure her that I know what it cost and that she is way, way out of the ballpark. She comes back with something, I really can’t hear because the music too loud, then she turns and walks away.
Jose comes by a few minutes later and asks what happened. I tell him she wanted $200.00 US. He shakes his head and concurs that it’s Carnival and the girls think they can get away with murder.
It was later on, probably near 2:00, 2:30 when I met Manuela. She was short as well, probably about the same size, with warmed eyes, a kindergarten smile, and healthy cheerful lips. She’s was wearing tight jeans, platform heels and a small black blouse that exposes her soft, bronzed belly. We begin to talk and thankfully she knows a bit of English. I buy her water, we chat for a while then hit the dance floor as well.
Within the next 15 minutes two different guys approach her. It’s crowded as hell but there’s actually more room on the dance floor than anywhere else in the club. I give her some room and let these guys move in her space. After seeing what can happen though, I’m aware and stay on my toes. The first guy comes and goes but the second stays and decides he’d like to become a permanent attachment to her ear. I can see on her face that she’s only getting about every fifth word he says. He’s obviously a foreigner and more obviously drunk. He keeps looking over at a group of his friends who are standing off to the side, watching, as if they’ve dared him to do this. My blood pressure final hits the point and I move in. “There’s a million other girls in here man why don’t you find yourself another one.” He pretends like he hasn’t heard me then moves closer, asking me to repeat myself. He turns toward Manuela and suggest to her that I must be her boyfriend. At this point one of his friends approaches and attempts to see what’s going on. She comes closer to me and it’s apparent she wishes the drunk to get as far away from her as possible. The guys leave without incident.
I bend down and ask this 5 footer if she’d like to come home with me. She says yes and does something similar to burying her head in my chest. No money is discussed.
Back at the apartment in Ipanema she gives me a blowjob on the veranda while I watch the sun rise against Dos Hermanoes. After she finishes we both stand there, resting against the brick wall, which has provided us our privacy, and watch morning begin in Ipanema. I look up and see a man on his balcony about 200 yards to the North. He’s had a clear shot of us the whole time and although unable to make out faces I’m pretty sure could see a white man in a patio chair with brown Brasilera bent down between his legs. I shrug it off. Such is life. And Manuela lights a cigarette.
Day Two
I don’t sleep because we’ve got to pick my friends up at 9:00. Jose comes over, ask me how the night was and I tell him it went fine and she’s still up in the room sleeping.
“What? You’re going to leave her there?”
I figure the doorman’s there. She’d need a set of keys, two keys to actually get out on the street. The chances of her going anywhere are slim. But just in case I ask Jose to mention it to the doorman on the way out.
We arrive at the airport and find one of the three hasn’t made the trip.
“I sent pictures to you guys so you could find one another”.
“I know, I haven’t seen him.”
“You guys were supposed to sit together”
“I know, it wasn’t him. I walked up and down aisles calling his name”
I can see that No. 1 and No. 2 have already dealt with this absence and are beginning to get wide eyed, looking around the airport and wondering about the city. I however don’t know what to think. I walk back to the customs exit and wait while the two friends get to know Jose. I get a little anxious, not only at No. 3’s apparent new status as a missing person, but also at the fact that I have a Brasilera in my apartment who’s bound to wake up at any minute.
I remember that Jose’s cellphone doesn’t call the US so I go over to the phone kiosk and pay 1 realis per minute to call my fiancé.
Yes, Friend No. 3 missed his flight, or got bumped, or actually, got screwed by United. He’s stuck in Miami and is trying to get on another flight. Good, great, I’ll catch up with him later. I tell Jose and we head out.
Arriving at the apartment I’m happy to see the money is still where I left it and she’s still sleeping soundly. I show the guys around the apartment hoping to purposefully make enough noise to wake her up.
About twenty minutes later she is up, showered and sitting on my lap in the living room. My friend’s jaws remain slightly slacked as I talk with them and intermittently flirt with Manuela. These guys no nothing of Rio and only recently, on the flight down, have read the reports by Bwana and Barnes.
We all get settled to go and I see that Manuela hasn’t taken her money. I grab it, hold in my palm for a while, and then as movements begin toward the door, reach behind her and shove it in her back pocket. I get her a cab at the corner and she kisses me before she goes.
We spend a great afternoon with Jose tromping around Ipanema. First some of the neighborhood market, then lunch at PorCao followed a trip to ‘Whore Beach No. Two.’ Turns out to be one of the most memorable days of the trip.
Help again
We’ve told No. 1 and No.2 so much about Help and the scene outside that there’s little question as too where we’re going. It’s nearly midnight when we show up outside and land a table right in the middle of three tables filled with girls. No guys, just girls. No. 1 and 2 love it. They haven’t signed up for any extracurricular activities but they both seem to enjoying themselves with the show. I’m tired as hell at this point. One night in a musty hotel then another getting a blowjob on the rooftop. At this point I just want a beer some food and a bed.
These guys however are quite awake. Jose has struck up a conversation with a few of the tables and confirms his earlier suspicions that a lot of them were from out of town. He has his eye set on a girl behind him who turns out to be from Sao Paulo.
She begins talking with Jose, which gets the interest of No.1 and 2. They see her smiling and laughing and it doesn’t take long before they’ve fallen for her too. But I can’t believe how much they’ve fallen for her! I mean the guys are smitten and I can tell it’s going to be up to me to take one for the team. It is my bachelor party after all.
