After we got home from picking up the MISS BUBBLE LIPS T-shirts, Bubble Lips anxiously tries on each one. Then she announces that she's going to wear one of them to dinner tonight. How do I break the news to her? She can't wear that fucking shirt because I’ve planned a romantic dinner at the Copa Grill. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not a romantic at heart; it's just that the Copaa Grill is that upscale restaurant that we always fuck up whenever we dine there. MBL thinks it's romantic because she always has five or six waiters at her beck and call the entire time
Finally, I break the bad news, she goes ballistic and decides to put one on anyway and go to Alcazar for drink. Whatever! Don's was already there, so we sat down with him, I grabbed his Scotch bottle and poured myself four fingers. "Bad day?" he asked sensing that something was wrong. I explained that MBL wanted to wear that fucking shirt with MISS BUBBLE LIPS emblazoned on it to the Copa Grill. Rather than take my side, he agreed with MBL and then smiled as if to say -- now you deal with her. I hate it when he fucks with me, don’t you?
Fortunately, MBL acquiesces and wears something more demure to dinner. That is, if you can call a skintight, low-cut, spaghetti strapped leopard print blouse with erect nipples poking through a little more demure. Once again, she was a hit with the waiters and the only time they acknowledge that I was sitting with her was when they brought the bill. Ironically, when I'm with MBL, either I blend in the background and completely disappear or stand out like a sore thumb. Sadly, I can never anticipate which it will be.
It's Friday and Felix decides to take a field trip with Ken of Amerioca Tours to 4X4 terma. Mind you, Felix hasn't been to one yet and trying to schedule it has been an absolute nightmare. First of all, since the terma isn't open until 4 p.m., he's worried that popping around 5 p.m. won't allow enough recovery time before Timex arrives at 9 p.m. If he can't recover in time, she'll know that he's been with another woman and he doesn't want her to know that. Apparently that fear coupled with the fact that Bubble Lips might tell her, send him into an anxiety migraine headache. Shit, after he explained the whole thing to me in agonizing detail, I got a fucking headache too! Anyway, at 3:30 p.m., I put him in a taxi and could have sworn he had that same look my kids had when I put them on the school bus for their first day at school. You know what I mean, that look of fear and anticipation.
We agreed to meet at Alcazar at 7 p.m. and within seconds of the appointed hour, Felix and Ken arrived. Felix was jabbering away a mile a minute about how fantastic the place was. He explained that after carefully scoping out all the women, he found the right one and since he was preloaded with Cialis, he took her to the cabine for some aggressive sex. After 40 minutes of torturing the poor thing, the phone rang halting everything before he could orgasm. When I heard that I couldn't resist saying, "Obviously you're turning gay. That's why you couldn't nut with a beautiful woman!" All he replied was, "fuck you," and then left without saying another word. Now I know why Bubble Lips is so happy -- having Felix mad at you is easy on your ears.
When he was out of earshot, Ken preceded to fill me in on the field trip. As Ken would soon find out, Felix likes to plan things out in great detail. Ken explained that in the taxi, he had a million questions and outlined a number of different scenarios and time schedules. When he entered the boite, Felix was mesmerized by all the beautiful scantily clad women. However, according to Ken there was one "fly in the ointment," and that was a strict height requirement.
As Felix was approached by various women, he would tell Ken, "she'd be perfect if she was 3 inches shorter," and consequently, he would pass on her. It started to drive Ken crazy because Felix rejected woman after woman due to her height. Ken finally asked me, "Does Felix fuck while standing up?" "I wouldn't put it past him," I replied. Luckily, Ken found him a quasi midget that he finally accepted with disastrous results. Ken looked me straight in the eyes and gave me a wonderful complement as he said, "Jag, Felix is weirder than you in a terma!"
When I got back to the apartment, MBL was finally getting ready to go to Bluestraveler’s for our chili dinner. Then she reminded me that we had to bring wine and food with us, so went to the local Zona Sul supermarket to pick up a few things. Four bottles of wine, two red, two white, boneless chicken breasts, Dijon mustard, heavy cream and some onion substitutes cost me R$268. Some fucking bargain this dinner was shaping up to be!
