After a recent trip, I e-mailed an outline of my activities to a friend. Reviewing that e-mail brought back pleasant memories, some that I would never have thought of again. I resolved that on this trip I would keep a daily log. After all, what do we gain of value except memories?

Arriving in Rio be sure to get a couple of free tourist maps from the girls who hand them out at the airport. I sometimes use one of these to hide a little spare cash.

Customs uses a red/green light system. I got the red light this time. That just meant that I had to load my bags through an x-ray scanner. I’ve never had any trouble with customs coming into Brazil.

The red and blue taxis from the airport are to be prepaid at one of the booths that face you as you leave customs. They are all clean, comfortable, and safe. Today they quoted forty three reals “including discount” (about eighteen dollars US).

A frescao, big air-conditioned bus, goes to Copacabana and continues through Ipanema to Barra every thirty minutes. One is usually sitting idling in front of Terminal 1. There is a stand with the name Real on it on the sidewalk as you exit Terminal 2. A sign says Omnibus Especial. The attendant in the Real uniform will tell you when the next frescao to Copacabana is coming. The bus is white and has a crown and the word “Real” on it. I’ve never waited over twenty minutes. You can’t miss it when it arrives. The taxi drivers will tell you otherwise.

This is a nice relaxed ride through downtown, some famous old neighborhoods, and down Avenida Atlantica. Write down your hotel address and the driver will let you off at the right corner. These busses have an on-board steward to help you. The steward will give you a tag for each bag that he stows underneath the bus. If you’re traveling light bring your bags right onto the bus. Otherwise don’t get excited and forget to retrieve your bags when you get off.

This bus will take you past the main bus station, along the docks and by Praca Maua (I intent to revisit later). Look for the Scandanivia and Florida bars. Then down Rio Branco, the main street downtown, and a short detour to Santos-Dumont, the downtown commuter airport. Next is Flamingo, you’ll ride along the park that separates the buildings from the beach. Then Botofogo beach, the small beach that is on all the postcards with Sugarloaf in the background. With Sugarloaf on your left you will go through two tunnels.

You’re now in Copacabana. The bus will turn right, down Avenida Atalntica the big street that runs along the beach. (On Sundays Avenida Atlantica is closed to traffic so your bus will go down Barrata Rebiero.) Popular hotels are Debret right on Ave. Atlantica and Rio Roiss by the Orthon Palace, the biggest and by far the tallest hotel in Copacabana, about two thirds of the way down the beach. The steward will retrieve your bags. You pay for the bus while riding. The cost today was four reals, equal to one dollar and sixty cents U. S. If you don’t have any reals yet two dollars will do.

For a daytime ride back downtown these frescaos can be boarded when they’re stopped at the traffic lights along Ave. N. S. Copacabana. There are no marked bus stops for the busses. Except for the bus to the airport they all end up at a terminal downtown a few blocks from the most popular termases.

I often ride the common busses. Everybody in Rio loves to demonstrate their encyclopedic knowledge of what number bus will take you to your destination. Board at the back, HOLD ON TIGHT, and watch for pickpockets.

Yellow, common taxis are cheap but the drivers can be difficult and will often take advantage of those who don’t speak Portuguese. Still they’re very cheap. The taxis parked in front of boites always over charge. Try catching a taxi that is driving by, but don’t take any unnecessary chances walking late at night.

There is Metro service Mon.-Sat., but you won’t see much in the tube.

The exchange rate I received at a cambio today was 2.5 reals per dollar, or you could calculate base on every real equals forty cents US I’ll just quote US dollars from now on.

There is only one hour time difference between my home and here, but I have season lag. At home it’s still light until nine PM. Here in Rio, it was dark before six. The evening is the best time for me to post. Otherwise it’s often a dead time for me. I don’t like to go out to early. The selection of girls peaks at about 1:00 AM.

------------

I didn't get this posted yesterday as I planned but I had a couple of good excuses. More later.

Malandro

Excellent useful information! I'll need to keep this report in mind for tips before I write my next report.

Saturday, after writing my first post, I got some rest and headed out with diskette in hand. When I
checked into my hotel there was a flyer for Lido On-Line, a boite with free internet access. The flyer
said that they opened at 8:00 PM. I arrived at 9:30. The door was locked but severlal girls were
waiting under the awning along with a couple of waiters. I struck up a converstion with the girl I
thought the best looking, Perla. I invited her to my hotel for a drink.

She was very pleasent, but I wasn’t ready. I needed to shop. When we got back to the Lido the owner
had just arrived on his motorcycle. I followed the girls up the stairs. I’d been in this bar before. I asked
where the computers were. The answer was that they were locked up in a closet. They would get get
them out “soon.” I didn’t want to wait for “soon” to come so left. I went down the street to Tudo Facil,
the internet store on the corner of N. S. Copacabana and Prado Junior. They were closed. I decided
to check-out Bie Willie and Michelle’s.

Bie Willie used to be a bar named Bate Boca. It was remodled by a Swiss and renamed Ibeza. It was
closed down for years and finally reopwned as Bie Willie.

This is a favorite spot of mine to start the evening. Drinks are cheap and the girls come and go as they
please. Unfortunately, it’s being remodled again. Next door is Michelle’s, a very small bar open to the
street. There is no sign but everybody knows the owner Michelle, a friendly young Swiss who speaks
English, German and Portuguese. So say hi and don’t hesitate to talk with customers who are
speaking German. They all seem to speak English and can be fun to hang-out with.

While I’m thinking about this block of Prado Junior, Domo, formerly Erotica, is a big Boite downstatirs
across the street from Michelle’s. It has typical boite rules, two drink minimum for you and for any girl
that you want to take home. The guys on the corner will tell you that a look around the bar is free. I
once saw an extremely hot girl entering, I walked in, got her phone number, and left without spending a
cent. Nikos is another boite right next to Michelle’s, same rules, normally a couple of cute girls
standing at the entrance to invite you inside.

Back to my story:

Standing at the entrance of Michelle’s was a very hot young girl, Kathia. She was wearing today’s
piraña uniform, extremely low cut jeans (I’ve never seen these outside of Brazil.) and a macrome bikini
top. She looked like a party guest trying hard to look like she wasn’t alone. I invited her in for a drink.
She didn’t touch her chopp but her knee was sure touching my dick. After I drank both we were off to
La Maison on Avenida Atlântica. La Maison, at the corner of Figueredo Magalenes, was a favorite
daytime stop for some of the finest piranñas coming back from the beach and an extrermrly popular
steak house at night.

The matre was a guy who made sandwiches for me at El Cid years ago. The food was good but not as
good as in past years. Throughout the meal Kathia had her silm leg wrapped around mine. She
insisted on a package of our left-overs for a street kid. From La Maison I would have taken a bus back
to my hotel. Kathia wanted a taxi, the first cloud on my horizone. At the hotel she wanted to sleep
before sex. I avoid any conflict with the girls but on my first night in Rio I wasn’t ready to start waiting.

