[F]ucking a Local the Day [M]y Flight Touched Down, Or Why You Should Watch the World Cup in Brazil

I posted some stories before from my college days, thought I would write up a hookup that happened more recently in my life that came at a particularly nice time for me, no pun intended.

I know I write long stories but I mostly write them to relive them in my head while I write, and this one in particular to remind myself that even if my work is shitty right now, sometimes it leads to particularly good things, which given how this quarter has been I definitely need.

I described myself before but to recap I’m 6 foot exactly, dark curly hair, pretty good shape, lotta tattoos. Sadly these days my hippy vibe is pretty over with, I keep my hair cut short and professional, and I wear a suit most days so my tattoos normally come as a surprise. I’m in my mid / late twenties now and I work in NYC, but I’m lucky enough (or cursed enough) to travel a lot for my job.

I need to talk about my job just a little to frame this hookup but I promise I’ll be brief. My job can be a bit of a nightmare sometimes, not to be too specific but I work in the finance world and my hours tend to be brutal, with a lot of unpredictability. It isn’t absurd for me to work 90+ hour weeks during peaks, and even the valleys don’t let you totally slack off.

Second quarter of 2018 for me was all peak, I’d never been fucked rougher and I was not enjoying it. My job is also pretty high pressure so between getting railed by emails every hour of the night, and shouldering a fuck-load of responsibility, I was pretty clearly coming apart at the seams.

Luckily I have one superior who looks out for me, and they somehow found a way to justify flying me down to Brazil during the World Cup that summer. Now I’m a huge soccer fan, and I’ve worked in Brazil for a while before and love it there. When I heard I was being sent there during the World Cup I was elated, but still a little shell-shocked. My boss pulled me aside and told me (off the record) “You know Sao Paolo, you’re there to work, but its Brazil during the World Cup, nobody works. Get your shit done and use that time to come up for air a bit, drink some caipirinhas, come back ready to grind again.”

This is from a guy who works twice as hard as you and is ten times smarter so with his permission I was ready for Brazil. I hopped the red eye from JFK to Sao Paolo, I’ve got my flight routine down, a beer or two in the system, pop a pill, sleep through all the shitty meals, rock some heavy duty noise-canceling headphones, wake up feeling like I just slept eight hours on a fucking plane.

I roll through the airport, get picked up in a corporate car that is somehow both worse and more complicated than just getting an Uber, get taken to my hotel, grab that post-flight nap to remind myself how much better a real bed is, and when I wake up its almost 1PM.

I look out my window and there isn’t a car on the street, the whole metropolis is deserted. That’s when it hits me that Brazil is playing Serbia! I ripped off my travel gear, quickly threw on my Brazil kit, and booked it down to my hotel’s front desk.

Everyone there is patiently waiting for the game to start on the lobby TV’s and I quickly ask if there’s a good bar nearby to watch it at. The receptionist is that standard Brazilian girl gorgeous, somehow the stereotype that all Brazilian women are beautiful isn’t even a little bullshit, and her smile as she directs me where to go already has me feeling rejuvenated. I get her to put the name of the bar into my phone’s Google maps and dash off.

Of course the place is packed to the gills and has been for hours, it’s standing room only and the crowd of drunk cheering singing Brazilians spills out into the street. It is 1PM on a Wednesday.

If you’ve never been to Brazil for some reason there it is very strange to drink directly out of the bottle, and if you do you’ll be judged and instantly pegged as a foreigner. Instead you get 1-liter beers and pour them into tiny little glasses, I’ve never understood it, but it poses a unique challenge to my plan to drink alone and stand. I thought, fuck it, fought my way to the bar and bought a huge bucket of ice stuffed with beers and got a handful of glasses, and made a beeline for some tall tables people were standing by. I made eye contact with a group of guys who looked a little low on beer but had a table locked down and made the universal gesture to cut a deal.

