The girl/guy things are giving you “fuck me” eyes and while their gender is not clear, it is certain that they are prostititutes. You politely thank their pimp but tell him “I already have a chica.”

You check your watch. You decide to do a lap and see if your blonde and friend have arrived. As you crack open your second Bohemia you wonder if you have the energy to go through with the night. All could have been avoided if you had only jerked off when the desire arose earlier in the day. But jerking off in Brazil seemed like an Oxymoron, and visions of “the blonde” naked were like piranhas gnawing on your brain. Maybe a Red Bull will help you “man up.” You walk back to the bar and order your first of the night.

You feel a hand graze you butt. Thinking it might be a pick pocket you swat it away. A petite light skinned Brasilada giggles. You wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if the blonde doesn’t show up. It’s not like you don’t have options. You turn to the girl and go Cave Man on her. You grab her ass like you own it. She shakes her finger “no” but her smile lets you know it okay to continue. You run your hand from her ass up the curves of her abdomen, when you near her breast she grabs your hand and places it back on her ass. You twirl her around and do a once over.

“Eu Gusto” you tell her.
She points to your eyes and tells you they’re beautiful.

There is something fundamentally perfect about being adored. Curious eyes are set upon you from all directions. You are a fucking Star. The Red Bull rush has begun. Your swagger has returned. You kiss this one on the cheek, tell her “it was a pleasure” and make your way through the crowd.

Sex is all around you. It comes in all forms. The boom- boom shaking mulattas, the long swanky model types with heartbreaking cheek bones, the skinny, the fat, the beautiful, the crazy, the Asian looking ones with sinister eyes, the barely clothed “garotas de programma” putting their pussy on display, the fucked up X heads, the sixteen year old debutants, the black girls with huge hoop earrings commanding the dance floor…the punk rockers, the one with the shaved head, too many girls… too little time.

What do you know? Another Bohemia has bit the dust. Back to the bar. But first a much need bathroom break. When you come out of the stall you wish you had given it an extra couple of shakes as you notice a nice wet spot near your crotch. Brasiladas aren’t shy about pointing that sort of thing out. You’re about to head back into that bathroom to dry off when you spot the blonde and her friend on the dance floor surrounded by guys. Fucking “gringos” in their Brasilia Soccer jerseys.
A situation like this might normally unravel your nerves. Throw you off balance a bit. But not now. Sit tight my friend, you think. They’ll come. They always do. And if they don’t? You look around- Does it matter?

Then you remember staring into her eyes, yesterday at lunch. Those far away eyes, foreshadowing all of the reasons that you’ll most likely never get married, never have kids, never raise a family, never do Disney vacations.
Yes, you think. It was only yesterday you were busting through language barriers on basis of charm. Presenting your best self. The one that can keep a girl laughing when she has no clue what you’re saying. The self, that when the friend arrived unexpectedly, rolled with the punches… And won her over with impersonations of “stupid Americanos” holding your imaginary map, pointing at buildings…works every time.

When you started to sense that the friend might be the type to be persuaded… you upped the ante…divvied up your attention…treated them equally special. And when the two of them, guards finally down, ran their fingers through your hair and kept repeating “muito lindo” you saw the potential for something truly spectacular. No. You’re not willing to wave the white flag quite yet. No way, Jose.
To be continued…

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