The sex was a suprising dissapointment. She was akward and uninspiring in comparison to her
appearance and the way she treated me before we got to the room. She wanted to sleep. I was left,
wide awake, just after midnight, prepared to start reading a book, waiting for her to wake up for fuck
number two.

So, fuck that! I explaind to her that she could still be out finding a new client and I could be drinking
more. I said that I wanted to pay her for her time. I figured that one hundred reals (forty dollars) would
suffice. But, just for the hell of it, I offered fifty reals. She countered with fifty plus twenty for the taxi to
her sister’s apartment. I protested that no taxi cost twenty. We both hapily agreed on a total of sixty
reals ($24). I went straight to Sunset.

Valeria is in her late twenties, very slim, athletic looking, with square sholders. I’ve spent several
nights with her on past visits to Rio. We spent a couple hours playing the jealousy game: She
pretended that she had seen me looking at some other girl. I pretended to pretend that it wasn’t so.
We made up, over and over. Drunk enough, back to the hotel. Either Valeria is a great actress or she
loves sex. She sucked me dry. After our morning session I felt “reamed, steamed, and dry cleaned.”
During breakfast I gave her one hundred reals ($40).

Sunday is normaly a very slow night in Rio, many bars are closed. To make things worse I had misset
my clock. I was on the street too early. Help is always busy so off I went. After a boring couple of
hours in Terracao Atlantica I went upstairs. Still too early, but pleanty of garotas. I met Roberta and a
friend.

I was ahwed by Roberta’s beauty, a blond, tee shirty by TACO, loose jeans and ovbiously no
underware. I bought drinks for her and her friend. She quoted one hundred dollars fixed without me
asking. I only allowed her to slip away because I know that I have pleanty of time to meet her again.
Has anyone had any experience with her? I’m always reluctent to invest in a trophy. Believe it or not I
left Help alone.

Next stop Norguiera, an old friend seated with two other girls, one Dalvha, very slim and very cute. My
old friend was complaining that she had no place to spend the night. I didn’t know how to invite Dhalva
to my hotel in light of my friend’s plight. After a couple of beers the answer was simple. Dhalva said
“let’s go.” and, so we went.

At four in the morning Dhalva was a little slow to start, I got out my new Fukuoku 9000 (Thank you C.).
She knew exactly what to do and invited me to help. Another suprise, after one fuck she wanted to
leave. I handed her forty reals. She held out the money saying that she always received at least fifty. I
told her that next time I’d pay her the fifty.

I slept late on Monday, so much work to do, the first weekday, get everything arranged so that
everything will be “en camino” before I leave. Maybe I’ll just stay in tonight...NOT.

********
It’s Wednesday morning as I write this.

I tried to post the above Monday night. First I went to Lido. The doorman wanted me to pay sixteen
reals in advance for two drinks. I asked about the internet. He said that they had an excellent
technician working and that it would be ready next week (Translation = never). I went to the internet
store just around the corner. Reviewing my post I noted that some characters like the quotation marks
and apostrophies had been converted into nonsense character strings.

I’m so far behind that I don’t know when I’ll catch up. My resolution to post every day to preserve
memories is but a fading memory. I went to see the film Copacabana at the Copacabana theatre
yesterday. One joke in the movie was: “ There are to good things about getting old. The first is all the
memories that you have. The second... I forgot.”

Your welcome Malandro.
Seen D or J yet?
J is a real sweetheart, and D might stand for Dynamo.

Monday night I made the rounds in Posto 2. I negotiated one drink only for ten reals with the manager seated just inside the door. Inside the selection of girls was sad to say the least. I chatted with the least bad of them, Amanda. She came to my hotel the next day but I was otherwise occupied. Next, Sensoo close by on Princessa Isabel. Once again the one drink deal, not so hard because the owner is the neighbor of a friend. A few nice girls but nothing special. On to Cicciliona, heavy negotiations with the manager for just one drink. Pleanty of nice girls here, I chatted with a few but left when my glass was empty. Where next? “Logico,” Sunset.

Sunset on Prado Junior is like a gold mine. It’s dark and cramped and you’re not likely to find anything that sparkles at first glance. Most of the Boites don’t allow outside girls to wander in. Sunset, Caicailina and Pussycat do. At Sunset none of the girls “work” there. At Barberella and Frank’s all the girls are expected to arrive on time and stay for their shift unless a guy pays to have one leave with him. Early morning at Sunset is a mixture of regulars, girls from local clubs, total amateurs, and girls from clubs that you are unlikely to go to in the suburbs of Rio. This is often last stop. So if, at first, I don’t find someone appealing I just keep drinking until I do.

Valeria was there to lay claim, but I had other Ideas, a newbee, Monica. Monica is a little chunky, but at this hour who cares. I was concentrating on being an obnoxious ass. On the way to my hotel we stopped by Pizza Rio.

Pizza Rio is one of the least bad pizzarias in Copacabana. It’s located on N. S. Copacabana between Prado Junior and Princessa Isabel. It’s still open after the bars close. I’ve often sworn to never return, but this night the munchies won again. Telephone 2275-0998 or 2275-0999.

Monica aimed to please but was nothing to write home about, one of the few girls who has a real job. She works in a pazzaria in Meier, so she asked to leave at noon. I gave her cien reals ($40).

Sometimes I enjoy being shacked-up in my room for days. On other occasions I’m anxious for a girl to leave. A well-stocked room comes in handy for both. On this trip I asked the maid to remove the standard “Frigo-bar” fare. I went to the Sendas for Minalba bottled water, Coke, guarana, coconut water, Antartica beer, Mantilla rum, a quart of long-life milk, and a bunch of the same snacks that the maid just took out of my room. I brought a bottle of Chevis Regal and Kahlua with me.

Now I was depressed, so empty that I was sure that I would never fuck again. Off to Mia Pataca to see if I could hook-up with a friend of a friend. I spent two hours there sipping chopp and finaly eating a steak sandwich, barau. D wasn’t there. There were a few black americans, one wearing thousands of dollars worth of gold jewelry. I politely warned him but an hour later he was still wearing it all. He will need a whole shit load of luck not to leave Rio in a box.

Andreia is a vision to behold, seated with a friend and a street photographer. She’s twenty one but looks much younger. I think of the standard pirana uniform as spray painted on. Andreia’s clothes were quality from top to bottom. I wish I could remember the name of the French photographer who specializes if photos of girls like her. I thought she might be JJ, now I realize now that she’s much too short. I introduced myself then went back to my beer. After at least an hour later she passed my table. I invited her to the movies and to my delight she accepted. The film that I had noted on the way to Mia Pataca was named Copacabana at the theatre named Copacabana. There was a wait for the film to start so we went to a coffee house around the corner. Excellent cappicino and ordinary cake. Our conversation turned to photography.

Andreia enjoys having her picture taken and I was next door to De Pla, one of a chain of photograpy stores. I bought a roll of high speed film for my camera. After a boring movie off to my hotel. I used the standard routine, after a few photos with her clothes on I asked her to take off her top, soon after her skirt. I put away the camera and we started to talk. We talked for hours. I was just enjoying being in this girl’s presence. Finally I took off my clothes signaling time for some sex. Afterwards, we turned on the television to watch an American film in Portuguese on Globo.

