Oh, Rio!
This one’s for C-mixto.
C-mixto thought it romantic to whisk me away to Brazil a few years ago. Rio to be exact.
If you’re never been to Rio, here are three points to consider before going:
- If a woman traveling with your man, be very secure in yourself (I mean your looks and your relationship).
- If you’re a man traveling with a woman you’re not crazy about, reconsider your travel plans; you will not be able to hide this once you land.
- If you’re a man traveling solo or with other guys, you probably already know what’s up, hence why you’re going there to begin with.
One night, dining along the shores of Copacabana, C-mixto suggests we go dancing. To the “biggest club in Latin America”, he claims. We hail a cab, get in, and C-mixto tells the driver our destination. The driver begins to drive, but with hesitation.
“Eh, sir,” he says in a mixture of Portugese and Spanish. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” C-mixto says.
“But sir,” the driver says, glancing at me nervously. “Are you sure you want to take your señora there?”
“Yes!” C-mixto affirms. “We like dancing.”
The driver shrugs his shoulders and delivers us to our destination, shaking his head one last time before he leaves.
This place was grand. Full bar, open dance floor… C-mixto and I got right to it and made our way through the crowd and started to dance our best to the whatever semi-decent music they were spinning. But then I noticed something special about this crowd. The person to my left, right, front, back and every other possible angle were women. Where were the men? Lined outside the perimeter, taking their pick of the girls like grocers at Hunts Point.
“You took me to a brothel?” I cried in disbelief.
Here’s what’s worse. I fit just right in-outfit, look and all. Nobody told me that only ladies of the evening wear red toe polish (decent ladies opt for clear and white). My toes were as red as the windows of De Wallen, Amsterdam.
C-mixto must have touched my shoulder or waist at some point (we were still trying to act normal and continued dancing), because like Agent Smiths, bouncer Johns came storming in, separating us with heavy hands.
“No touching!” they yelled in Portugese. “Not on the dance floor.”
“But it’s my girlfriend!” C-mixto explained.
“Yeah, you and every guy here.”
Mortified and feeling dirty (but laughing because that shit is funny), C-mixto and I made two or three pathetic gestures at finishing the song, feet apart, then shamefully walked over to find a place to strategize our next move. I was both fuming and intrigued, like a spy broken into a forbidden place to take notes. The tables were all filled with ratios of like twelve girls to one or two guys. C-mixto got looks like, Okay, so you found your pick, why stay, though I don’t know why you’re only taking one.
Surprised I had to request that C-mixto take me back to the hotel? His mind was probably torn between sincere sadness for the plight of these girls, but also the pleasure of swimming in a sea of beautiful mixed women of every size, color and variety your heart could ever desire. Cosmic race indeed.
When we finally left, passing the Copa strip at twilight, we were solicited by a street variety of what was indoors. A woman stripped open her blouse, bared her breast, and asked C-mixto if he wanted some. C-mixto swears it wasn’t really a woman.
Rio has other charms, of course; this is just one story. You can’t dispute that Rio has a lot to offer.
3 Comments
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Shit why didn’t you tell me this story before I got married? BTW What was the name of that club again? Just in Case
I would check their birth certificates first because they are performing some miracles of gender swapping in that part of the world that are very difficult to tell apart from the real thing LOL
The club name… I have to look it up. But you don’t need to go there for that type of action. You simply walk down the Copa strip. At first you will be in heaven. But your mood might change when you see lots of German men getting their chocolate fix, you realize the poverty these girls are coming from, and, like JPLogan said, you really, really have to make sure it’s a biological woman (if this is a requirement). Roc, you would be in heaven as they worship the bootie down there, and on the beach, you wear a fio-dental (dental floss bathing suit bottom) and need I remind you the origins of the “Brazilian” (wax)?