Food shopping can be exasperating in Brazil. Since you can’t always find the same things as in the US, you often have to find a suitable substitute, which can be difficult at times. For example, believe it or not, they don't have any onions in Brazil. I know this for a fact because whenever I asked for them, they took me to a display of something labeled Cebolas, which look almost like our onions only slightly different. Bubble lips told me they were the same thing, but I know differently.
When we arrive at Bluestraveler’s apartment, he's busy chopping rib eye steak and fucking cebolas for the chili. MBL can't believe her eyes when she sees his apartment and departs for a 15 minute self directed tour of his place. Bluestraveler’s drinking a bottle of beer as he's preparing dinner. He gives me a disapproving look as I extract the four bottles of wine. "I told you I don't drink wine," he said as I innocently replied, "Sorry, I forgot."
Then I opened the bottle of fine Chilean Chardonnay, poured two glasses for Bubble Lips and myself, and awaited her return. Bluestraveler picked up one glass, took a huge sip, and exclaimed, "This is wonderful wine," as he put the glass down on the counter next to himself. Fuck, Bubble Lips isn't going to like this turn of events because he's drinking her wine. But before I could say anything she returned to the kitchen, picked up my fucking glass and started to drink from it.
In an effort to get even without being too obvious, I opened the refrigerator to get a bottle of Cerpa beer. Fuck him, I'll drink all his beer; see how he likes that! He tells me he doesn't drink wine at all, what a load of bull shit. He probably said that just to get me to buy expensive wines, figuring we'd be the only ones drinking it. As I'm mulling this over, all of a sudden MBL starts screaming. For a fleeting moment, I feared that she saw a used rubber in there -- I've had that fear ever since that episode with Lurch and Fawn six months ago, but fortunately that wasn't the case.
She was screaming, "Look at all the food in there," as she opened the door wider and stood there as happy as a woman in a shoe store during a 50% off sale. "What the fuck’s the matter with you?" I said as I looked at her as if she was crazy. "I've never seen that much food before," she said as she stood there mesmerized. Then she proceeded to go to each kitchen cabinet, open it up and smile. Next she went into the pantry and finally the laundry room. I just looked at Bluestraveler, shrugged my shoulders as if I couldn't comprehend what was going on as he said, "Don’t worry, every Brazilian girl does the same thing." I guess Brazilian girls are what Madonna refers to as: Material Girls!
By the time Bluestraveler prepared the chili and I made the Dijon chicken, we consumed two bottles of Chardonnay and a bottle of champagne that a flight attendant had given me on the flight down to Rio. All I can say is that Bluestraveler makes the best chili I've ever eaten. MBL had four helpings and just picked at my delicious chicken. Fuck her! I hate to admit it, but in comparison my entrée was far overshadowed by his chili. But MBL didn't have to be so fucking obvious. I'll make her pay for that later tonight with "angry sex," that is if I can convince her to have sex with me. After being with her for six months, it's like being married all over again. You guys know what I mean, no spontaneous sex anymore. Instead, you either schedule it or beg for it. Most likely tonight I will be begging for it that is if I'm lucky.
Where was I before I went off on that sexual tangent? Oh yeah, we're dining at Bluestraveler’s apartment. As we finish the first of our two bottles of red wine, a magnificent thunderstorm struck with a close burst of lightning that extinguishes every light in Rio. As the apartment is plunged into darkness, Bluestraveler gets some candles for me to light. Unfortunately, my trusty Brazilian torch lighter only managed to neatly sever the wicks of each candle without even lighting them.
Bluestraveler fumbles around in the dark for some matches as I have a more important task in mind -- opening the last bottle of wine. He tells me to be careful lighting the candles because he only has one box of matches in the apartment. Who does he think he's talking to? It's not as though I'm some irresponsible teenager, I'm an intelligent grown man. After all, what could possibly go wrong?
The three of us take our fresh glasses of wine over to couches near a big picture window and watch a fantastic display of fork lightning as Bluestraveler and I light up two cigars. Yep, Bluestraveler told me he didn't smoke either and I fell for that one too! Since the entire city was dark, the lightning almost burned your eyes as it danced across the sky. Come to think of it, three bottles of wine and one of champagne probably didn't help matters, but nevertheless it was absolutely wonderful.