I expected Andreia to want to leave in order to get to Help. I was wrong, she was happy to spend the night. Some more sex and off to la la land. I kept waking up content to be cuddled with such a beautiful girl. In the morning yet another interlude then she was anxious to leave at about ten. Perfect because I had an eleven o clock appointment downtown.

I gave her two hundred reals ($80) while she was talking on the phone with her mother. She tucked the money away without looking.

D's phone is always busy and J's was on voice mail last night. I'll keep trying.

Thanks so much for the phone call yesterday.
I guess I'll let the other readers know that you found D. It was very funny to return your call from my client's desk.

I'm glad D liked her presents. I can get those bodystockings for about 7 dollars each in SF if you want more sometime.

J is not really a Meia Pataca hangout. Terrazzo Atlantico instead just before Help. D will introduce you at Help. But I'm guessing this probably already happened last night and you received the best of both, and that's why you haven't posted yet. You lucky, lucky dog. Shall we describe the F9000 to the rest of the readers?

I have to go back to work now. Thanks again.

Wednesday I met an old friend on vacation from her husband in Germany. I think the night life must be addictive for the working girls as well. She is the second girl I know who is married to a foreigner who goes right back to hooking when visiting Rio, even though she doesn’t need to.

She had a younger friend with her. A girl engaged to a cousin of her husband, about to leave Brazil for the first time. I bought beers and the girls danced up a frenzy. They were both enjoying their last days of Brazilian ambiance. The younger girl ended up making out with me at our table. I asked her why. She shrugged her shoulders, and said, “I like to make men happy.” I love these girls’ attitude.

Sex in Rio can be like gambling in Las Vegas. One can get to a state of mind here, sex is life, life, the real world, only exists, keeps happening, for sex. Life is what happens between sex. I suppose that most men wouldn’t imagine what I’m talking about. I’m swimming in sex.

By the way, early last night I was thinking about the Brazilian sex mentality. My thesis, the young lady dancing topless across the room would let me suck her tits. I made my way to her and politely requested permission to “kiss her breasts. (I’m such a charmer.)” Her answer was neither of the two responses that I anticipated, no or yes. Her response was, “why?” I said, “Because I would like to very much.” And, of course, her answer was, “of course.”

Yesterday afternoon I delivered the gifts for C. I was duly rewarded. Last night, a pleasant interlude with an old friend. In two days she’ll be on a plane to Spain.

Today I got my work done and done except for a confirmation phone call. Now I can concentrate on pussy full time.

All week I’ve been trying to call cell numbers that I have, nothing but dissapointment. I finally got JJ. She’s in Minas but will be back in Rio tomorrow. I also spoke with one of the nicest young ladies I’ve ever met. She’s on her way over to my hotel as I write this. I think she makes her living strictly from referrals. I don’t know how she got statred. It’s such a delicate question that I’m reluctant to ask. Her excuses for limited availability revolve around family members. She’s already given me one for later tonight. Maybe we’ll have an opportunity to spend a night together if an “aunt” doesn’t show up at the last minute.

....Her visit was pneumatic to say the least, the best this trip. Time to get this posted and rest up a little for a Friday night in Rio.

"I also spoke with one of the nicest young ladies I’ve ever met. "

Is that M?

If so, I can't believe I had so much influence on your trips. I'm very gratified, if frustrated for not being there.

Say hi to JJ for me.

Friday night I made a few rounds. Some excellent dancers at Cicciolina, Frank’s had so many beautiful women. I got a phone number from Verona, Sensoo’s in-house sambista, samba dancer. Other boites subscribe to a group of dancers who perform in several boites every night. By the way, many of the bars also pay a plain clothes security agency to patrol in and outside of the bars. They are the guys who don’t tuck-in their shirts.

I went by Michelle’s, what a collection of whoofers all in a row.... except Zaira... I’d seen her around so I bought her a beer. Thinner than thin, she was so pleasent and ovbiously thankful to have a crack at a man. There are so many girls in Rio now that many can go days without even a drink. Zaira was so nice to me back at the hotel that for a minute I thought of just keeping her for the next week. But, that’s not my way. She misunderstood me and quoted a price, fifty Reals (twenty dollars). I gave her seventy Reals and a tee shirt. She lives in Flamingo but doesn’t have a phone, so I’ll just have to hope that I’m lucky enough to run into her again.

I spent Saturday afternoon at a friend’s apartment. We were all in the kitchen doing our parts in preparing the meal. The women constantly yell at the men. The men sip their beer and smile. I suggested that my friend’s wife was not “balancando” properly when stirring the beans. She oblidged. I don’t think that I could get away with this back home.

The high point of Saturday night was Doma. One of the street hustlers, Cesar, had been very politely suggesing that I take a free tour all week. I never liked the old Erotika, Doma was completely redecorated. I have to admit that they’ve done a beautiful job. There were lots of excellent girls so I decided to pop for the ten dollar two drink minimum. I tipped Cesar two bucks. Later the manager asked to speak with me privately. He wanted to know if Cesar had asked for the tip that he saw me give. I assured the manager that my tip was voluntary and based only on my appreciation that Cesar persisted until I agreed to visit. This is ovbiously a first class joint.

First I sat at the bar pretending to ignore the most beautiful girls who were manuvering to catch my attention. After a couple of pleasent conversations I moved to the raised stage, one hundred feet long, where a new group of three strippers had started their set. I was captivated by Bia. I motioned her over and slipped a ten Real note into her costume. Then back to the bar. Another guy approached her. He must have invited her to his table. When Bia came out after her set she brought her back pack with her. I approached her and asked if she was leaving. She said no, but pointed to the Itallian apoligetically.

I went back to the bar. I started talking with another girl who’s name I have forgotten. All the time I was watching Bia and the Italian. I went into the restroom just to write a note to Bia on a card from my hotel. Then back to the bar to buy a drink for this girl, no name. Finally I saw my chance and slipped the card to Bia. I told the girl I was talking with that I was tired and would head straight to my hotel. I asked her to call me the next day. My total bill at Doma, thirty three Reals.

I picked up another dancer from Sunset, we stopped by Pizza Rio on the way to my hotel. At five AM Bia and the whole crew from Doma were there. Bia said she would call on Monday. I hope she does even though I already have a date for Monday. In Rio these things always work out.

Sunday afternoon, time to hit the streets, on a whim I took my camera along wrapped in a towel in a supermarket bag. First I picked up my first twelve exposure roll from De Pla. Trying to take pictures with just a hundred watt bulb and a bad meter isn’t a good idea. Some came out OK. I hate flash photography. I bought a twenty four exposure roll of ASA 400, and off to Mab’s for lunch.

I swore off pictures long ago when I realized that I was becoming obsessed with gitting a good picture and not enjoying the moment. Now trying to get a few good shots was a pleasent diversion. I asked permission by showing my camera and smiling. A couple cuties smiled back. I was planning to eat Strogonoffe de Filet. The price at Mabs was twice what I remembered from the menu at Mia Pataca. After a couple of chopp and buying one for one of my subjects a long walk down the beach to MP.