I know they’d like to see her in the morning, live vicariously through me, etc, etc. So I trade seats with Jose and begin in on Pimsleur I.
She is pretty. Dressed like a regular girl and even looks like a regular girl. Her face is a little tight and it gives her the impression of a schoolteacher who’s left her glasses at home. Her nose is a little long but at the end of it is this rosebud of a mouth. Stunning.
We chat for a bit. Work on price. She’s from out of town and is driving the price way up. I feel like I’m about to get into a bargaining session again, the kind where the longer you wait the better you do, but I just can’t hang tonight, there’s no way I’m going into Help and there’s no way I can talk to this girl for another hour, buy her drinks, etc.
The boys don’t care. They don’t know jack shit about prices and are willing to pay just about anything. Finally we agree on 400 realis. This is 200 more than I’ve spent the night before. But the guys are buying, 1 and 2, it’s my bachelor party so what are you going to do.
I bring her back, take her up to the veranda as well and feel a twinge of peculiarity at the fact that I was just up here not 24 hours ago with another girl, a strange girl, doing things to her that I’m about to do to you. This must be what players feel like. Before we get down to business I show her my laptop because she had earlier mentioned liking The Rolling Stones. My laptop is full of mp3s I burned for the trip so I let her choose away. She picks Brown Sugar and I get that warm honey like feeling that only comes from listening to familiar music in an unfamiliar place, the night is perfect. We lay into each other and begin to make out.
A little further along into our session (specifically when I have her bent over the table and her tits are flapping against the screen of the laptop) I feel the need to tell her to slow down a bit because, well, it’s almost over for me.
If you’ve studied Pimsleur you know depresar (quickly) and devagar (slowly) are taught at the same time. Well I get these mixed up. As I’m taking her from behind, I say “depresar, depresar” she looks back, raises an eyebrow and repeats my words as if to say, ‘oh, depresar!’. Her ass began to move with a velocity, I'm sure, only witnessed in other solar systems. Within seconds it was all over. The curtain closes and the actor takes his bow.
Day Three
I sleep in the next day. Jose and No. 1 go to the airport to get No. 3 who’s been stranded in Miami. They get back around noon because of some car burning accident in the tunnel.
With everyone here now we’re all patting’ backs, shaking’ hands, slapping’ five, all that stuff guys do when the whole group finally meets up after various travel schedules. Just then last night’s catch, Aunt Bunny, walks out of the room. She comes straight to me, kisses me and lays her head against me like she’d want to go back to sleep. No. 3 is stunned. He knows nothing of the place, hasn’t even read Barnes or Bwana. No.1 and 2 have shit eaten grins because they’ve already been through this once.
Aunt Bunny is nice enough to hang out with the guys for a bit. They shoot the shit with her then we send her on her way. She gives her number to Jose and asks that I call her later.
We spend the day getting No. 3 acquainted with Ipanema and participating in a neighborhood Carnival Parade, called Banda de Ipanema. Our experience is stopped short in the Banda when Jose and No. 2, saying they can’t take it anymore, head out and begin to move towards the sidewalk. It’s crowded so it takes us a while for all five of us to fight the oncoming tide of people.
Seems that Jose and No.2 were getting humped from behind by all the gay dicks in the crowd. I’m not sure what they’re talking about then realize, because they were behind me, that I had no chance of getting rubbed up against. I’m glad I made it out there relatively unscathed but can see that No. 2 and Jose are visibly disgusted. We head walk over the beach for some cooling off.
Back at the apartment. It’s about six o’clock and we’re all sweaty and a bit beat. I suggest that we go to the Termas. Knowing the hesitancy of No 1 and No 2, I assure them we’ll just go to take showers, relax, maybe have steam, and generally freshen up. They don’t mind but I just want them to know that they don’t have to get laid. They’re married and moral and whatever No. 3, however, is all for it and determined to get laid on this trip. We jump in Jose’s van and head off against monster Carnival traffic towards Luomo.
Parking, paying the guy to watch the car and getting a general sense of security is all done before we walk in. Once inside we learn the place is full. No lockers available. I’m still tired and don’t really care. I wanted to see the termas but having sex in them at this point is not a priority. Next we head to Solarium and then Monte Carlo. But all are packed, lockers are full.
We’ve run out of options so decide it’s time for dinner. Jose takes us to one of his favorite neighborhood spots, Bar 420 in Copacabana. We sit outside, the five of us now, chatting it up and really enjoying ourselves. No.1 and I order the feared cachaca.
After I down it I feel the buzz come on quick. It feels like I’ve been shot from a cannon. My face is flush and I’m talking really rapidly but then the buzz wears off as quick as it came.
We hit a Samba School rehearsal that Jose had earmarked for us. Great music and a surprisingly good atmosphere. A number of tourist but the music seems to bring everyone together in a big dancing mass. We meet a few American girls and one really can’t believe that I was allowed to come to Rio for my bachelor party. “You must have a cool fiancé” she offers up, after already
asking No. 1 if we’ve been good. For some reason this opinionated, self-possessed, antagonistic American female appears to be the antithesis of Brazil and its Carnival Celebration. No. 1 and I begin to see clearly the hopeless plight of the American male as he tries to sow his seeds in the States. We lash out at the reality that has landed in the middle of our Brazilian dream. She, her American elitist persona, gives us an extreme push and an unjustifiable feeling of self-righteousness towards our pursuit of Brazilian women. We leave, our tanks filled with unleaded anger, looking to unleash our misdirected vengeance on Help.
