Sorry sir but, 'There's a first time for everything', is not going to convince me to participate in buggery

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Sorry sir but, 'There's a first time for everything', is not going to convince me to participate in buggery

Bloody deviants. This last week has been an eventful one but not so much in terms of having done anything out of the ordinary; asides from work I attended one Capoeira class, went to the beach and finished 'The Da Vinci Code' Portuguese edition, to the relief of my extremely well-thumbed diary. My near homosexual experiences tally however has increased fivefold. I can only think of one close-call before now, at a gay club in Leeds.

Some friends from Arabic and I had made a poorly thought-out promise to a colleague (those that know him would agree that colleague is far more appropriate than friend) and accompanied him to a gay haunt in town. There, a once trusted friend made it his mission to convince any of the patrons who would listen that I was a recently outed homosexualist looking for a companion to really get 'stuck in' to my new lifestyle. Long story short, he was remarkably successful and I spent the rest of the night avoiding one particularly persistent little fella's embraces.

This came very close to being usurped by a thoroughly less wholesome event. Having attended Portuguese class last Wednesday (which by the way is coming reasonably easily to me now), I was on my way home when a car pulls up next to me and asks for directions. I exchange pleasantries and tell the extraordinarily friendly, balding driver that I know the place he wants to go and it's in fact very near my condominium. As a side note for those unaware; a condominium is essentially a small, gated village with 24 hour security to keep the rich safe from the favela dwellers. I moved house again by the way.

Anyway, he cheerfully offers me a lift there as it's on the way. Three in the afternoon, I'm not far from home, seems like a friendly bloke, what could go wrong? I initially climb in the back but my new pal was most insistent that I join him in the front. Fair enough, nice guy. Once comfortably settled in the passenger seat he asks me if I like Brazilian sex films. My Portuguese is not yet fluent and I had understood the question as, "Do you like that film, Brazilian Sex?" To which I replied rather dimly that I had in fact never seen the film in question. By this time, my mate was driving extremely slowly and we were passing quite a vacant street surrounded by plenty of high trees. This lent lots of shade to the road and as a result the atmosphere was all of a sudden much more intimate. Keen to put an end to my ignorance in the field of Brazilian sex films he hands me his phone and presses 'play'.

Slightly confused I accept the phone ignoring the way his hand had delicately brushed mine, surely an accident. A nice phone, new Nokia, huge screen, all the better to see the large, erect penis that was currently taking centre stage. Nervously laughing I looked up as I felt his eyes boring into my temple and quickly returned my gaze. The pasty face, bushy eyebrows and thin lips were suddenly a lot less welcoming than the friendly, middle-aged bloke who had kindly offered me a lift. Upon returning my focus to the home-video, another person comes into the shot and begins to perform vigorous oral sex on the afore-mentioned sexual organ. I had assumed that this new actor was the girlfriend of the driver and he was so proud of his package and her that he showed the video to most of his mates, or the Englishman he had just picked up on the street, a kind of icebreaker.

Closer inspection proved that I had made quite a serious misjudgment and that the head was bobbing up and down wholeheartedly on the erection had the same thick eyebrows and receding hairline as the man sat next to me. The man who had successfully lured me into his car. My heart performed some kind of gymnastic display, relocating itself to my mouth without so much as bidding my ribcage farewell.

Open-mouthed I looked at my friend-cum-captor as I was finding it hard to believe my eyes. All of a sudden I recalled minor events and everything slotted into place like Ikea furniture. The insistence that I sat in the front, the casual caress, the probing questions and the fact that he had asked for directions to a place that anyone in Salvador would know the way to. I want to say he looked at me as a lion would look at a gazelle but a more accurate description would be as a perverse lion looks at a frightened lion that he's about to bugger.

Thousands of thoughts racing through my mind, but I'm unable to release the jaw lock that has my mouth gaping. As we come to a slow stop in traffic, his pale, slender hand snakes its way onto my lap in order to test my levels of 'excitement'. Fortunately my genitals had also migrated north, joining their new neighbour my heart, leaving my captor thoroughly unsatisfied. The car was forced to stop behind a pick-up, seizing my chance I made a grab for the door.