They were enthusiastic and waved me over, I plopped the bucket down, and with scarcely and introduction we were all cheering together. South America really is one of the friendliest places in the world when you do it right, and pretty soon they were all laughing at the American who cant manage to sing the songs right but knows every player by name. By the time the game had kicked off I had bought another round and I was in heaven.

Brazil coasted by Serbia, scoring the first goal about half an hour in. The place erupted in cheers, vuvuzela blasts, dancing, and I was going wild with the rest of them. A few tables over the most stunning Brazilian girl was absolutely losing her mind to the goal, blowing a whistle and chanting furiously. I absolutely stared too long but her passion was palpable. She caught me gaping at her in the way that a golden retriever stares at their food-bowl before it gets lowered down to them and absolutely threw her head back and laughed. I couldn’t do anything but shrug and grin, and the one of the guys around me who watched it go down clapped me on the back and shouted “nothing like Brazilian women brother!” I gave an enthusiastic cheers to that.

By the time Brazil scored the second goal I was blasted drunk. Someone had bought a bottle of cachaça at some point and I had been railing shots. I hadn’t eaten anything since the airplane besides some chips at the bar, but I couldn’t have cared less. It’s all a bit of a whirlwind for a while but Brazil was stomping Serbia, we were all stomping so much the bar was going to collapse, and months of stress was literally melting off me. Also, I kept getting caught glancing over at the same girl from before. She was grinning ear to ear every time like it was the most amusing joke in the world. Her skin was some shade between caramel and mahogany, and her brown hair was wild, running down her back, all streaked with blonde. She had face-paint of the Brazilian flag on both cheeks, and as far as I was concerned, was the most radiant exemplar of life and good fun I’d ever laid eyes on.

The game finished 2-0 Brazil, it was barely mid-afternoon, and the whole country was set to party. When the final whistle blew the whole bar erupted in songs and dancing, people hugging their neighbors. I figured my brief brotherhood with my tablemates was coming to an end and began roughly clapping shoulders and clasping hands. Abruptly in all the chaos I turned around and the same girl I’d been staring down had sidled over to me with one of her friends. Her friend shouted through the cacophony at me in extremely stilted English “You aren’t Brazilian are you?!”

I laughed and shot back in Portuguese “Is it that obvious?”

The one I’d been staring at laughed at that and shouted back “Well with your accent it is!”

I had to shrug at that and looked sheepish before she leaned in again “it’s ok though, today you get a pass, if you can party like a Brazilian!” At that we all laughed again, with the rest of my table getting in on the ribbing. The bottle of cachaça came back out and my newer new friends joined us for a celebratory shot.

It’s a bit of a whirlwind again but her friend tells me I should keep partying like a Brazilian and come to a better bar for dancing. Her name is Luciana and the current object of my obsession is Miri. I agree enthusiastically and we all walk together to another bar close by. The bar itself is tiny but its sound system is deafening, and the whole side street it is on is shut down by dancers. Occasionally cars push through honking celebratorily, but somehow they don’t disrupt the dancing at all.

Somehow I’ve managed to convince Miri to be my dance teacher, and she is mocking me incessantly. I’m enjoying seeing her laugh at me, but more so I’m enjoying her attempts to correct my dancing, with her hands pushing my chest back, trying to get my hips in rhythm. I’m still drunk enough that her attempts, while valiant, are fruitless, but I’m trying anyway, running my hands along her waist and hips. Finally the music is a little slower and I pull her closer to me. I lean in and put me mouth right next to her ear.

“I promise I’m not this bad at everything.”

She laughs again and I wink at her.

“Oh really? Because right now you are a terrible Brazilian.”

We hold eye contact for a bit, swaying gently close against each other, and I kiss her. Softly at first but then she leans into me and puts one hand on my chest. As much as I wish it was all suave, my center of gravity still isn’t too stable with all the cachaça running through my and I stumble and we both nearly fall over in the street. Not to be deterred I grabbed her by the hand and dragged her over towards a wall next to a storefront where it is less crowded. It’s dark out now, and I let her lean into me again with my back against the wall, letting my hands rest on her lower back. She’s tall enough that I barely need to stoop to kiss her; she’s still kissing me tenderly, her tongue barely flickering at her lips. The samba beat still rages in the background in sharp contrast to this somehow delicate moment.