As we approach, after we’ve showered and freshen up at Jose, we see a familiar site. It’s Aunt Bunny. She’s on us, or more specifically, on me before I know it. She says something about 'don’t go in' or 'where are you going,' but I don’t hear her. I’m like a man drowning in the lifesaver of her arms. I’m looking at my buddies, they’re looking at me. I am sinking pretty fast.
Jose jumps in to tell her that we’re just going down to get something to eat or make a phone call or something. We start walking towards Meia Petaca, get about 50 yards then regroup.
No. 2 is astounded at her aggressiveness. I’ve read about these chicks and know how they can get. Jose knows as well and knows it’s best to just wait it out and let it pass. A few minutes later we walk back toward the entrance than loose ourselves in the crowd of people.
Inside the place is packed. More packed than it was Thursday night. This is Saturday night of Carnival. Helps got the ball flying out front. We see some scantily dressed girls walking around, the place is moving.
Once inside we find a corner. Takes us a while but we get there. We all stand around surveying the place while Jose wanders off.
A few minutes later I see him walking back towards us. He’s got a big grin on his face and I can see he’s got something behind his back. Turns out it’s Manuela, the cute little spinner from night one. She’s dressed in a little red see-through outfit and has silver sparkles splashed across her cheeks. Very cute. She leans up and gives me a big kiss. I’m glad Aunt Bunny’s still outside.
We walk over to where Manuela’s friends are and I began the long night of watching, waiting, drinking water, and avoiding eye contact (prolonged eye contact) with any other girl, lest they get the impression that you want to talk with them. Thing about some of these girls, once you give them that impression, if even by mistake, you could have a few minutes on your hand where you’d wish you’d looked the other way. Think guy selling necklaces on the beach. They should give you sunglasses in Help just for this reason.
By the end of the night it’s clear that No. 3, who’s been in town less than 24 and was missing in action yesterday, is again missing in action today. No one can find him. Jose and No. 1 do a few laps of the place but turn up nothing. This guys been drunk three times already and doesn’t know a thing about Rio. By the end of the night we just give him up for lost. He’s a big boy with a credit card.
On they way outside I get separated from Manuela. She’s putting something in her purse, straggling behind me a bit, and I’m trying to spot a cab driver who’s not going to charge me 20 for a 5 realis ride.
In the meantime, Manuela’s getting felt up and accosted by the little grommets outside of Help. They reach up, grab her necklace, then grab her purse and basically scare the shit out of her.
Well I don’t know anything about this. I figure it’s safe, it’s her neighborhood she must do this every night. But really I don’t even think that I’m just looking for a cab. Well she finds one hails me over and then begins to explain what’s happened. She’s shaking, nearly in tears, eyes much wider than they need to be at this time in the morning and I’m just sitting there feeling like a dumb ass. Stay with her man, that’s all you needed to do.
By the time we get to the apartment the cab driver his hugging her, calming her down (they’re old friends) and I’m thinking I have a little less remorse for the little Pixotes in Rio.
I put her to bed when we get back to the apartment and head off with No.2 for breakfast. We hit the brunch at the Luxor Regente. The food is marginally good, probably equivalent to a breakfast buffet at a Residence Inn somewhere in southern Arkansas. No. 2 and I talk about Help while tourist from the hotel shuffle down and talk about some place else. The difference between their rested, pampered countenances and our hardend, rusty, no bullshit expressions strikes me as terribly funny. Some asshole asks one of waiters for hot chocolate while his overly polished wife sits by and laughs at his attempts to purposefully botch the language and subsequently confuse the order.
Hippie Fair, Corcovado and Day Four
It’s Sunday, the Hippie Fair at Praca Osorio is in full swing. Since it’s right across the street we spend the day wandering back in forth and getting some much needed rest.
By the time everyone gets back together it’s apparent that we only have time to do one more thing before taking No. 2 to the airport. It’s decided that we should see Corcovado. Manuela is dressed in a t-shirt and spandex tights which I guess she’s had in her purse from the night before. I’m not sure if Manuela wants to go to Corcovado. I asked her but she’s only expressed what could be considered polite interest. We’re about to leave, and I believe, send her home, when she tells Jose that yes, she in fact does want to do to Corcovado but doesn’t have any shoes. Funniest thing is seeing these girls, mid afternoon, in the shoes or better yet the outfit they wore the night before. I just screams, ‘I was out late last night fucking this gringo. And he hasn’t sent me home yet.’
I take her across the street to the Hippie Fair while the other guys go to Jose’s place to get his van. I shop for my fiancé and my prostitute at the same time and find myself distinctly more interested in shopping for the latter.
As we’re walking, amidst the stalls of the Hippie Fair, I offer hats, jewelry, and purses, but she says no, laughing at me almost as if to say, ‘don’t be a fool, don’t be like the other idiots who want to by me the world, and says, “All I need is some shoes”. I buy her some flats for 35 Realis. We meet back with No.2 and head off towards Jose’s because the traffics too heavy for him to come and get us.
Corcovado
We knew we had to see at least one tourist attraction. Corcovado was to be it. Luckily we picked a clear day. Racing up the mountain Jose is pounding his clutch, we’re leaning forward in our seats, all excited at the race to climb the mountain and beat the setting sun
We make it, just with enough time to get the top. We don’t want to run but I would like to see as much of the place as I can while there’s still some light. I bend down and offer to carry Manuela on my back. She gladly accepts.
