- Joined
- Nov 30, 2019
- Messages
- 35
February 11th, 2024
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
It’s late afternoon on Super Bowl Sunday. My plan is to enjoy the game later, but I have a couple hours free, so I walk to the Copacabana boardwalk for a different kind of game.
Every Sunday, half of Copacabana’s main street is closed to give people extra space to exercise, so the street is full of runners, bikers, and walkers. I sit down on the curb of the median to see who passes by.
After about 30 minutes, I see a woman, late 20s, walking by herself on the boardwalk. She’s got a huge ass; it’s like a caboose, the way it follows behind her. She’s wearing a purple skirt and black spaghetti-string top.
I stand up and begin to cross the street to the boardwalk, but she changes direction and starts walking towards the median, about 50 feet up from where I had just been. She stands there, waiting to cross to the other side of the street, which is still open to traffic. So I circle back and stand about five feet to her right, pretending to wait to cross as well.
I open with my typical opener, telling her who she looks like. She responds in English, with a Brazilian accent.
We cross the street together, and we come to a stop on the other side as we chat. She’s receptive, and my first impression as I’m talking with her is that she might be a prostitute. In Copacabana, it’s not unusual to run into them, and, in addition to her caboose, this woman has huge tits that her spaghetti top puts front and center. Still, I can’t tell for sure.
It’s awkward to be talking on the side of the road, so I start to slowly walk in the direction that she was initially headed, and we begin to stroll together. She asks me where I’m going, and I tell her that I’m walking back to my apartment. I ask her the same, and she says that she’s going to get a drink. It’s an unusual answer – I almost never meet an attractive woman during the day who’s getting a drink by herself – but I figure I’ll take the chance. I can always bounce if it turns out she’s a sex-worker; in Rio, they’re upfront about it within the first few minutes of talking. So, I suggest we go for a drink together, and she says sure.
She has a bar in mind a couple blocks away. As we’re walking, I want to suss out more info, so I ask her what she does for a living. Her answer surprises me: she says that she’s a writer. She’s not published, but she’s working on a book, and she also writes poetry and sings.
She tells me that she grew up in Copacabana but left for London as a teenager. Now, she comes back to Rio every few years to visit for months at a time. She talks wistfully about how much Rio has changed since she first left, how it has lost its soul and magic. She says that the music that’s popular here now is degrading to women and that sex is much more casual and meaningless. She tells me that she spent a couple of years in the Dominican Republic and loved it, because, unlike Rio, it's a place that still has “love.”
At this point, my initial impression of her begins to change completely. Rather than being a sex-worker, she seems to be a creative artist with old-fashioned values. I compliment her about this because it’s rare to meet someone who devotes themselves to art and has such strong principles.
We get to the bar and sit on a bench outside, about a foot away from each other. I rest my arm across the top of the bench so that it’s behind her head but not touching it. She seems to know the waitress because they chat in Portuguese as we order a large beer to share. She tells me that she used to come to this bar a lot and was even thinking of becoming a co-owner of it at one point.
As we talk, there’s a light sexual vibe between us. Her body language is open, and our closeness on the bench helps the sensual energy. She’s also wearing a lotion that smells good. As I breathe in her scent, I begin to go into a light sexual state as I imagine rolling around in bed with her, kissing her neck, shoulders, nipples.
My main “seduction goal” this week is to be a more present, active listener. So, as she talks, I really try to hear her story and understand what makes her tick. I’m also legit curious because she has a unique perspective. Even though we started in English, she’s now speaking in Spanish (which she picked up in the Dominican Republic) with Portuguese peppered in. I don’t always completely understand her, but we make due.
She tells me that her dad is also a writer and that he helps her with her work. The book that she’s writing now is about two parents – a father from the U.S., a mother from China – who decide to raise their child according to Western values and who, in the process, lose touch with the mother’s Chinese culture. She connects this with her own life, saying that when she first moved to London she decided to keep her Brazilian accent in order to stay connected to her roots.
Everything she’s said, up until this point, reinforces to me that she has strong traditional, old-fashioned values.