What was particularly ironic was that after 30 minutes of darkness the only area in Rio that had electricity restored was the favela. I say ironic because nobody in the favela ever pays for electricity -- that's one of the benefits of living there. On second thought, it's probably the only benefit of living there!
This is driving Bluestraveler crazy because his electric rates are at the maximum. In Brazil, your electric rates are based upon desirability of the location of your property and your ability to pay. His apartment is in a beautiful spot and he's a gringo -- you do the math. Where was I? Oh yeah, here we are sitting in total darkness while the idiots in the favela are watching free cable TV as the food in Bluestraveler’s freezer is rapidly thawing. Oh yeah, I forgot -- free cable’s another benefit.
Fortunately, after another 30 minutes the lights came back on, Bluestraveler was once again happy, and we said our goodbyes. As we entered the taxi, another burst of lightning strikes nearby and everything is plunged into darkness again. Oh well, at least Bluestraveler can relight his candles. That's when I reached into my pocket and realized that I have his only box of matches. Oops!
When we got back to the apartment building, I gave MBL the keys and told her to get ready to have me ravage her while I stayed downstairs for a few minutes to finish my cigar. This is where one of those Brazilian cultural differences almost got me killed. In Brazil, every building has at least two elevators, one called the Social elevator in the second called the Servico elevator. During the day you use the Social elevator and at night the Servico elevator. Not a terribly difficult concept to understand is it? Well, that's not what fucked me up; rather it was the fact that in this building each elevator had a slightly different control layout. In other words, the Social elevator had even numbered floors on the left side of the panel, odd-numbered floors in the right – the Servico elevator was exactly the opposite.
Since I'm a creature of habit and usually got drunk each night, MBL always controlled the elevator when we returned home. Unfortunately, she wasn't with me this night. During the day I was fine and knew that all I had to do was push the fourth button from the bottom on the left side of the control panel and I magically arrived at the fourth floor. That was in the Social elevator, but tonight I was in the Servico elevator and I was too drunk to comprehend that fact.
After knocking on our apartment door for several minutes, I started get pissed as I pounded more loudly, trying to wake and MBL up from her drunken stupor. Suddenly the door opened, some old Brazilian guy was standing there in his wife beater T-shirt, holding a large knife in his hand. My initial reaction was how did MBL sneak this guy into our apartment? Then I realized that the elevator fucked up by taking to the wrong floor so I said "Desculpe," got back in the elevator and went downstairs to the lobby.
Rather than thinking things through, I pushed the same button and was soon standing once again at the same apartment door. This time it took only two light taps at the door to get him to open it as he lashed at me with a stream of Portuguese profanity, pointed at the number above the apartment door then slammed it in my face. Oops, wrong floor -- I hate fucking defective Brazilian elevators!
You may wonder why I cursed the elevator. Well, it's fucked up my sex life that night. By the time I finally arrived at our apartment, MBL was sound asleep. Before knocking on the door, I triple checked the apartment number to be sure I didn't fuck up again. The only way that could possibly happen was if I somehow managed to walk into the wrong building and went up to wrong apartment 403. Even though it’s conceivable that I could do that, I recognized the hallway and doorway. MBL opened the door, scowled at me, and asked if banditos had chased me. "Why?" I mumbled." “ Because you have fear in your eyes," she replied.
"Oh no baby, that's desire you see. I want you," was all I managed to say as I stumbled into our bedroom. Since MBL always leaves the TV on, I immediately turned it to cartoons to get her in the mood. After that failed, I tried begging, which had no affect whatsoever. That's when I decided to forcibly take her like in those crazy romance novels women read around the world. What I find particularly interesting is that women get horny reading about another woman getting ravaged by some stud, yet complain about date rape. Go figure?
Anyway, MBL's the damsel in distress and I' m the stud who's going to fuck her within moments, at least that's how I figured things would happen. Unfortunately, the autobiographical nonfiction I write is vastly different than the bull shit fiction those fucking Harlequin novelist write. This is what really happened; as I pinned her arms to the bed and tried to climb on her to have my way, a well aimed knee to my crotch immediately caused me to assume a protective fetal position as she rolled me neatly off the bed.