As I walk her up the stairs, slowly, struggling, the symbolism crashes down on me. Prostitute, Christ, Mary Magdalene and a phrase in some unwritten Bible that says, “and the prostitutes shall all be carried, on the backs of men, up the mountain of Christ.” I’m injured, alone, flaying in the sunset near the top of Corcovado, wandering where my life is going and what is it doing. The tragedy of her life, of any of these girls lives and what they go through each day comes awfully close to me at that point. I'm inexplicably moved by it all and at the moment feel quite appropriate carrying her up the hill.
I put her down finally. She smiles and bounds on ahead of me. Corcovado is beautiful.
“Holy shit man you have got to see this place”
We take No. 2 to the airport then drop Manuela at her apartment telling her we’ll call her later. It’s Sunday night, the last night in Rio for my last two compadres. They’re smiling, Jose’s driving and he’s smiling as well. I ask them what’s going on. They hem and haw.
Finally after a few minutes of cajoling I get the truth. Aunt Bunny, who was scouting the door outside of Help the night before, has been calling all day. My buddies want to see her. I can’t believe it. They want this girl, who obviously was concerned with my whereabouts and who I was with, to accompany us that night. I tell them they are crazy. Jose says no, she knows about Manuela and she says she’s cool with it.
I’m stunned.
Jose repeats, “No really, her and her friend, you remember the black girl, well they want to come out with us.” Then adds, “if it’s alright with you of course”
With me? Okay. Sure
We head back to Jose’s so he can shower, then sit down in what was the first of hopefully many board meetings to come. Jose has a big granite table in his dining room. The four of us gather around at opposite ends and each pop a Skol.
“The girls are all up for dinner” Manuela, Aunt Bunny, and the black girl who we call, Halle Berry. “As long as you don’t have a problem with it” he begins again directing his statement towards me.
“I don’t have a problem. If these girls can sit across from each other and be civil about it then that’s fine.”
“What about the samba parade?” I remember to ask.
There is silence.
I’ve had visions of bring all the girls down to the parade, getting tickets, getting some decent seats, then just kicking back and watching them dance. They are fun to watch dance. I’d spent enough nights at Help with a water bottle in my hand to know that. But the guys aren’t having any of it.
“Alright” I say, “alright,” conceding, knowing full well that it is a long shot and quite a pain in the ass to drag these girls all the way out there on the hopes of scoring some decently priced tickets outside the show.
“Alright but I at least want to watch it on TV,” I say
Jose replies “What about VIPS?”
VIPS it is.
We pick the girls up, Manuela first, then Aunt Bunny and Halle Berry and sure enough, everyone is civil. Aunt Bunny says hello, minds her manners, then quite professionally takes a seat next to No. 3, the guy who was drunk all day in Miami, then lost at Help the night before.
We, the seven of us, have a great dinner at Marius. Everyone is getting along fine, wine is flowing and it is again one of the best moments of the trip.
After Marius we load up the van and head to VIPS. It’s a wonderful night, just after a slight rain. We’re listening to CD’s, all generally content, feeling happy and buzzed, well on our way to a wonderful evening at a place I’ve only seen in pictures.
But there’s one problem. Manuela’s cell phone keeps going off…
After what seems like 5 or six calls since the last sips of wine at the restaurant, and as we approach VIPS, Jose makes the mistake of asking Manuela too please turn her cell phone off because I’m beginning to get a little pissed off. I don’t speak the language but understand immediately that Manuela has not taken to kindly to this suggestion. She begins to bristle up and grows deeply quiet. We pull into VIPS, into this quaint little private garage, secured for the Millenium Suite and Manuela is not having any of it. She did not plan on a festinha, and goes through an incredible meltdown where I hear about her kid, her life, her sugar daddy that keeps calling and the fact that she really doesn’t need to work and she left with me from Help the other night because she liked me, thought I was nice etc, but she’s not into drugs, she’s not into orgies, she’s a little pissed off at Jose and would generally like to get the hell out of there right now.
It is a fucking disaster.
Everyone has gone inside. I’m trying to calm this girl down and tell her that it wasn’t a festinha that was planned and we don’t have any drugs. (My God I’ve been drinking water for four days straight) and I’ve no intention of having sex with the other two girls. At this point I’m about to throw in the towel and say okay, fuck it, let’s go back to the apartment, we’ll sip on wine, watch the stars, you can calm down then I’ll take you home but then No. 3, the wanderer, and the one who has taken Aunt Bunny for the night, comes out in the garage with an incredibly big fucking smile on his face. He’s dressed in the infamous white robe.
“Holy shit man you have got to see this place. This fucking place is the best!”
I can’t leave. I ask Manuela to wait. I go inside to find Jose for some damage control.
The Millennium Suite is really fantastic. It’s immaculately clean and I find it hard to believe that nightly, weekly or whatever, the place has at least 6-8 people fucking all over it’s walls. The place is all mahogany, chrome and chlorine. I find Jose and ask him to please go talk with Manuela. I chat it up with No.1 for a few moments and tell him about Manuela’s meltdown. Out of the corner of my eye I can see No. 3. He’s already in the back bedroom, big hard dick and Aunt Bunny is about to climb on top. Halle Berry is completely naked and ascending the stairs to take a look at the pool.
After a few minutes of watching the samba parade on the big screen, I go back out to the garage. I see Manuela has visibly calmed down.
She asks me, “So when are you getting married?”
I feel a boulder slam into my gut.