That begins to change, though. Midway through our beers, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a book, “On the Road,” by Jack Keourak, and hands it to me. She says that it’s her favorite book. I’ve never read it, but I know it has to do with a counterculture lifestyle. And I vaguely associate hedonism with it.
We connect about the “on the road” lifestyle: being nomadic, following our curiosity, living with a spirit of experimentation. I tell her that I’ve been living this way for the last two years, going from one city and adventure to another as the wind blows. She seems intrigued that she’s met someone who embodies this lifestyle, bringing it up again and again as we talk.
In terms of the Three Keys, the social frame at this point is good: we’re connecting on some of our deepest values and worldviews, and she seems sincerely surprised and impressed by how I’m living them out. She also asks me at one point if I’m having a good time, a sign that she’s in her head more than she’s judging me. As far as emotional stim, she’s more of a talker than a listener, and she seems to be emotionally stimulating herself as she describes her life and worldviews. And a light sensual energy simmers beneath it all. The immersion doesn’t feel super deep, but part of each of the keys is there.
Around this time, she reaches into her purse again and pulls out a bottle of clear lotion, the same that I had smelled on her earlier. She applies it on her arms and squirts it in my hands, as well. The secret to Brazilians’ beautiful skin tone, I joke.
On her arm is a tattoo of a rockstar who she tells me is her favorite musician. She says that her ex-husband’s best friend was the tattoo artist. She also says that she’s been feeling guilty, recently, because she hooked up with this tattoo artist two weeks ago, despite his friendship with her ex. He had texted her the night before, but she didn’t reply because she doesn’t want to see him again.
I tell her that she’s just living the “on the road” lifestyle, and that I don’t judge, but I’m caught off guard as I begin to realize that this woman is wilder than I had thought. She might have some old-fashioned values and appreciate cultural heritage… but she’s also quite the free spirit, a “rock-and-roller,” and maybe a bit of a hedonist.
At one point, she asks me if I’ve been with any women during my time in Rio. I’ve gotten this type of question from women before, and I’ve found it tricky to answer. If I say yes, then it might give the impression that I’m the player-type who sleeps around. If I say no, then it might sound like I’ve not been getting laid.
I don’t have a prepared response, so I try to deflect her question with humor. I tell her that, no, in fact, I’ve not been with any women in my whole life because I’ve had a chastity belt on ever since I can remember. She doesn’t know what a chastity belt is, so I google a picture on my phone and show her. She laughs and asks if I’m serious. I tell her yeah, and gesture to my crotch, saying that I’m wearing it right now.
She takes her hand and touches my thigh, close to my groin, to feel if it’s there. Of course, she feels nothing, so I tell her it’s an invisible one. Something gets lost in translation, though, because she seems confused as to whether or not I’m being serious. She says something about being a bad influence on me and how she feels like sex is wonderful.
We keep talking, but it feels like something in the vibe has been lost. I figure that she must’ve taken the chastity belt thing to heart, so I explain to her that it was all a joke, that I’m not in fact a virgin
. She seems relieved, and the vibe slowly builds up again. Still, I’m not sure where the interaction is at this point because the dynamic between us feels more dissociated than before.
As we finish up our drinks, she asks me for my number. I can’t tell if she’s trying to gently wrap things up, but I give it to her, and she sends me a text then and there.
At this point, we’ve been together for about 90 minutes, and I’m trying to figure out the next move. On the one hand, I can try to continue this by seeing if she’s down to get a drink at another spot. I don’t like this idea, though, because it’ll mean missing part of the Super Bowl, and there’s no guarantee that I’ll even pull. The best option, it feels, is to settle with getting her number and to try to get her out another day.
After we’ve paid the bill, I ask her what her plans are for the rest of the day. She says that she’s going to go for a walk in Ipanema. Then, to my surprise, she asks me if I want to come with her. Obviously, a huge IOI.
I say sure, I’ll join. We leave the bar and begin walking.
This is where things get interesting. Despite the IOI, I know that my original calculation is still true: joining her means missing the Super Bowl without guaranteed sex. So, even though I’ve said I’ll join, I’m not actually planning on going.