Thankfully it wasn't locked and I threw myself out clutching my schoolbag. As i made an extremely undignified getaway he called out asking if I wanted a 'chupada'. Now I had never heard that word but I knew that 'chupar' meant suck so being an exceptional linguist I was able to put two and two together, impressive I know. I raced home without looking back. Looking back, I'm torn between counting my blessings and cursing my stupidity.

I was fortunately able to put all these thoughts out of my mind on Saturday as a huge game of football was being played in the city. One of the two teams in Bahia (helpfully called Bahia), was playing the penultimate game of the season. They were in the second division and needed two more points to gain promotion to the Big Boy's league with Corinthians, Fluminense and so on. Having been out of this fiercely competitive league for seven years, tensions were extremely high and every bar was hosting seas of ardent fans, resplendent in red, blue and white. Needless to say the atmosphere was incredible.

90 minutes of electric action and the game was won. Bahia dispatched Portuguesa 3-0 and I shamelessly celebrated the win and every goal with the gusto of the tortured fan who had followed their team for seven long years in the second division. This was just the beginning of the festivities. Once the match had been concluded, an impromptu carnaval blazed through the city sucking in thousands of blissful participants from all corners of Salvador. I obviously fraudulently threw myself into the jubilations and equally obviously my head is suffering the consequences today.

I left the carnaval and my companions at 3am and set out alone to catch a taxi. Unfortunately every participant seemed to be fighting for the same taxi so I began the trek home on foot hoping to flag one down later. On the way, I ran into a pretty young woman who was going the same direction, I had observed her getting hassle from a bunch of blokes so offered to walk with her for a bit more security. She gratefully accepted so we carried on making casual conversation, primarily about the football.

After about 5 minutes of our journey she suggested that the two of us should so something sometime. She was reasonably attractive so I was contemplated this, thinking she meant the cinema or a day at the beach. While I was pondering when I would be free to meet her she asked me quite a profound question which made me realise I had once again misread the situation. "We could go down these steps to the beach right now, you're quite sweet so I'll give you a special price, R40 (£16), R30 (£12) if you promise not to take too long".

My heart reacquainted itself with my mouth and I stutteringly explained that I wasn't into this kind of transaction; at which point she dropped another bombshell. "Why not, you never been with a transvestite before?".

Trying hard to keep consciousness, I asked her to repeat, praying to the Candomblé Orixas that I had misunderstood. No. S/he went on to explain that she had been taking treatment to become female for the last 11 years and had female legs, face and rear. I noticed, as I'm sure you have reader, quite a glaring omission in this list. Reading my mind, s/he helpfully clarified that s/he was indeed, 'pre-op'.
And it's goodnight from me.

Given this has been a bumper blog, I will have to provide a short round-up of less seedy goings-on. As was mentioned, I now live in a condominium with a family of four. It's really what is known as Class A lodgings given that every adult here has at least 5 letters after their name and as many maids/gardeners/drivers that are needed for a 'comfortable' existence. It's really quite unusual to be honest. I'm living in a place where everyone is very well-educated and has a swimming pool and working in the other extreme of Brazil where I have illiterate 11 year-olds. More on this in the next blog as well as a short explanation of Candomblé which I promised you avid followers about a month ago.

For the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed this account of my clumsy and unwitting flirtations with Salvador's underworld. Rest assured, I will not be accepting any more lifts from strangers in a hurry, nor will I offer to walk prostitutes home. No matter how well concealed their cocks may be.

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Comments

[Manuel]

Ahem
Well, fortunately I have no stories to match either of these; I did go to a queer bar in Rio at Carnaval with a queer mate who was visiting from London. So in most parts of the world you can be straight and go to a gay bar. In Rio de Janeiro it is not possible, unless you are the kind of straight guy who can be comfortable with other men constantly subjecting you to unsolicited pipi touches...

[Manuel]

?
Marcqinho; a geral aqui no escritorio estao querendo saber se a sua experiencia aqui no Brasil eh do caralho?