“Married?” I say to myself then look over at Jose for some kind of enlightenment but know that he must have had to come clean to explain the party, why all the guys, why the girls, why VIPS.
But the question, “when are you getting married,” combined with the reality of my recent behavior leaves me a bit uneasy.
I tell her November. She smiles, and says, something to Jose which makes him chuckle
“She’s telling me that maybe this can be her bachelor party as well since she’s getting married in August.”
After a little bit of talking we assure her that her and I can have to upstairs pool area all to ourselves and whatever we need it will be taken care of. Finally she consents and goes inside.
Bachelor party saved.
Chocolate Thunder
VIPS is really nice. I expect everything to just half work but everything is in total working order. Dry Sauna, Wet Sauna, Exercise room, stereos, television. Having the music piped through the place is genuinely soothing. We’ve brought some of our own cd’s and No.1, knowing that I’ve just been through a slight train wreck, puts on something he knows I’ll recognize. I pour myself a drink from the bottle of Johnnie Walker someone has ordered then sit back to decompress.
You can see everyone and basically everything if you make your way back and forth across the downstairs portion of the millennium suite. There’s a discreet sense of privacy but only if you’re watching television. I’m upstairs with No. 1 and we’re just about to walk down when Jose comes barreling up.
“Oh my God, did you see No. 3’s dick?”
He’s really astounded, and having known No. 3 since high school all I can do is laugh.
“Jesus, I thought she had the dildo on him. His dick is fucking huge!”
Jose is really animated and I continue to crack up. It’s a nice laugh, first one I’ve had after the near disaster.
I find out later he thought it was a dildo because she had wrapped him in one of the chocolate condoms I’d brought from the states. I’m beside myself with laughter the next day when I realize this. The fucking chocolate condoms actually got some use.
After a few more songs, a few dips in the pool, and topper for my drink, everyone settles down. Manuela and I have the pool to ourselves. We have a romantic moment in the water then head to the side. Finding surprising comfort in the nearby pool chairs.
It’s beautiful out. The music is coming through nicely, she’s naked laying on the chair, underneath what is a very impressive light, then I hear gunshots, or what I think is fireworks because that would be just to perfect but Manuela tells me no that they were gunshots and points towards the favela just on the other side of the hill. I think great, looking up at the dark hill. If I was a kid, I’d be there like clockwork around 1 am to see if there’s any new naked honeys down at VIPS. And I think they’re there tonight, but hopefully without guns.
In the middle of making out I realize it’s time for a condom. I excuse myself, find an available bathrobe then make by way down the spiral staircase. As I come down I see No. 1 standing in the middle of the room, robe open, with Halle Berry between his legs. Again, the lack of privacy in VIPS catching me off guard, so I instinctively turn my head, putting my hand up as I walk past them. I do this not only so I don’t see them but also so No. 1 won’t see the enormous smile on my face. No.1 is a happily married man and made a point of paying his girl, who was Halle Berry, not to fuck him. We wanted the company, needed the girls, but No.1 did not want to cheat on his wife. He just wanted to see them naked and of course come along on the night of the Bachelor Party.
After the deed is done I’m told that No.1 went to seek the advice/consolation of Jose.
“There’s was no penetration?” asks Jose.
“No, none. No penetration”
“Then there was no cheating”
“Thanks” says No. 1 “that’s what I thought.”
This is where Jose, although swearing never to break the code of playing while he’s on the job, succumbs and has sex with Halle Berry. Not once but twice. We kid him about this all the next day but he makes a good point.
“I didn’t want to waste No. 1’s money!”
And the girls wouldn’t come if there was to be no sex. They requested it, even before picking them up.
By the time we all try to lay down the sun is up and it seems ridiculous to hang around the place until 10 am. I rouse Jose and he agrees. We get up and are served coffee on the outside deck. Which we all take, all seven of us, looking at each other, nothing to hide between us, a complete sense or relief and a chance to be yourself.
As we make it into Copacabana we’re all pretty giddy with exhaustion. We start dropping these prostitutes off at their respective residences and someone comes up with “The Wore Drop Off Express”. WDOE. It’s just so funny because Jose’s really scooting around town like the fucking UPS Man and at every stop we’re dropping off a prostitute. Drop one off here, okay, thank you, another one off here, okay thank you, then another. By the time Manuela gets out we’re all relieved and jubilantly chant “Free at last, free at last. Thank God we’re free at last!”
The next day we just hang out. Have a fantastic meal and Felazondola (sp?) in Ipanema. It’s right next to the Irish Pub on Praca General Osorio. Not Shannigan’s, there’s another Irish Pub on the east side Praca Osorio. Felazondola is a salad bar of types that allows you to fill your plates with beans and rice, pork, salad, sushi, steak, fish all for the weighted price of your plate which comes out to about $6 US. The Irish Pub, by the way, is a nice place if you need a little pinch of home while you’re in Rio. Draft Guinness however is a whopping 19 realis. Chopes and Heinikens are regular price.
We take No. 1 and No. 3 to the airport. There time in Rio is done.
It’s Monday, and proves to be the most relaxed night of my week. Jose drops me off at Tudo e Facil, I work for about the next 2 hours then head back home for a full night’s sleep.
Tuesday-Day 5 Part2 and the End
Everyone’s gone home. The bachelor party has officially ended. I’ve extended my trip for another three nights. Later that morning I get an email from Badseed asking me how the trips going.