At the same time, this is a very strong IOI – especially at this point in the interaction. So, I figure that I’ll go for the pull, here and now. It’s a lot earlier than when I’d typically try to pull, but I’ve made up my mind to go home anyway, so I don’t have anything to lose. I throw out the invitation:
“Actually, before we go to Ipanema, how about we fill-up on some wine first? I live 5 minutes from here and have a really good bottle.”
“Okay, sounds good. But… I don’t like wine, I prefer beer.”
The pull feels casual, and she still has some plausible deniability for going home with me. After all, nothing has been overtly sexual between us, yet, and we’re just doing a pit stop for alcohol before going to Ipanema.
When we get to my AirBnB, she pours out beer for us. We lay back on my bed, since the AirBnB has no couch. I open YouTube on my laptop and tell her to show me some Brazilian music that she likes. She puts on some Brazilian “hippie” music videos from what seem to be the 70s and tells me the histories of the artists.
After about 20 minutes of this, I put my arm around her. She doesn’t lean into me, at all, and seems to be really enjoying the music videos. The vibe is relaxed and comfortable but not overtly sexual. Still, the undertones of the whole situation are: “When a man and woman are alone together, the third person present is the devil,” as the saying goes.
Eventually she gets up to use the bathroom, and, when she gets back, I get up to do the same. When I get back, she’s looking at me with a mischievous look in her eyes. She’s no longer focused on the music videos – she’s focused on us.
We keep watching music videos, but, this time around, I start to kiss her shoulder. She starts to moan quietly, and we begin making out. After a few minutes, she takes off her shirt, pulls the lotion out of her purse, and begins applying it all over herself while she looks at me.
She tells me to take off my clothes, and I politely oblige.
She drips the lotion all over me as she starts to blow me. After the head, she stands up and takes off her skirt. Then she gets on the bed, ass up in the air. I take the lotion and drip it all over her ass as she shakes it, a porn fantasy in the flesh.
As I get a condom, she tells me to put on Madonna’s music.
Suffice to say… I’ve never been so pleased to miss a Super Bowl.
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
It’s late afternoon on Super Bowl Sunday. My plan is to enjoy the game later, but I have a couple hours free, so I walk to the Copacabana boardwalk for a different kind of game.
Every Sunday, half of Copacabana’s main street is closed to give people extra space to exercise, so the street is full of runners, bikers, and walkers. I sit down on the curb of the median to see who passes by.
After about 30 minutes, I see a woman, late 20s, walking by herself on the boardwalk. She’s got a huge ass; it’s like a caboose, the way it follows behind her. She’s wearing a purple skirt and black spaghetti-string top.
I stand up and begin to cross the street to the boardwalk, but she changes direction and starts walking towards the median, about 50 feet up from where I had just been. She stands there, waiting to cross to the other side of the street, which is still open to traffic. So I circle back and stand about five feet to her right, pretending to wait to cross as well.
I open with my typical opener, telling her who she looks like. She responds in English, with a Brazilian accent.
We cross the street together, and we come to a stop on the other side as we chat. She’s receptive, and my first impression as I’m talking with her is that she might be a prostitute. In Copacabana, it’s not unusual to run into them, and, in addition to her caboose, this woman has huge tits that her spaghetti top puts front and center. Still, I can’t tell for sure.
It’s awkward to be talking on the side of the road, so I start to slowly walk in the direction that she was initially headed, and we begin to stroll together. She asks me where I’m going, and I tell her that I’m walking back to my apartment. I ask her the same, and she says that she’s going to get a drink. It’s an unusual answer – I almost never meet an attractive woman during the day who’s getting a drink by herself – but I figure I’ll take the chance. I can always bounce if it turns out she’s a sex-worker; in Rio, they’re upfront about it within the first few minutes of talking. So, I suggest we go for a drink together, and she says sure.
She has a bar in mind a couple blocks away. As we’re walking, I want to suss out more info, so I ask her what she does for a living. Her answer surprises me: she says that she’s a writer. She’s not published, but she’s working on a book, and she also writes poetry and sings.