MP was still packed because of the marathon. D was holding court with her pretty pretty friends. I sat inside and tried to take some pictures through the window. D came right over and announced that she was hungry. I called the waiter, she ordered, I protested that I wasn’t hungry and just ordered a beer. By the time the food came she was gone, but returned the food got cold.

She had ordered Camarao Bahiaina. After a couple of bites and feeding me a couple of prawns she announce that she was full. She left again. I ordered french bread to soke-up the delicious sauce. D came back with some friends to have their pictures taken. She had her own camera and a cute high-tech boom-box. I held the fort while the girls did what they do at MP.

Back to my hotel to rest-up for my second night at Help. Many bars close on Sunday so Help is the place to be. I’ll arrive late to bypass Terracao Atlantica and all the girls requests to pay their entrance. Boites, night clubs, like Barberella, Frank’s and Pussycat charge relitively high drink prices. Once you pay for admission at Help, drinks are cheap. I buy a variety of tickets to save standing in line just when I don’t want to.

The challenge at Help is avoiding the hard-core pros who can become so tiresome. I don’t travel half way around the world for a quickie with an ice princess. The less exerienced girls generally won’t approach you and don’t speak much English. But, not speaking Portuguese can be a plus.

Many guys seem to spend the night stareing at the selection waiting to be approached or trying to make a pick. Unlike most clip joints, the girls at Help, and come to think the girls of most bars in Brazil, don’t appreciate you buying them drinks all night, then not taking them home. So, play the “butterfly,” buy lots of drinks (preferably mineral water at less than a dollar a bottle) for lots of girls until you find one that clicks.

D said she will be there tonight so I can relax and let her run the show. She’s very fast-track for me, normally I would stear clear, but what the hell, you only go around the track once.

D is still in bed and my date is due to arrive in thirty minutes. I'm looking forward to the encounter. "Brasilara adora a bagunca."

Sunday night Help was filled with the usual crowd. Help offers a reduced entrance fee for girls arriving before midnight. The stars, of course, arrive later. If you're looking for a wholesome natural blond you're in the wrong place, but there are a few good imitations. If hard bodies float your boat you're in heaven.

I bought drinks for a few. D appeared and immediately introduced me to Christiane. Christiane smiled, we'd been friends for years. D was flying around the room playing with her friends. I got into serious negotiations with a girl who looked irresistible.

I think my technique for negotiating is good. I say that the girl deserves much more than she is asking. Unfortunately I have less to spend tonight. At Help the girls expect two hundred Reals, eighty dollars. If a guy makes a lower offer they have to decide if they would be giving up more or avoiding an otherwise dead loss.

Some seem to resent the pressure that this puts them under. If I have any trouble negotiating I figure that I'm with a hard-core girl and move on to the next. To politely leave a girl simply say "com licensa," and walk away. A further difficulty at Help is that the girls have learned to tell very convincing stories of how much you'll enjoy the night with them. They know that they're auditioning and I can be easily fooled.

I would probably have left alone again except for D. Finally she brought by the girl that I had hoped she would. I was admiring Luana at Mia Pataca and had taken her picture earlier that day. We were off...

I'd been looking forward to wee hours dining at Fiorentinos after the bars close. Fiorentinos was the traditional spot for Cariocas of all types to prolong their evening until sunrise in Leme. It was closed for years, but reopened earlier this year. I t was closed, at least at 5:00 AM it was closed. We settled for El Cid next to Norguiera. I wish I could say that El Cid is a good steak house because I've know the owner, Manolo, for years. I can say that it's no worse than Norguiera.

Back in my hotel Luana performed while D bounced around with delightful interruptions. Luana left, D was dead to the world.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that my date arrived so late that D was finally out the door.

I always like a boquette to relax me before we leave for dinner. We went to Cafe Mania, a small kilo restaurant on N. S. Copacabana that always has a good selection. Sadly, it's only open during the day. Back at the hotel we both slept. Then I helped her with her homework, a map of Colombia. In Brazil we men speak of "comendo mulheres (eating women)." This girl completely envelopes me. I invited he to stay forever. Then down to the bus stop. She may have to wait until Wednesday to return. She has a math test on that morning.

Back in my room, alone, I must have been in a REM period. The phone and the door rang almost simultaneously. I stumbled to open the door. D, of course, with an absolutely, positively, without a doubt, the most beautiful creature that I had ever been so close to in my life, Paola. They were bouncing around the room offering all delights. I had to ask permission to go into the bathroom just to hold my head. A hot towel, a cold towel, didn't help.

To combine Garret Morris from Saturday Night Live with Brazilian slang, "my pintinho has been veeery veeery good to me." In Rio the more I get the more I want. An afternoon encounter, multiple late night orgasms and I still wake up with wood. At my age a miracle! Oh, and the showers.... I never miss taking a shower as soon as I get back to my room, with or without a girl. Shampoo is very expensive here. I bring several bottles of Suave Vanilla that I buy on sale for less than a buck in Canada. The girls comment on how good it smells. I offer the bottle as a gift. Their appreciation has so often resulted in "the impossible."

Paola looked and acted like Charo must have wished that she had at her age, she ooooooooozed sex. Did I mention that Paola is so very very gorgeous. D was bouncing around as always.

So sad, without timing, such a shame. I knew that my gun had no bullets. Emptier than empty I turned the girls away. I called C just to get my head straight. He sympathized.

At 1:00 I went out for a couple of drinks. I swore to myself that I would just relax, maybe a little temptation, then back to my hotel to dream of Paola.

Bea had never called so I stopped by Doma. I ordered a drink as I brushed off invitation after invitation. The lesbian show producer, formerly of Pussycat, told me that Bia had just left with a client.

The dance bar floor here is about three feet high and in most places three or four feet wide. It's surrounded by a bar about two feet higher. The bar is surrounded by chairs. One of the girls who had been all over me, yet another very slim blond, was dancing semi-nude in front of me. After straddling the floor from bar to bar she lay in front of me, like a plare of pasta, shaking her ass at somba speed, a blur.

I motioned for permission to caress the bumbum. She smiled. I pretended that it was so hot that it burned my fingers. I slipped a ten Real note into her tiny tiny costume. "Nota Dez," in Portuguese means A+ in any school and when grading a beauty competition or a samba school performance. I was so pleased that I could tell her with double meaning the she deserved "Nota Dez.."

I stopped by Sunset then to Pizza Rio. My favorite waitress (I call her my whife.) pulled out a slice of calabreza and started to put it into a microwave. I protested. She explained that because of the energy crisis the big oven was turned off during the week. These folks can be so stupid. A friend seriously asked me to knock on his door to save the energy that riging the bell would consume..

At 4:00 AM I was on my way home down Ministro Viverios de Castro. I spied a tiny girl wearing very loose shorts. She disappeared around the corner of Ronald de Carvalho. When I turned the corner there she was, walking very slow. My back to the wall I surveyed the street, nobody but the girl. I was once walking around this same corner with a friend. A big guy stepped in front of us. He looked at us like a dog drooling over a couple of pork chops.