I tell him that I’m stunned that I just can’t belief that I’ve spent every day except one with the same girl. It’s a fucking GFE experience. And I’ve read all the guys on the board talking about it. I just never really planned on it. I thought, of course, terma, terma, terma, escort. Damn I even had the map that you can write on. I’d marked the addresses and locations of all the termas from Dood’s maps. Now I hadn’t even looked at my map since I’d landed.
He tells me not to worry about it. In fact it seems he prefers that kind of trip. Gives one a chance to see the city, tour around, take the girl places, just like a regular vacation. So hell, I guess I’m a GFE guy.
I work most of that day at Jose’s apartment. Although the internet cafes are good, most of them have a firewall which prevents me from transferring files. Jose allows me to use his dial up account and I end up staying there tell sunset when, in true expatriot fashion, we have drinks on the veranda, as we watch the throngs leave Copacabana.
That night Jose and I head to Barril 1800 for dinner. I don’t like it that much. The place is a beachside café. Probably better during the day when you can drink beers and watch the scene pass by outside but at night it’s dark, there’s no sun and g-strings to distract one from the quality of the food so you get dried up shrimp dull rice and a couple of luke warm beers.
Afterwards we head to a bar called Emporio. It’s behind the Ceasar Park in Ipanema. Jose says it’s where the Brazilian girls come to practice their English. I’ve only been to Help so anything local is appealing. We arrive and sure enough it seems like there are a lot of Brazilian girls, non-pros, talking in what seems to be English, although I can’t tell, but talking to a lot of foreign looking guys. It’s a nice place. I was just too beat to join in. But we had a nice conversation just standing outside watching the people move in and out.
We tried Manuela a couple of times. Hell, my doorman even called her once because I wasn’t sure if I was operating the payphone correctly, but to no avail. I go home, lay down, would like to see her but what are you going to do.
Then I hear the buzzer – the intercom from downstairs. I nearly fucking catapult out of bed. I’ve been wearing these earplugs from business class, and anyways, rip those out and move into the kitchen where the phone is.
“Surprise” she says over the intercom.
“Ok great” I act bored.
“Who is it?” I say.
“Manuela!”
“Oh. Oh really? Geez..” the act of disinterest doesn’t work. She orders me down to let her in.
As we’re walking up the elevator she tells me her phone was stolen and that she’s been using her friends. Which she shows me. She tells me Jose stopped by Sobre e Ondas on the way home and told her I was looking her for. She said she told him that I didn’t call her. We’ll hell your phone was stolen. Anyways she kisses me, apparently happy to be there, and I make a mental note to thank Jose.
We spend the night together much in the same way we had in the past. Talk to 3 or 4 fall asleep then have sex after she showers in the morning. Works out to around 11 am. Sex till noon or so that day then she tells me she’s going to beach. Her son is in town. Her mother, her son, her aunt, her cousins, all of them are going to beach. She asks me if I’d like to come.
Hmm.
I take a cab with her to her place. She lefts around the corner from one of the Tudo e Facils. This one is great. Turns out not to have a firewall. I begin sending files, returning emails, really grinding away at work. She comes in but I tell her that I’m going to be a while. She waits, then leaves to go get her friend. By the time she’s back, I’m finished and we jump in a cab, heading for the beach.
Now I really don’t want to meet the folks. I mean, I signed up for a lot, but this wasn’t one of the things on the list. I’ll fuck her, I’ll pay for her, I’ll even wait for her at Help for what seems like eight hours, but I can’t, won’t meet her mother.
The cab driver drops us off outside of Barril 1800 and we begin the hike towards Arpoador. These girls are dressed for the beach. I’m wearing shorts but I’ve got my laptop around my shoulder and feel like somehow this excludes me from the casual, relaxed atmosphere of a Rio beach.
When we get to Arpoador Manuela takes off running across the sand. She’s seen her son in the water. Her family, Manuela’s friend Maria points out, is right over there to the side.
I tell her I’m hungry and I think I’m going to go but she holds my elbow in what seems to me a very kind gesture and assures me that it’s okay. It’s no big deal. At this point I’m in and begin the long walk across the sand towards their umbrella. If you think Bush has got a long walk to the podium, it’s nothing compared to this one.
I arrive and smile. No one seems to be looking my way. Although I catch some sideways glances, we’re all just standing around watching Manuela play in the waves. After a while, but what seems like an eternity, she comes back. She’s kind enough to apologize for leaving me standing there, then proceeds to introduce to me to her family. I must say Muito Brazer twenty times.
After doing so, I wait the accustomed time and tell her I’m going to go. She reaches up, kisses me on the lips and says, call me later.
You’ve only known me three, maybe four days
It’s her birthday tommorow, which in Rio is really the night before because envitably, with this crowd, you find yourself out at midnight. Anyways I think I might take her somewhere but when I call her later she says she’d rather stay in Rio because she doesn’t get to see her son that often. This is cool with me, although I did have nice little images of having her out on one of the islands. Oh well, maybe next year.
She comes over that night at around 9:30. She’s dressed in a stunning outfit. Her hair is done, she’s wearing this white blouse which just show’s so well against her bronze skin, a pair of tan, corporate pants, high heels and appropriately professional earings. I think she looks like my secretary, or better than my secretary, but then when she gets off the elevator it’s all there; that say in her cocky ass which says, “Yep, I’m a prostitute”. So she’s dressed up but that doesn’t necessarily mean I can take her anywhere.
Because she is so dressed up and I’m in Bermudas I ask her, innocently enough, if she’s going out tonight.
