TRUE CONFESSIONS - 10
By Mighty Mouth
I swear to you, dear reader, that everything I say is true and without exaggeration. Having turned Brazil and Carnaval-crazy during my 1966 trip there, I returned for Carnaval again in 1967. As soon as I checked into my hotel upon arrival, I ran to the beach a block away, not to sun, just to observe. I couldn’t believe what happened when I got to the street called Avenida Atlântica, which fronts the beach.
Suddenly two great looking guys, one on each side of the street, were giving me the eye, and this at 10 a.m. Both were in their early twenties. I was under no illusions. I knew they weren’t hot for my body, which was certainly respectable, but were aching for what was in my wallet, in exchange for their services. I had never had an experience like this. I couldn’t believe it was real. I just stood on the street corner, knowing that I could have my choice. Looking from one to the other, I did not want to emulate the proverbial donkey, who starved to death because he could not make a choice between two bales of hay, one on each side of him. So I decided on the one who was on my side of the street. I started talking to him in my still-primitive Portuguese, but he was able to understand me. I don’t recall his price, but I’m sure it was peanuts. The block back to the hotel seemed like ten
Once there, I saw my prize, and it was a magnificently large one, which I promptly swallowed in its entirety. He asked me how long I would be in Rio. When I told him, he offered to be my daily companion at a fixed rate. I was thrilled and excepted without a thought. So I had a guide, and guaranteed daily sex in place, only one hour after arriving in town.
I spent the days with my new pal, enjoying his unforbidden fruit, a banana in this case. I later moved to a hotel in the center of Rio for Carnaval, because that was where the 24- hour, nonstop revelry took place. Dispensing with his services at the end of the day, I took to the noisy and crowded streets around my hotel. With mobs of horny men and boys, and few women, making out was as easy as picking strawberries.
I struck up a conversation with a guy in his mid-twenties, who looked like a country hick. I liked his simplicity and told him what I wanted. I knew I couldn’t take him to my hotel, so he suggested a little dump of a place nearby. It advertised itself as Hotel Para Cavalheiros (Hotel for Gentlemen), where patrons pay by the hour. I gave him the money for the modest fee and let him pay. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to be taken as a foreigner, which the clerk probably knew anyway. He didn’t ask for our IDs. Once into bed, my companion promptly put his arms around me, kissed me, and whispered with a great sigh, "Americano." It was as if this were the pinnacle moment of his life.
After this session, I went back to the street madness and soon started talking to two teen- aged boys who were together. I promptly propositioned them and asked their price. I could have the two of them for thirty-five cents! The only problem was where could we do it. They said they knew a secluded space near the dock in Niteroi, the city where they lived. This required a twenty- minute ferry ride across Guanabara Bay from Rio, then a short walk to our destination. What madness propelled me to take this potentially dangerous trip, I know not. Only afterwards, on the ferry back to Rio, leaving them behind, did I realize what I had risked. They could have robbed me, taken my ID, even killed me, and no one would ever know what happened to me. Men really only think with their balls.
When I left Rio, I got the name and address of my constant companion during my stay. to correspond with him. He told me that he wanted me to end him, of all things, Guillette blades. I sent them, and wrote him a couple of times. When he didn’t answer, I stopped writing.
In 1972, I ran into him on the street again. He was much deteriorated. But the memory of his fabulous prick prompted me to take up with him again. He visited me every day at my hotel. Once arriving back at the hotel, I was informed at the front desk that he had come by in my absence and asked them to give him money and put it on my account. Naturally they refused. So I promptly moved to a different hotel to be rid of him. Besides, I already had a new person on the string.
If anyone wants to read a free copy of my book, “Memoirs of a Gay Rights Maverick,” I’ll send it to you as an email attachment. Advise me via email: firstname.lastname@example.org