I consider the pivetes, teenage boys, the most dangerous of the thieves that stalk the rest of us in Rio. Everybody living here feels vulnerable, like little fish in a tank hoping that they aren't next. I've stood next to three friends that were robbed on the street.

The first on this corner was so scared that he didn't realize that the guy had ripped his watch off his wrist. The second had a kid jam his hand into his pants pocket and take the watch that I had told my friend to hide there.

On the third occasion, walking downtown, a Brazilian friend had a small amount of cash in his shirt pocket. His pocket and the cash were literally ripped off. This time I noticed the backup who was standing against a wall with the thief before he jumped out. The backup took his time making sure my friend and I weren't going to do anything before he followed the thief already blocks away.

A very old life-long resident of Copacabana once told me that only one thing keeps us from being robbed in Rio is good luck.

Good luck or good timing, we were alone on the street. Girls in Rio all wear skin tight clothes, and contrary to the famous song, do not sway when the walk. Only a couple of minutes from my hotel and one last temptation fascinated me. I have a strict rule of avoiding street girls, and I have another rule suspending all other rules as I please. This girl had mastered the slow sway of the "nordeste." We spoke softly. I kept telling myself that rest for Paola was what I needed, not a spinner from Paraiba.

She said that she had been observing me and was happy to meet me. I countered that I was very tired and very poor. She suggested a programa. I said that I only had twenty Reals, but invited her to my hotel, just around the corner "descansar um poco." She said no, she needed to make some money. I walked away around the corner of N. S. Copacabana to my hotel. I stopped, thinking what a shame so close to my room, no reason to say no, then I peeked back around the corner. I walked back to her and offered an orange juice, she accepted.

Up in my room I undressed. She fiddled with the built in TV, radio, air conditioner, etc. She asked if it had a tape recorder. I remembered that I did have a key chain voice chip recorder shaped like a mouse in my suitcase. After a long search I found it. It took me a while to get the button batteries in correctly. I was sitting on the edge of the bed with my feet on the floor. She was standing, her breasts even with my mouth.

She refused to believe that the little mouse was a recorder. I demonstrated then handed the recorder to her "para experimentar." As she played with the mouse I slipped down one side of her top. No objections as we both amused ourselves. She finally sat next to me on the bed. I maneuvered to peek down one leg, thinner than my arm. Just as I hoped, no panties. I casually adjusted her shorts to reveal the cutest little...

Let me set the record straight. Amanda is twenty four years old. I saw her identidade as did the desk clerk. She's been in Rio for quite some time. Of course the logic that twenty Reals, eight dollars, is better than nothing did not escape her, and she got to keep the little mouse. I would like to thank that I slept better and am more rested for the experience.

So much has happened in the last thirty six hours. At this time yesterday I was swearing that I would never return to Mia Pataca. Now I'm off to hunt the delectable Paloa.

Call me if you are at your hotel later. I'll call you back.

Ahhhhh! I can't stand it any more! What's an 'F9000'?

(I like the bodystocking idea as a gift! Consider it stolen!)

E-mail me Bonvvnt and I will let you know.

Here in Brazil nothing that you try to do works. The alternative, letting things happen, is the secret of “aquele jecto Brasiliero.” In other words, no Paola for me.

At Mia Pataca I watched D and her friends work some new tourists. The bargain stroganoff de filet was shit. Or, was I just pissed because I had wasted a few of my remaining precious hours in Rio?

Internet House where I upload these posts is painfully slow but dependable. I went to Tudo Facil to catch up on my e-mail. Everything was moving relatively fast so I checked into Club Hombre South America discussion. I read the brief discussion regarding Villa Mimosa.

My Brazilian friends had warned me for years in gruesome detail, never never never go to Villa Mimosa. I caught a bus downtown then a taxi up Presidente Vargas past the Sambadromo. I chatted with the driver, Miltom, about having met Miltom Nascimento as we wound down deserted streets. The sound built as we approached the villa, a cacophony of music amplified at deafening levels one open fronted bar next to or across from one after another blaring for attention. There were plenty of taxies for my escape so I released Miltom.

There were girls hanging from balconies, all over the street, down side alley ways, and tucked into dark little bars. My first thought after formulating a survival strategy was to conclude how very cheap life can be here in Brazil. I felt completely out of place, I was sure that I stuck out like a frog in a piranha tank, an obvious target. I was afraid to be near anybody who could slip a knife into my side and afraid to be alone and vulnerable.

I made the rounds being careful not to step out of the area of activity. Through the heat, filth and decaying buildings floated hundreds of girls, the biggest selection of hot bodies I had ever seen. Many, if not most, of the five hundred or more girls were in their teens. The uniform was the shortest of shorts and a bikini top. A police car did come down the one road in and out. Otherwise, no sign of any security at all.

In one of the quieter bars I approached a girl who I thought might me an old acquaintance. I asked for a mineral water, but settled for a Kuat, a soft drink. An exact look alike for Veronica, Anna, age twenty one, summarized her life story. A year ago she was a house maid. She got pregnant so she was fired. The father disappeared. This was her only alternative to support her three month old baby.

Anna quoted five Reals for the room upstairs and fifteen for herself. She would be happy to come back to my hotel. Suddenly she and every girl in the bar jumped up to slam the doors and shutters, they peaked out, sharing rumors about a fight down the hall.

A few minutes later everything was open, the fight forgotten. I gave Anna ten Reals thanking her for her time talking with me. Straight to the first taxi in the row. I only started to relax when we were out onto Presidente Vargas.

The driver dropped me off in front of Sunset. My drink appeared, Zaira tapped me on the shoulder, everything was back in place.

It’s Friday evening as I write this. I stopped posting because I stopped writing. Things have been happening too fast. I am continuously thinking how I will write my experiences. I‘ve been writing little notes on hotel note paper. They’re in a pile in front of me.

------

I asked Zaira for permission to keep the radio and television off so that we could just talk. She asked, “what topics?” Then she began complaining that she had chewed her fingernails watching soccer, Flamingo had lost to Botofogo, 0 to 4, “uma vergona (shame).” In Portuguese vergonia is a much stronger word than shame is in English it never means pity. The other topics were the disgusting politicians of Brazil and being Brazilian. Zaira held Bill Clinton as an example of the kind of man that Brazilians wish their politicians could be. She sees Brazilian politicians as a different, low life, species, consumed with greed and unable to enjoy life as a Brazilian should. She spoke of the simple pleasures in her life of poverty. Most Brazilians seem obsessed with life in Brazil and how the life of a Brazilian compares with the rest of the world.

In the morning I showed Zaira the two pictures that I had taken of her. She loved both. I will have copies made. She hates breakfast downstairs with “everybody looking at her.” She raided the refrigerator fishing out some yogurt and chocolate lady finger cookies. She dipped the cookie into the yogurt and bit off a piece. I protested. She obliged by, without using her hands, sucking the cookie in and out. First a profile, then she stared me in the eyes. She dipped another cookie; in and out...