Then all of a sudden her hand is at my belt, tracing a finger under my shirt along my abs. I’m rock hard pressed against her and suddenly the tempo of our make out is urgent. I grip her ass through her jeans and by god she is fucking Brazilian. Suddenly she breaks the kiss and steps back and I think FUCK I’ve pushed my luck, but then I see that Luciana is there and has just tapped Miri on the shoulder. She’s grinning like a fox and they have a brief exchange in Portuguese that I don’t catch before Luciana points at me accusingly.

“You’re going to take care of her?” She asks me like a reproachful mother.

“I promise to be a gentleman.” I dutifully reply. They both laugh and Luciana wags her finger at me.

“She has to work tomorrow you know!” she nags.

“Perfect then, me too.” I shot back, and with that Luciana grins to herself again, before spinning on her heel before heading back.

I looked back at Miri and raised an eyebrow, but she put a finger to my lips. “I love her so don’t be mean.”

“I’d never dream of it.” And with that I leaned in and let the moment take me again.

I don’t know how long we made out pressed up against that wall, with my hands groping as much as would be decent in public, with her grinding against me, before I finally couldn’t take it any more.

“Come back to my hotel with me.” I gasped at her.

She looked at me coyly. “I want to dance more first.”

I grinned sheepishly at that “are you sure you want to dance more with me?”

Undeterred she sassed back. “Maybe not, maybe I find another American boy who can dance better instead.”

I put my hands up innocently and put a little distance between us. “I wouldn’t blame you. But I think I have other skills that can make up for my dancing.”

At that she laughed and for the first time looked a little shy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Finally I had a bit of the upper hand and I smiled back confidently. “How many other Americans speak Portuguese as well as me?”

With that Miri dissolved into a fit of giggles before I reached forward and pulled her back in to kiss again. When we pulled away I smiled and asked “Or don’t you think I’m good with my tongue?”

(Brief note, I really always try to be suave or clever, and honestly I miss way more shots than I take. Just this once though, in Portuguese the word for tongue is the same as for language, so I’m claiming credit that it was a clever pun. I just want people to recognize me for my cleverness for once. Ok end note.)

In the end Miri managed to pull me back to the dance area again for a spell, where I did my best to get by while taking in her sashaying hips and sensual sways without elbowing anyone in my vicinity. Our connection was still electric, and after a dance or two she looked a little sweaty in the Sao Paolo heat.

“You look thirsty now, how about a drink then?”

She nodded “Ok you’re right I’m thirsty, get me a drink.”

“Ok but come with me.” I grabbed her hand and dragged her off away from the bar towards a main street.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“We’ll get a drink at my hotel.” I shot back. She laughed at me again but skipped along next to me happily and I grinned back.

We piled into a taxi and I briefly struggled to pull up my hotel’s address, sifting through my work emails to find where our travel department had booked me, I briefly marveled at the fact that I’d barely landed in the country less than twelve hours ago. Finally we were off and riding through the streets with the windows down, listening to the revelry of the whole city around us.

I whisked Miri through the lobby and up to my room. One of the advantages of traveling on my jobs dollar is the places they book you tend to be pretty nice, and the dollar goes a long way in Sao Paolo. My room had a beautiful balcony, enclosed in glass, looking out over the city skyline. I grabbed Miri a beer from the fridge, thanking the hotel gods that they had them pre-stocked so I didn’t look like an asshole, and wandered over to the couch on the balcony.

I sat down first and looked at Miri, who was busy taking in the view at the window. Fuck she was gorgeous. For the first time I was taking her in away from the crowd and cacophony of the World Cup. She was the prototypical Brazilian woman. I’d guess 5’8, an hourglass shape, she oozed sensuality and confidence when she moved. She looked away from the window and saw me gaping at her again.

“I don’t know why you look at me like that.” She said.