“Yes” she says, “I’ve got to go to work”
I’m sitting down next to her. I really don’t have anywhere to go with this one. It’s not like she’s going to hang with me for an hour or two and then go to Help. I say,
“You don’t have to go to work.”
This is when the sparks start to fly. I see an attitude on her that I’ve yet to witness. She tells me I don’t know her, I’ve only known her for 3-4 days, she’s got a family, her baby needs medicine, she needs to pay the bills, on and on, and well, I’m speechless.
I get up to get some water and on the way do a quick recount. I’ve been with her 5 out of the 7 nights I’ve spent in town so far. Of those I paid her 200, 250 for VIPS, and then another 50 or 100 for riding around with us and being cute on Corcovado. All in all she’s in the red on this trip and after all I like her.
I move back into the bedroom take out 300 realis then walk back to the living room where I drop it on her pillow.
“You don’t have to work tonight.” I say. And I feel like Bogart.
“What’s this?” she says doing a really poor job of acting surprised.
Then composing herself says, “This is my birthday present, okay, you don’t have to get me anything else. Thank you. This is very nice. This is my present.”
She’s happy or at least relieved. I’m happy because she’s not going anywhere so we settle down and make some plans. Seems like the phone, which she’s borrowed from her friend, is low on charge. She’d like to get it charged up so people can call her on her birthday. I don’t mind, at this point I don’t care. So I agree to go to Sobre e Ondas, which I don’t realize is Help, as long as we can sit inside. It’s hot as hell and the apartment, although it has ac in the bedroom, does not have it in any other part of the house.
We arrive, take a table, order a dinner and a bottle of wine, get nice and comfortable then she begins to tell me about last year’s birthday. Well last year they had a big party for her upstairs at Help, all her friends were there, her mom showed up, people surprised her, they had a saxophone player, all this really great stuff. I realize that in about an hour she’s going to sitting across from me. No sax, no friends, no Help, no hats, nada. When she goes to the bathroom I ask the waiter for a cake and candle.
That waiter tells me right away that he can’t help me. Next I motion the maitre d’ over. Surely he can help me. He says “oh yes, of course” then heads off into the back. Well he reappears about 5 minutes later, I’m sure after doing a bevy of other things, and gives me the thumbs down. Sorry no candle. At this point I’m looking at Manuela, we’ve ordered champagne and she seems to having a decent enough time. But it ain’t like last year.
I get up walk over to the maitre d’, who’s now over on the side, again immersed in the heated duties and responsibilities of Sobre e Ondas, and stick a twenty realis in his pocket while pointing out that surely, somewhere in Copacabana, there is a candle.
I come back to the table. Manuela is giddy. She’s seen me slip something into his pocket and whisper in his ear. This get’s her all excited. Looking back she probably thought I was ordering up some marching band. But, no, sorry baby, just a cake and a candle.
Her friends show up. Two of them. So the party is growing a bit. They sit down and join us in a glass of champagne. Just about then I see the maitre d’. He gives me the thumbs up.
A cake is brought out with one brightly lit yellow candle sprouting from the top like the last piece of corn the farmer forgot to chop down. I’ve done the best I can. Manuela, like any 20 year old, is visibly excited I sit back, sip my champagne and listen to them all as they sing “Happy Anniversario”. One of the waiters gets a bright idea for an encore. He goes in the back and puts on the song on the sound system. This draws more attention. So for round two we now have all the waiters, the maitre d’ a few folks from outside, all gathered around singing “Happy Anniversario”
(On the way out I notice Manuela slip an extra 20 to one of the waiters. Very cute.)
We have sex the next morning. Lunch downstairs then I walk her out to the cab. It’s been an enjoyable evening and she’s still riding on the fact that today, again, is still her birthday. I smile and wave for a cab.
As he pulls up I bend down for the customary tchau, kiss kiss on both sides of the cheek, but she goes for the lips. The slip up is apparent. She calls me out on it, asking me “Oh, you don’t want to kiss me out here?” I’m done. She’s right. Yep, I don’t feel comfortable giving you one of those long mack-daddy kisses that I see other young Brazilians exchanging on the street. If you’ve seen some of these folks they just full on make out anywhere and everywhere. She’s not mad. She knows I’m gringo. I pinch her on the but and playfully push her in the cab. She rides away, smiling, with her hand to her ear, asking me to call her later. Of course I will.
Last night in Rio
When she comes over that night she’s dressed up again in what I fear is a working outfit.
“Are you going to work?” I ask a bit demurely.
She says ‘no’ very nonchalantly and I figure the money I’ve given her the night before may have allowed her a two night reprieve.
She asks me what I want to do and I don’t have and answer. Then she stands up and does this little Scarlett O’hara, ‘Tara is burning’ faint in the middle of the apartment. It’s very cute. She pleads with me that we please go some place because all she’s seen this week is the inside of my apartment. Yeah, I think to myself, because all you’ve done is sleep over here.
She suggest Sobre e Ondas and a glass of Sangria. I accept. At this point anything’s fine. I just want to hang with her.
So we pull up to the scene. A scene which I’ve seen almost every night but this nights a little different. It’s like there’s a new crowd there. Most the Carnival folks have left. I feel comfortable. I’m not wide eyed like I was before, in awe of the sight of all these women. I’m cool. I got my woman. We walk through the crowd over to a table of her friends, they’re all hanging out, drinking, they get up when I come over, kiss me on the the cheek, say hello then we sit down and get comfortable. I help them finish a pitcher of Sangria bought by some unsuspecting gringos at another table.