I went to De Pla. I ordered the copies for Zaira, and picked up my pictures along with a third roll of film. I walked along the beach side of Avenida Atlantica to Mia Pataca. I was able to stand on an otherwise dangerous corner taking my time taking exterior pictures of Mia Pataca and Help. The area was swarming with police. Fidel Castro was staying at the Orthon Palace.

I took a few pictures while sitting at my favorite table at Mia Pataca. I try to pick one person to deal with wherever I go. I consider Nascimento my favorite waiter at Mia Pataca. My guard was down, Carla asked for a Coke. I asked to take her picture. She agreed then complained that she was so very hungry after her day at the beach. She begged for just a few vegetables, I agreed. Nascimento was so cool, after she speculated that sea bass would be the best to have with her vegetables, Nascimento said, “Dear you will be having the bargain chicken.” She was getting so nervous insisting that I take her to my hotel that I got up, paid Nascimento, and left.

Later that evening I returned to Mia Pataca without my camera. Counting my last few days, I was dressed in my finest, in full trophy mode. Damn that camera. The girls were gliding over to Terracao Atlantica. I followed. The elusive Paola, could it be?

She was seated with another girl facing the street. I made a circle and approached her from the front. She made Paola look like an old shoe. Kelly, Julia Roberts features, the freshest of faces, tall, thin, beautiful clothes, body by Brasil, I begged permission to sit and talk for just a second. I fumbled through my story of Paola. Then I said that I, of course, realized that she was so much more beautiful than Paola. I didn’t expect Kelly to be a good fuck. I wanted a picture more than anything.

I used the elaborate Portuguese of old time courtesy. I described an evening at restaurants and jazz clubs in Leblon and the Lagoon. I was so polite that Kelly had to ask me if I realized that she would expect payment. She said she had a date with an Italian at midnight. I was so convinced that my sales pitch would work that I agreed to return to my room and wait until 12:30 for her to call in case the Italian didn’t show. I went back and waited.

12:31, time for plan B, Doma, continuing my quest for the lovely Bia. A quick shower and back into my finest. Cesar brought me down. Wednesday night, the place was almost half full, tons of girls. I asked for Bia before ordering a drink. After a few seconds waiting I realized even if Bia didn’t appear I would stay. I motioned to Daniel, already the only bartender that I will deal with, my drink, prepared exactly as I prefer, appeared in seconds as did Bia. More beautiful than I remembered, wide eyed, a completely natural face, innocent eyebrows, her lips... After the famous Brazilian bumbum, lips make all the difference.

She told me that she had tried to call my hotel but that I wasn’t in. I offered a drink, she shouted to a bartender, but I shook my finger. I explained to Bia that courtesy required that a lady make her request to the man she is with, then I would speak with the bartender. She had to teach me how to say the name of the drink that she had requested. I repeated it to Daniel. Bea asked to be excused for just a second.

Daniel brought over what looked like a small wine cooler with a screw top set in a small ice filled Champaign bucket. I asked Daniel what it cost. He answered thirty five Reals, fourteen dollars, more than four times what normal drinks cost. The cap was closed. I told Daniel that I refused pay. He nodded, smiled, and removed the ridiculous drink. Bea returned. I told her that I was very sorry that things weren’t going to work out. She asked why. I explained that I did not accept being made a fool. She lowered her head and left.

----

I’m still writing this more than two day after the above happened. Once a certain young lady arrives, this will have to be my last post from Brazil.

As I write this I’m back home. So much work to catch up on, relatives visiting, I lay awake composing in my mind. I’ll try to get some into the computer.

-------
I sipped my drink feeling bad about dismissing Bia. I wandered over to the show bar and tried to be interested in the samba show that was going on. I could see Bia seated across the room with a couple of guys. The table was covered with bottles and those damn little champagne buckets. The new dancers came out for the next shift. I was uninspired. I began to feel very tired. I thought that I was fighting a cold. I went back to the bar. I felt so tired. I was wondering if the manager would let me come back the next day for my second drink. I just wanted to go back to my hotel for some rest.

Bia appeared, slipped her tiny body between my legs and put her head on my chest. She apologized for ordering the expensive drink. Then she began to thank me for having come by to ask everybody for her and leaving alone because she wasn’t there two nights before, for leaving alone the first night because she was busy, and for refusing any other girl tonight. She had decided to abandon the guys she was with to be with me. We both knew that what she was saying wasn’t strictly true. The Portuguese word for prestige was used. She explained that my loyalty had given her prestige and that she wanted to return that prestige to me. Her methods were delightful.

She was rubbing her body all over me. Those of you who have been to boites or a big termas will know what I’m talking about, a full body, full contact sales pitch to keep you focused on that one girl, ignoring the others milling around all trying to catch your attention. Bia’s body was so perfect. All curves but no fat. Her techniques and lack of inhibitions obviously awed her friends who were circling around. She asked for a drink, a caipiraina this time. I realized that miraculously I was no longer even a little tired, and ordered a second drink for myself. Still on the bar stool, Bia had my legs spread, turned around, her bumbum slowly grinding to the song. Then she turned her lips only an inch from mine. She looked me in the eye, smiled, the slowly stuck out her tong to just touch my lips. Knowing this game well, I stayed fixed. My moment of self control was rewarded, my hands lightly caressing any part of her body that they could reach.

Bia asked if she could share her drink with a friend who was standing next to us. I agreed, then Bia offered her friend as the first of many whom she would offer to spend the night with us. I protested, “only Bia,” and hugged her tighter. Soon we repeated this with another friend. I pretended that my hand was involuntarily reaching for her friend. I pulled it back with my other hand. Bia took my hand a glided it over her friend’s body. Soon I pulled it away. “Only Bia.”

Bia took me to a small dance floor in the back. She worked herself over me as I swayed to the music. When the results of her work were obvious to all we maneuvered back to the bar. The games continued, drink after drink, until Bia warned me that her turn to dance was coming up. She notified me that she would be crushed if my grade were to be less than nota dez. I moved over to the show bar to wait three of her friends in tow.

When Bia’s set started she was one of three girls dancing. She was fifty feet away from me. By the time she got switched down to me she had some money stuffed into he uniform. I pretended to be outraged, demanding that she return the money. She climbed off the show bar, ran down the aisle and returned the money, an act that cost me a flurry of note stuffing. When Bia returned from dancing we stayed at the show bar.

Paulette the drag queen comedian came by for a drink. Mic in hand, I was singing New York New York, my arm around Paulette’s hairy shoulder. Only in Rio.

Bias attentions continued until, suddenly, the show was over and everyone was scurrying to go home. Bia asked me to wait while she dressed. I had long since arranged credit but checked my bill, one hundred ten reals, forty four dollars. I signed the bill and tipped Daniel. One of Bias friends came out to ask me to keep waiting. Finally Bia arrived, dressed in white shorts and a pink top, totally delicious.