MBL laughed as she explained that I look like an armadillo, which because of her fucking Brazilian accent, she had to repeat five times before I understood what she was saying. When I finally figured it out, I started to laugh, which only made my balls hurt more. That night I slept peacefully on the couch and MBL had the bed all to herself. Perhaps she'll rebate the hundred dollars I owe her for the day, but somehow I doubt that. I hate fucking Brazil!
The next morning Felix and I had bacon sandwiches for breakfast and all he did was complain about the terma. To make matters worse, he developed a cough which I attributed to terma flu. After letting him bitch for about half an hour, I told him I would take him someplace in the afternoon that he would really like. "When are we going and for how long will we be gone?" was his first question. Rather than let him ask 40 questions in rapid succession, I told him it was a surprise field trip and I wouldn't divulge the location regardless of how many questions he asked. After the eighth unanswered question, he relented. As we parted, I said, "Meet me by Roberto's taxi at 2 p.m. and don't be late." He left with an uneasy smile on his face as I inwardly laughed at the prospect of taking germ phobic Felix to Villa Mimosa.
Sure enough, at 2 p.m. Felix was standing beside Roberto's taxi ready for a surprise adventure. Normally MBL wouldn't let me go to Villa Mimosa, but when I told her I was taking Felix she said, "Leave him there," with a hateful grin on her face.
Felix started peppering Roberto with questions and it seemed as though he magically lost the ability to speak English as he answered each question in Portuguese. When Felix finally figured out where we were taking him, he scrambled for the door. That's when Roberto said in perfect English, "Don't get out, you'll never find a taxi to take you back to Copacabana." Defeated, Felix sat down dejected as I couldn't wait to drag him through Brazil's national germ infested whore house.
For those of you of never been there, there are basically two types of parking facilities at Villa mimosa; Indoor, which is controlled by the police and Mafia and outdoor parking which is controlled by the local street urchins. We elected outdoor parking and were guided to a spot by some enterprising urchin who demanded R$2 for his efforts. He assured Roberto that he would constantly watch his taxi, which is tantamount to handing over your life savings to Fernando for safekeeping. Ironically, we locked most of our money and cell phones in the glove box before parking, but we figured what the hell, we're in Brazil so you have to take a few risks.
As we walked towards Villa Mimosa proper, Roberto explained that during the day this is a thriving meatpacking facility. With that we're suddenly sprayed with blood and water as we pass a truck that's being cleaned by some guy inside with a combination steam cleaner and power washer. Blood and guts pour out of the back of the truck and onto our feet. Quite an initiation for Felix isn't it! I explain to Felix that with luck these will be the only blood and guts we see in Villa Mimosa. "What the fuck you mean by that?" He asks. "Nothing, just trying to interject a little humor into your field trip," I sheepishly replied.
As we passed the first bar three lovelies (I'm using the term rather loosely here) came to the railing to blow Felix air kisses. One girl puts her hand down her panties, puts her fingers inside herself, extracts her hand, and offers it to Felix as if she was one of the ladies at Costco giving out free samples. Felix graciously declines the offer but was intrigued by the place.
The next bar on the main drag is Roberto's favorite because of its laid-back atmosphere. That's due in part to the fact that most of the whores in there are over 40 and move a little slowly. Six steep stairs lead up to the bar area and I grabbed the railing to help myself up. Felix carefully climbs the stairs in the exact center with his hands in his pockets so as to avoid touching anything that might be contaminated.
Roberto I ordered grande Skols while Felix ordered a hermetically sealed Coca-Cola. Felix almost barfed when I poured my beer into a glass stating, "Do you know how many germs are on that glass?" "No, and I don't care," I shouted back at him. He gently opened his Coke with a bottle opener, carefully wiped the neck of the bottle, and took a long sip as if to calm his nerves. It worked momentarily until one of the aging whores whom I nicknamed Harpo, walked up behind him and ran her finger across the back of his neck causing him to leap up, knocking all three bottles over. Another whore, seeing the mess on our table, walked over and started to wipe up the pool of liquid on our table.
Photo: Harpo
While she was doing that with one hand, she started stroking Felix's thigh with the other. As you can imagine, this attention worked wonders for Felix's ego, but as soon as he thought about where her hand was last, he excused himself and went to the bathroom to disinfect himself. Within seconds, he was back at the table tell me that it was cleaner out here than in the bathroom. "No shit Sherlock, the only thing more germ infested than a Villa Mimosa bathroom is a VM’s whore’s crotch," I replied.