“But you like it apparently.” I replied.

“I guess I do.” And with that she walked towards me on the couch and confidently straddled me. I kissed her savagely this time, with her rising up and down in my lap. Impatiently I clawed at her Brazil jersey and she tugged it over her head, before pulling my shirt off too. Hurriedly I undid my belt and started to unzip my jeans. She put her hands on my chest and purred at me. “Impatient?”

I was done playing the suave banter game and instead I just let my teeth press into her neck while I tried to undo her bra. Even less suave I ended up needing assistance there for some reason, but I forgot any problem when her breasts spilled free, beautiful dark handfuls. Still feeling that primal rush I ran my hands down her back, tugging at her jeans, before smacking her ass roughly. She rolled off me and we both quickly shimmied out of our pants before I got on my knees in front of the couch. I wish I’d snuck an extra clever line in about my tongue, but my mind was going blank, and instead I buried my face into her stomach, kissing and caressing her hungrily. Her underwear was thin and wet with the sweat from dancing, and I nearly tore it off her. Her hands were rough in my hair, digging her nails in and writing excitedly.

Normally I would go slow and try to tease, building the suspense, but I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to make her cum as fast as possible, I traced little circles around her clit with pressure while I slipped a finger inside and curled. My other hand ran roughshod over her body, groping her breasts and feeling her smooth skin, tracing patters where I could, and in no time she started to buck against me, moaning things in Portuguese I had no hope of understanding. When she came she pulled my hair so roughly it wrenched my neck and I let myself fall forward, awkwardly kneeling on the floor with my head against her stomach. After she caught her breath she looked at me hungrily and said “your turn.”

I was rock hard but wagged my finger at her before I grabbed her and hauled her up. I would have carried her to the bed but I still didn’t quite trust my drunken self to pull that maneuver off suavely, so instead I settled for dragging her to the bed and forcefully shoving her into it.

“I just need to fuck you.” I growled out in English and she laughed, gazing up at me from her back. I quickly dug through my bag throwing my suit out onto the floor and pulled out a condom. It must’ve been my all time record for getting it on and lubing up because I needed to be inside this woman.

I took her immediately with me standing at the edge of the bed and her shaking underneath me. I pushed deeply into her and wasted no time in starting to fuck her in long forceful strokes. The Portuguese started coming out of her in repeated bursts, which was so hot I immediately knew this wasn’t going to be my longest performance, even with the alcohol fortifying me. Instead I settled for fucking her roughly with abandon, kissing her aggressively and folding her legs back. Fuck she was bendy, and tight, and her breasts were perfect, and before I knew it I pressed myself deep into her and she gasped in my ear, her nails digging deep into my back.

After we cleaned up a bit we both lay exhausted in bed. She curled up into my chest and I basked in the afterglow.

“Before I forget, you should give me your WhatsApp. I’m here for two more weeks.”

She grinned back at me. “Then you can be a good luck charm for Brazil while you’re here.”

We fell asleep shortly, exhausted, and I woke up with a start to her running around the room pulling her clothes on.

“Fuck I have to go into work in a bit and all my clothes are at my apartment!”

I shot up and quickly pulled some clothes on too, inside I was heartbroken we weren’t going to get a chance for a morning session. I called her an Uber while she made a hasty attempt at doing her makeup in the mirror. Luckily there was one close by so we quickly rushed down to the lobby. I walked her out through security, briefly convened with the Uber driver to confirm it was for her, before seeing her off with a quick kiss. As the car pulled away I finally realized what a catastrophic hangover I had.

I plodded back in half-triumphant, half-dead. I looked like garbage of course, and only after I got buzzed back through security did I realize I didn’t have my keycard on me. The same gorgeous girl was at the desk who had recommended me the bar as last time, and she was very professional issuing me another to get back into my room. Not so professional that I didn’t catch her smirking, or hear a peal of laughter between her and her coworkers as I slinked back to the elevator.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ao6jei/fucking_a_local_the_day_my_flight_touched_down_or