Once again she asked if one of her friends could come with us. “Only Bia.” She asked if her friend could just wait in the lobby while we had our programa. I explained that I intended to spend much more time with her than the hotel would want someone waiting in the lobby. Bia said that she would have to leave my room at four thirty. I pointed out that it was already a quarter to five. Bia wondered out loud if we would be able to have a programa. They went back to the dressing room.

As I stood there alone I realized that I couldn’t have cared less if I actually screwed Bia that day. It wasn’t as if I was horny and dying to unload. I had thoroughly enjoyed the last four hours of sex play. In a second I was up the stairs on my way up Prado Junior. The sign at Sunset was out, but the door was open. No luck, the lights were on inside, the waiters changing into their street clothes, no pussy in sight, my only option, around the corner, Noguiera.

At five in the morning Noguiera is a collection of hard faces in hard light. Thieves meet street girls, those who have no place to sleep wait for the busses to start running, desperate girls from Help still hoping, and those, like me, who don’t seem to know when enough is enough, can’t call it a night.

The little table just inside the door was empty. Perfectly positioned, my elbow on the windowsill, I planned to have a sandwich and an orange juice, but ordered a chopp while I considered my options. Just what I didn’t expect, D, supremely intoxicated, plopped down in the chair across from me.

I began scolding her. She had no purse, no ID, no money, completely alone and vulnerable, her only possession, a glass of whisky on the rocks. Undaunted, she sang and talked with anyone who came near us, either inside or outside of the restaurant. She invited two very well dressed, very polite ladies of questionable gender to sit with us. They were confused but accepted drinks.

A fight broke out in the back. One of the security guys dragged a girl out holding her by the waist. She was yelling for her purse and that in Brazil people shouldn’t be treated so poorly. Two security guys blocked the girl’s reentry into the restaurant. Suddenly, D sprung onto one of them, flailing and yelling for justice in Brazil. The guard looked around, not pleased. I begged him not to hurt her. She slipped off of him and sat, still spewing nonsense.

D turned her attentions to our companions. Outrageous insults and gestures combined with offers of a night of debauchery left them confused if not amused. Finally, I dragged D into a taxi. The short trip to my hotel was much longer because the street market was setting up. Another surprise, the driver was using the taximeter, bandara 1.

D sang in the shower as I washed her from head to toes. Appreciative but exhausted she still out-performed most women on the best night of their lives. In the morning more energetic sex then a shower before noon, I knew that she expected to be paid. I lectured her about her dangerous behavior. She agreed to reform. I stayed in the shower shaving, I told her to take whatever she wanted from my wallet. She held out two tens, then left for some business downtown.

As I was leaving the room myself the phone rang. I had completely forgotten that I had a date with my young friend. She would arrive in two hours. I went to Mabs to sip a chopp and write some notes about the last day. Sitting there I realized that I was supremely satisfied. Three nights left and I wouldn’t be able to complain if I didn’t get laid again. True to that feeling, I felt great throughout both the good and bad of the rest of my trip.

On the way back to the hotel I ran into my young friend coming around the corner. We went upstairs to relax, she told me of her life, then a boquette, then off to a late lunch. I was starved. We walked up the beach to the end of Leme, Maurios, one of the best churriascias. She felt out of place in her school uniform so we settled for Sindicato do Chopp. I told her the stories I love to tell, laughed at my own jokes, she talked, I listened. First we ordered one dish that we shared, Frango a la Cubana, then we ordered another. We agreed to meet tomorrow, then walked back to my hotel for a final boquette.

I rode down to the lobby with her and kissed her goodbye at the head of the stairs leading down to the street. Back in the elevator to my room the doors opened on the second floor. I indicated to the girl that I was going up, but she jumped in anyway. An obvious pro, I asked if I knew her. My Portuguese was muddled so she was confused. She jumped off with me on my floor so I could make myself clear. I invited her to my room for a soda.

Daniella was young, tall, a pretty face, but a sloppy body. We watched TV and talked. She admitted that she worked at Help which meant to me that she expected much more money than I was ready to pay in my extremely depleted state.

She kept rubbing her hand against her leg as if scratching the palm of her hand. I asked what was the matter. She was bothered by the lint on her black pants. Ever the prepared traveler, I had some scotch tape rolled around a pencil. I applied some to her pants working my way up to heaven. I hesitated, she encouraged me, I ever the cheapskate, demurred.

Daniella was not deterred. Both of us still dressed, she mounted me. She humped and lifted her blouse, forcing a breast into my mouth. I was up but too cheap to unzip. Se feigned an orgasm and relaxed. We decided to go down to Café Mania. She now seemed in a hurry. Down the elevator, as we entered the lobby the receptionists began to chatter and then broke out in laughter.

Later I learned that the guy Daniella had been with was held in reception by security because Daniella had not left the hotel and was not in his room to release him. He sat in the lobby while the whole hotel staff searched for Daniella. My reputation as sin vergonia was secure.

I miss D a lot, can't wait to go back.

After resting I called C. The past twenty four hours had been amazing to me, and C would know what I was talking about. I still had no plans for the night, but immediately after setting down the phone I began getting out the last of my glad rags for a last run at Help. First I stopped by a couple of dives between my hotel and Avenida Atlantica.

Beco de Garafas is a sort of dead end alley about 150 feet long. It runs off Rua Duvavier, a half block up from Avenida Atlantica. I read that the little clubs in this alley were where Bossa Nova got it’s start in the early 60’s. When I first came here there were three clubs with the same format, clip joints that offered lots of young girls, live sex shows and sex in your booth for the uninhibited. Don Juan, at the end, was my favorite. Regulars could get a break on the rules like drink minimums and bar fines. Shorts would have been right at home. These boites used to be so popular with over a hundred young girls between them. Couples would come to wollow in the decadence.

Baccarat and New Munich are still operating with the same format, but the selection of girls is now a few leftovers at best. Baccarat was operating normally. I always looked forward to a one drink with the Rock, the owner bartender. He had died so I skipped the drink.

My cab flashed by the street girls and guys on Avenida Atlantica, I brushed by the kid who opened my door. Luciana, Fabiana and Ingrid were standing in front of the ticket booth, I dodged into the rest room at Terracao Atlantica, counted out exact change, my head down, eyes averted, I bolted back to the box office, the coast clear, I could hear my name, but I was in the door.

Up the stairs, a vision of innocent decadence, the face of an angel, her bemused smile, D shimmering in black, a glass of champagne in her hand.

I scolded her again then insisted that she take the money I was giving her directly to her purse in the check room. I bought drinks for the girls, then set off to find truth and beauty. D worked the dance floor. At times she bent back so far as she danced that her head was almost between her ankles.

I spent hours on the other side of Help, far from the vortex of D’s champagne bill, drinking and telling stories to the best looking girls who I could get to listen. Finally, a girl asked a question that always pisses me off. So, after giving her an ear-full, I left.