She tells me that she grew up in Copacabana but left for London as a teenager. Now, she comes back to Rio every few years to visit for months at a time. She talks wistfully about how much Rio has changed since she first left, how it has lost its soul and magic. She says that the music that’s popular here now is degrading to women and that sex is much more casual and meaningless. She tells me that she spent a couple of years in the Dominican Republic and loved it, because, unlike Rio, it's a place that still has “love.”
At this point, my initial impression of her begins to change completely. Rather than being a sex-worker, she seems to be a creative artist with old-fashioned values. I compliment her about this because it’s rare to meet someone who devotes themselves to art and has such strong principles.
We get to the bar and sit on a bench outside, about a foot away from each other. I rest my arm across the top of the bench so that it’s behind her head but not touching it. She seems to know the waitress because they chat in Portuguese as we order a large beer to share. She tells me that she used to come to this bar a lot and was even thinking of becoming a co-owner of it at one point.
As we talk, there’s a light sexual vibe between us. Her body language is open, and our closeness on the bench helps the sensual energy. She’s also wearing a lotion that smells good. As I breathe in her scent, I begin to go into a light sexual state as I imagine rolling around in bed with her, kissing her neck, shoulders, nipples.
My main “seduction goal” this week is to be a more present, active listener. So, as she talks, I really try to hear her story and understand what makes her tick. I’m also legit curious because she has a unique perspective. Even though we started in English, she’s now speaking in Spanish (which she picked up in the Dominican Republic) with Portuguese peppered in. I don’t always completely understand her, but we make due.
She tells me that her dad is also a writer and that he helps her with her work. The book that she’s writing now is about two parents – a father from the U.S., a mother from China – who decide to raise their child according to Western values and who, in the process, lose touch with the mother’s Chinese culture. She connects this with her own life, saying that when she first moved to London she decided to keep her Brazilian accent in order to stay connected to her roots.
Everything she’s said, up until this point, reinforces to me that she has strong traditional, old-fashioned values.
That begins to change, though. Midway through our beers, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a book, “On the Road,” by Jack Keourak, and hands it to me. She says that it’s her favorite book. I’ve never read it, but I know it has to do with a counterculture lifestyle. And I vaguely associate hedonism with it.
We connect about the “on the road” lifestyle: being nomadic, following our curiosity, living with a spirit of experimentation. I tell her that I’ve been living this way for the last two years, going from one city and adventure to another as the wind blows. She seems intrigued that she’s met someone who embodies this lifestyle, bringing it up again and again as we talk.
In terms of the Three Keys, the social frame at this point is good: we’re connecting on some of our deepest values and worldviews, and she seems sincerely surprised and impressed by how I’m living them out. She also asks me at one point if I’m having a good time, a sign that she’s in her head more than she’s judging me. As far as emotional stim, she’s more of a talker than a listener, and she seems to be emotionally stimulating herself as she describes her life and worldviews. And a light sensual energy simmers beneath it all. The immersion doesn’t feel super deep, but part of each of the keys is there.
Around this time, she reaches into her purse again and pulls out a bottle of clear lotion, the same that I had smelled on her earlier. She applies it on her arms and squirts it in my hands, as well. The secret to Brazilians’ beautiful skin tone, I joke.
On her arm is a tattoo of a rockstar who she tells me is her favorite musician. She says that her ex-husband’s best friend was the tattoo artist. She also says that she’s been feeling guilty, recently, because she hooked up with this tattoo artist two weeks ago, despite his friendship with her ex. He had texted her the night before, but she didn’t reply because she doesn’t want to see him again.
I tell her that she’s just living the “on the road” lifestyle, and that I don’t judge, but I’m caught off guard as I begin to realize that this woman is wilder than I had thought. She might have some old-fashioned values and appreciate cultural heritage… but she’s also quite the free spirit, a “rock-and-roller,” and maybe a bit of a hedonist.
At one point, she asks me if I’ve been with any women during my time in Rio. I’ve gotten this type of question from women before, and I’ve found it tricky to answer. If I say yes, then it might give the impression that I’m the player-type who sleeps around. If I say no, then it might sound like I’ve not been getting laid.