In an effort to calm him down, I suggested we walk around to see the sights and he reluctantly agreed. Watching Felix in Villa Mimosa is quite an experience, not unlike taking a Christian Fundamentalist to a strip club. You know what I mean, reserved behavior coupled with wild anticipation and the inability to separate desires, restrictions, and emotions. Despite the fact that his eyes were roving from woman to woman, he constantly kept both hands in his pockets to avoid any contact whatsoever. Mind you, that's rather difficult to do because the footing is so uneven in the hallways that it's hard to walk even a few steps without tripping were stepping into a hole. Miraculously, Felix somehow managed to get through there without falling, much to my dismay and disappointment.
Suddenly, a large black hand reached out from one of the bars and grabbed my arm. I was half expecting Silverback to be standing there, but I wasn't that lucky. This arm was attached to one of the fattest, ugliest women on this earth. She turned on all her charm, which wasn't much to begin with, and suggested we go upstairs for some adult fun. How could anyone have fun with her, I thought as I respectfully decline her generous offer? As I was trying to break her death grip on my arm, Felix said, "Jag, why don't you go with her. After all, she's wearing your favorite color -- pink!" As he said that she let go of my arm, and turned around to expose her huge cellulite stuffed ass, as if that would change my mind. It didn't work; all it did was confirm my first impression.
When we got outside Felix turned around and said, "How do you like it having the tables turned on you?" I replied, "I'll show you buddy," as I pushed him away and he stepped into a puddle alongside the main road. Instantly he cringed as he looked down and I pointed to a guy about 15 feet away taking a leak into the same puddle. It took a few seconds for his little brain to comprehend that this guy probably wasn't the first to piss in the puddle today. As soon as he realized that fact, he dragged me over to the culinary court and insisted I purchased two bottles of water for him to wash his feet.
As he was dousing both feet, I pointed across the road to an enterprising street urchin refilling water bottles at the local hose bib. Rather than sending him into another tirade, surprisingly it had a calming effect. He explained that the water in the bottles had to be cleaner than the puddle. Perhaps he was right, but within minutes he was coughing like a dog with a bad case of kennel cough. The mind has tremendous powers and we were starting to unleash Felix’s. This was fun!
He decided he needed to sit down, so we went back to the first bar we entered. The aging whores were delighted to see us again as Felix climbed the steep stairs with his hands once again in his pockets. Harpo even decided to give Felix a show by showing her ass and tits. Unfazed, Felix ordered another Coke but forgot to wipe the bottle mouth this time. I think Harpo got to him. After he took a long swig, I pointed this fact out to him. Suddenly his asthma kicked in as he started wheezing and coughing. Strangely, this is the first time I hoped someone in my presence would experience a horrific case of explosive diarrhea, but we weren't that lucky. Oh well, maybe next time.
Photo: Harpo's Ass
Photo: Harpo's Tits
Photo: Harpo's Ass Closeup
As the 40 -year-old whores swarmed around him, he tactfully declined their advances by swatting at them as if they were flies. Felix and turned the tables on me by pointing out the huge black girl in the pink who was standing outside catching a breath of fresh air. She was about 200 feet from us and as Felix pointed at her and then me, she caught his drift and started shuffling towards us.
When she reached the bar, I figured she couldn’t climb the stairs so I started blowing her air kisses. That was a bad move on my part. Somehow she managed to drag herself up all six steps and plopped her huge ass down on the chair next to me. All the aging whores went ballistic at this breach of Whore etiquette. Apparently, according to this rule it's all right to fuck with someone in your own whore house, but don't invade mine and try to steal away my clients. The fact that I was labeled a client deeply disturbed me. Another mitigating factor in this mini novella was the fact that this “pig in pink” was half their age and all these whores were age sensitive. For some strange reason, the fact that she was three times the size of the largest whore in the place was immaterial to them. They were ready to fight and I didn’t want to be around when the fur started to fly. I tried to get up but circumstances prevented it.