A head fake to Bob’s, I ran straight down the middle of the side street to N. S. Copacabana. My timing impeccable, I bounded onto a bus without hesitation. Tearing through red and green lights alike, the cool air swirling through the almost empty bus, only two stops later, I wisely asked the driver to stop three blocks before my intended stop. As the bus fish tailed I thanked the driver, then alighted at Prado Junior. I would have still been dickering with a taxi driver in front of Help.

I bought a drink for Kelly (real name Sara Marta) on my first night in Sunset. Prettier than most, she seemed a bit aloof so I passed. Tonight she was friendly, greeting me for the first time since I met her. She has natural straightened hair with angled bangs. She is fairly dark but her facial features don’t match. She has an erect posture and is soft spoken.

Tonight she had little competition so I bought her a drink. Soon after I invited her to my hotel. Before we left she wanted to settle price and then asked how she would know that I would treat her well. The owner gave a testimonial. I should have thought twice, but as we walked to my hotel I was enchanted by her story of her emotions as her whole family entered the sambodromo, dancing with Beja Flor. I never stopped to think that during the many nights that I had seen her at Sunset she had never danced.

At my hotel she was pleasant, conversing in her soft voice, telling my of her first experiences two years ago in a small termas at Siquera Campos #43. When I suggested a shower she insisted on bathing alone. Afterwards, her kisses were perfunctory. I maneuvered for a position that would work, she countered foiling every strategy. She ended up wrapped in a sheet pretending to sleep, each time I touched her she pretended to be startled.

My wood long gone, my patience followed. I yanked off the sheet and shouted for her to get dressed and get out. Now, shouting at a woman is never a good idea. Insulting a Brazilian woman can be a disaster. Fortunately, Sandra Marta was calm. She pretended not to know why I was upset and asked for an explanation. My answer was to throw her clothes and the money into the hall, “piraña que não transa não presta!”

She wouldn’t leave. I phoned for security. Valdamiro, the doorman, soon arrived. A study in patience, he listened to both of our stories. She wanted to stay. I wanted her out. After a full half hour of back and forth she agreed to leave. I suppose that her motivation was fear that I would ruin her reputation at Sunset, and if so, she was right. Valdamiro joked and I laughed as she dressed alone in the little entry-way to my room, then he escorted her away.

That afternoon my young friend arrived on schedule. After the first boquette, she commented on my production, saying that I had been faithful for at least a night. I basked in her approval.

Two nights to go:

First, I stopped by Sunset to pay my bill. I immediately knew that my first stop would be my last for the night, the place was filled with women. I told everyone of last night’s sad comedy. The owner, Gomez, said that mine was his first complaint. I guess that most men might be ashamed to admit that they had failed to get laid by a hooker. The girls all offered sympathy. The dancer on stage smiled at me, I was over in a second asking if I could kiss her breasts. Her answer.. “Which would you prefer?” I skipped the kiss and bought her a drink knowing with every molecule of my body that she would be a great fuck. Fabricia, the dancer who I spent a night with last week recaptured my attention. She is no great beauty but she was wonderful companionship. I wish she was with me tonight.

When Fabricia went to dance I drifted across the bar, Valaria laid claim with her whole body. She is a quirky girl, very athletic in bed, sex as sweaty as you can handle, but easily hurt by the most innocent comment. Valeria alternated dancing on the dance floor and between my legs as I sat at the bar. I thought that this would be my last night at Sunset. I was buying drinks for every girl I had had or wished that I had had. I was pleased to see that Fabricia had found someone else, easing my guilt.

I love to watch the girls dance samba at Sunset. They are members of samba schools who dance because they love samba. There is no comparison between them and mechanical parody that you see in professional shows. By far, the best among the dancers at Sunset is Vanessa, a friend who spent a night with me last week. A stalwart of Villa Isabel, every inch of her body is a blur when the music she lives for is playing.

As Valeria and I walked back to my hotel for the second time this trip we passed Amanda dressed in a black leotard. We shared the most discreet acknowledgments. My patience with Valeria’s foibles was rewarded with an outstanding performance. When she finally insisted on leaving, well after noon, I lay in bed with my arms around her waist begging her to stay.

Less than twenty four hours until I leave for the airport:

I am beyond content, beyond “at peace.” I am warm jello. I caught a cab to Mia Pataca. Saturday evening, the place was packed, I was lucky to get a table, as expected D was working the crowd. She came over, for the first time looking a little the worse for wear. I guess we were fighting the same cold. We talked about our mutual friend and her plans for the future.

As I said good-bye she was sweating in the heat. She had stretched her body straight across from the front of the chair over the top of the back of the chair. As I slowly got up from my chair she hung her head back. I turned back to wave good-bye, less than five feet away, she didn’t see me, two gringos were fixed in he gaze, her hips swayed ever so slightly.

My first stop on my last night was Doma. My money would be worthless tomorrow, I was ready to spend some. No Bia, I shopped. At the show bar a blond danced then, on her hands and knees, her face inches from mine, she performed. The view was as if we were in bed together except that our bodies were not parallel. After her set the blond went back to a table filled with guys.

As I passed the small back dance floor a small cute girl smiled at me. I remember her hair was long and seemed to be wet, plastered to her head and back. We didn’t speak, but for some reason I have thought of her several times every day since.

I decided to stop by Sunset then to Frank’s. Frank’s always has beautiful girls for those who are willing to pay top dollar. As I entered Sunset the bar was somewhat empty but I knew that the last search of my trip had ended.

I had been resisting the feeling that I should spend my last night with Vanessa, she had been so good and so understanding over the years. She was seated at the end of the bar chatting with a tall sleek girl standing next to her, a girl that I had never noticed before. I sat next to Vanessa, put my arm around the bare waist of the tall girl and pulled her close. We had drinks, the girls danced, they each showed off their best, we all talked, I gauged the possible dynamics of my so obvious plan.

That night Vanessa had met Jacqueline on the bus to Copacabana. Jacqueline claimed that it was her first attempt to enter the profession. She just came to the conclusion that there was no other way for her to pay her rent. Vanessa and I spent the evening giving her advice and warnings. This may not have been Jacqueline’s first night as a pro, but she was, indeed, very naive.

Back at my hotel the three of us showered together. Vanessa did everything possible for me to have a good last night. She demonstrated her shower boquette technique. Jacqueline followed her lead trying to out-do Vanessa. The night followed that pattern. Jacqueline seemed grateful for the treatment and advice she received form Vanessa and myself. This night was my favorite of this trip. Jacqueline went “above and beyond” to please me.

Around ten Vanessa had to leave. I slept, Jacqueline watched TV. I remember waking, laying on my back, my arms at my side, Jacqueline noticed that my eyes were open. Without a word she gave me a boquette. I never moved an inch, then fell back asleep.

After starting to pack I realized that the time to say good-bye to Jacqueline had come. I walked her to the elevator and took her picture with the last exposure on my last roll of film.

-------------------

In Rio women are presented as the most exotic sex creatures in the world. But, most are from humble backgrounds, brought up to respect and obey men. Please be judicious in how you treat them, so many are truly innocent.

I’ve been incredibly cheap with some, generous with others, content that I have done no harm. My debt will always be to the women of Brasil.