By the end of the night we’ve probably ordered three more pitchers. The party has grown abit, there’s more girls now, and I’ve spent most of the evening comparing notes with a couple of guys from New York. When the check comes I reach for my pocket to pay for what is another night out with this girl but then am surprised. The girls are reaching in their purses, they’re pulling out money. The waiter comes and they hand him the bill. I’ve been paid for.
After sex the next morning I suggest Garota de Ipanema for lunch. I haven’t been there yet and imagine something lyrical about bringing my Manuela there for lunch. (Yes I heard the song last night and yes I thought of her, but I did not think of the restaurant).
As we’re walking to lunch we pass this homeless couple, all crumpled up on a couple cardboard boxes. She looks at them and says, “That’s you and me”. I’m a little lost here but I chuckle because I can see she’s cracking herself up.
“No, no” she says, catching her breath, “that’s you and me when you move to Rio, marry me, lose your job, then we’ve got to sleep in the street.” This is enormously funny to her. I’m wondering what’s she been thinking for the past 24, 48 hours. I’d pass the same couple a thousand times and never think it was she and I. But, anyways, there you go.
We have a nice lunch at the Garota de Ipanema. I order a steak sandwich with cheese, and she orders a salad. After a few beers we’re both smiling, grinning, watch the street traffic move by, having a perfect touristy day.
We walk back to Praca Osorio. Although I’m ready to say goodbye here I’ve also got to do a little bit of work for the day. I get my laptop and continue on with her to her internet café. I wouldn’t go if it had a firewall. Later I think I just shouldn’t have gone at all.
We pull up, get out, she kisses me on the cheek and asks me to call her later. I’m like, later, this is the last time, possibly the last time in my whole life that I’m going to see you. Later? But she’s queasy from the beer, mentions her stomach’s a little upset, there are all kinds of people around us. Not the perfect place for a goodbye. So I leave it at that. Kiss on the lips.
I’ve got just enough money left on my phone card to call her from the airport. After checking in I go over to one of the phones but for some reason can’t get it to work. There’s a lady talking on the one next to me. When she’s finished I ask her nicely to please help me make this call. She does but tells me because it’s a cell phone my minutes are going to go a lot faster. I’ve got 20 showing.
Manuela answers. I tell her I’m at the airport and she says something similar to damn. Whether she knew it was goodbye earlier is hard to say. I begin speaking Portuguese telling her I had a nice time, thanking her, etc. My minutes are running out. I switch to English and just tell her she’s a fantastic little girl and to please take care of herself. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Take care. Miss you. Bye.
I walk towards the gate, sit down in one of the available seats and wait for the long trip home.
| By Slicey on Monday, March 31, 2003 - 03:02 pm: Edit |
wow, awesome story.
i had a similar thing happen to me when i went down a few months ago. thought i would be all over the place and got hooked on one girl. so that story hits home. especially the ending which was a little bit sad.
i tried to work things out long distance but it looks like it is not going to happen.
well anyway, thanks.
Spruce,
Glad you had a great time,
Be careful, don't get caught up we all been there.After hearing the stories from the garotas like the kids and the family I just see it as a cold call. I felt bad after hearing it from the first five or ten girls now I just shrug it off.
Too bad you didn't get to hit the thermas twice a day.
CN
Spruce-Great story. Great first trip to Rio. Wow a bachelor party in Rio. what a great idea.
Hope your November event goes well. You will always have great memories of Rio.
Sandman
Wow. Excellent report. Keep up the good work.
Great report, great stories, great soap opera. Such is life in Rio. It's easy for guys to say "don't get too attached, all program girls will always be on the program, yadda, yadda, yadda". We've all been there telling our buddies to not be a chump. I'm spent the past week and a half with a Rio girl in my house here in the US and it's difficult not getting a little attached. Still, in the end we are all dawgs.
I honestly hope that your wedding works out. It's amazing how a trip to Rio can open one's eyes to all the pleasures of the world. I honestly hope one day I can be faithful but i seriously doubt it.
Thanks again for the great report.
Spruce,
You are brave man. I don't think I'd have the balls to do a trip to Rio and assume I'd still want to get married upon my return.
Sterling
| By Badseed on Wednesday, April 02, 2003 - 10:35 am: Edit |
Spruce:
It's Brazil, at least in my own, not-at-all-humble opinion. Seriously, only in Latin America are the professional girls so *unprofessional* in all the right ways...
As for your good times in Rio, glad it went so well, and glad I was able to help a bit with the planning. Manuela sounds like real gold. Now what's with this "Aunt Bunny"? Is that really what she called herself? Cute anyhow ;-)
So,when are you going BACK?
BS
We all go to these playgrounds -- be it in Bangkok, Manila, Shinjiku, Tijuana, Havana, Buenos Aires, Moscow, etc. -- to play; I do not remember any rule talking about having different partners. In Manila, pimps and street walkers will ask you, "Want good time, Joe?" So, if you had a good time, with many garotas or just one, albeit special -- then your trip has been worth it. Nice story telling.
| By Ixtoc on Monday, April 07, 2003 - 01:37 pm: Edit |
Spruce:
Excellent post, one of the best I've seen, it reads like a novel.
I too came under the spell of a brasiliera, in Manaus, went from picking her up in a bar, to spendings days with her, to calling her from the states.
Although painful at times, it was fantastic. The emotional involvement is what makes garotas maddening and unique.
Ix