As she was sitting there trying to hold my hand, about eight of the bitches surrounded our table in an attempt to intimidate her. It didn't work! Felix started wheezing and snorting Coca-Cola out of his nose as he watched me in my misery. Upon seeing me squirming, the whores decided to join in on the fun and even offered to buy the bitch a beer just to keep her there. When she asked for a Johnny Walker Blue Label instead, they told her it was a beer or nothing. Thankfully she took the nothing option. As I tried to explain to her for five minutes that I was solo, then a homosexual and finally married, she got the idea that we weren't meant to be an item together. As she was walking away, I remember thinking that her ass look like two large pink burlap bags filled with grapefruit. You know what I mean, all lumpy and jiggly.
On the way back to Copa, Felix started complaining about getting a sore throat. How he managed to get sick in such a short time is beyond me, but somehow he did. By the time we got back to Alcazar, Felix was sweating and shivering with about 102 degree fever. Of course, he blamed me for his sudden illness and told me that he would never again go on another field trip with me. I pointed out the fact that Roberto I were with him the whole time and neither of us got sick, so it must be all in his mind. I tried to comfort him by suggesting that we stop off at 4X4 so he could have another shot at the quasi midget, but he declined.
While walking back to his apartment, we stopped and watched one of the street bums decide to tidy up. First, he walked over to an automobile parked alongside the road and ripped off the passenger side rearview mirror. He then took the mirror, placed it on a window ledge, pulled out a rusty pair of scissors and proceeded to trim his beard. We were so mesmerized by what we were watching; I forgot to take pictures until he had finished grooming himself. Here's a picture of the car that he ripped the mirror off of:
And here’s a picture of him resting after trimming his beard:
When I dropped him off at his apartment, Felix looked at me and said, "I think I'm going to die." "Don't think of doing that, we have already had one death on this trip, we don't need another one," I snarled at him. "What if I need help during the night?" "Ask Timex; she's coming over tonight isn't she?" "Yeah, but you went to medical school so you can prescribe something for me can't you?" he pleaded. "Felix, if you need anything just call me, I'll come right over," I said hoping to God that he would never call.
Fortunately, he didn't call until 7 a.m. the next morning. I rushed over to his apartment to find him shivering and shaking with about a 104 degree fever. "Jag, go to the drugstore and get me something. You're a doctor and know what I need," he said as he tossed and turned in the bed trying to get warm. I tried to think, what drug was it that Bob took? Oh yeah, he took amoxicillin! "Felix, I'll go to the drugstore and get you some amoxicillin; it should fix you right up," I said with all the confidence in the world.
By the time I returned, his fever had broken and he was feeling a little better. I suggested he take two 500 mg capsules to get the medicine up to a therapeutic level and one capsule per day thereafter. He looked me square in the eyes and said, "Thanks Doc." As is Felix’s nature, he started right in again with questions. I was able to successfully deflect all of them until he asked the following, "Was the amoxicillin going to cure him, and was it a safe drug to take in Brazil?" "Of course it is, I know someone who took it recently," I said as obtusely as possible while making my way towards the front door. "Did it cure him?" "Felix, let me put it to you this way, he's no longer complaining," I said as I quickly closed the door behind me.
Within hours he called me again because the fever had returned with a vengeance. Fuck, I hate making house calls but he pleaded with me to come over. Sure enough, his 104° fever had returned again and he wanted me to do something about it. "Just take your fucking medicine, you'll get better in a couple of days," I chided him. "But you're a doctor, you told me you went to medical school, isn't there something stronger you can give me?" he pleaded.
"That's not entirely accurate Felix. I told you I was an Investment Banker and that I spent four years at medical school. I never said I actually went to medical school," I corrected him. "How the hell do you claim to spend four years at medical school, yet you never went to medical school?" he asked. “I lived on campus for four years while my wife went to medical school in New York City," I explained. Instead of calming him as I had hoped, he had exactly the opposite reaction. He went fucking nuclear!
"Are you telling me that I'm letting an idiot like you prescribe medication for me in a Third World country," he screeched at me. "Yep, that's exactly what I'm saying," I said as I was making my way once again towards the front door for a quick exit. With my hand on the door knob, I paused as he asked me one last two part question, “Are you sure amoxicillin's not going to hurt me and who was it that took it recently?" Oh boy, he's not going to like the answer to the second part of that question as I answered, "No, the amoxicillin won't hurt you. Oh yeah, Bob took it too!” I could still hear him screaming as I took the elevator down to the lobby.
The End