I don’t have a prepared response, so I try to deflect her question with humor. I tell her that, no, in fact, I’ve not been with any women in my whole life because I’ve had a chastity belt on ever since I can remember. She doesn’t know what a chastity belt is, so I google a picture on my phone and show her. She laughs and asks if I’m serious. I tell her yeah, and gesture to my crotch, saying that I’m wearing it right now.
She takes her hand and touches my thigh, close to my groin, to feel if it’s there. Of course, she feels nothing, so I tell her it’s an invisible one. Something gets lost in translation, though, because she seems confused as to whether or not I’m being serious. She says something about being a bad influence on me and how she feels like sex is wonderful.
We keep talking, but it feels like something in the vibe has been lost. I figure that she must’ve taken the chastity belt thing to heart, so I explain to her that it was all a joke, that I’m not in fact a virgin
. She seems relieved, and the vibe slowly builds up again. Still, I’m not sure where the interaction is at this point because the dynamic between us feels more dissociated than before. As we finish up our drinks, she asks me for my number. I can’t tell if she’s trying to gently wrap things up, but I give it to her, and she sends me a text then and there.
At this point, we’ve been together for about 90 minutes, and I’m trying to figure out the next move. On the one hand, I can try to continue this by seeing if she’s down to get a drink at another spot. I don’t like this idea, though, because it’ll mean missing part of the Super Bowl, and there’s no guarantee that I’ll even pull. The best option, it feels, is to settle with getting her number and to try to get her out another day.
After we’ve paid the bill, I ask her what her plans are for the rest of the day. She says that she’s going to go for a walk in Ipanema. Then, to my surprise, she asks me if I want to come with her. Obviously, a huge IOI.
I say sure, I’ll join. We leave the bar and begin walking.
This is where things get interesting. Despite the IOI, I know that my original calculation is still true: joining her means missing the Super Bowl without guaranteed sex. So, even though I’ve said I’ll join, I’m not actually planning on going.
At the same time, this is a very strong IOI – especially at this point in the interaction. So, I figure that I’ll go for the pull, here and now. It’s a lot earlier than when I’d typically try to pull, but I’ve made up my mind to go home anyway, so I don’t have anything to lose. I throw out the invitation:
“Actually, before we go to Ipanema, how about we fill-up on some wine first? I live 5 minutes from here and have a really good bottle.”
“Okay, sounds good. But… I don’t like wine, I prefer beer.”
The pull feels casual, and she still has some plausible deniability for going home with me. After all, nothing has been overtly sexual between us, yet, and we’re just doing a pit stop for alcohol before going to Ipanema.
When we get to my AirBnB, she pours out beer for us. We lay back on my bed, since the AirBnB has no couch. I open YouTube on my laptop and tell her to show me some Brazilian music that she likes. She puts on some Brazilian “hippie” music videos from what seem to be the 70s and tells me the histories of the artists.
After about 20 minutes of this, I put my arm around her. She doesn’t lean into me, at all, and seems to be really enjoying the music videos. The vibe is relaxed and comfortable but not overtly sexual. Still, the undertones of the whole situation are: “When a man and woman are alone together, the third person present is the devil,” as the saying goes.
Eventually she gets up to use the bathroom, and, when she gets back, I get up to do the same. When I get back, she’s looking at me with a mischievous look in her eyes. She’s no longer focused on the music videos – she’s focused on us.
We keep watching music videos, but, this time around, I start to kiss her shoulder. She starts to moan quietly, and we begin making out. After a few minutes, she takes off her shirt, pulls the lotion out of her purse, and begins applying it all over herself while she looks at me.
She tells me to take off my clothes, and I politely oblige.
She drips the lotion all over me as she starts to blow me. After the head, she stands up and takes off her skirt. Then she gets on the bed, ass up in the air. I take the lotion and drip it all over her ass as she shakes it, a porn fantasy in the flesh.
As I get a condom, she tells me to put on Madonna’s music.
Suffice to say… I’ve never been so pleased to miss a Super Bowl.
