The Scorpion's Sweet Venom

by Bruna Surfistinha

Our relationship was like that of any girl my age. We went out, watched films, went dancing, hung out at home, laughed, talked and, of course, had sex. I know how to separate the sex of my work from sex with my boyfriend - with love, lust, or whatever it is that drives the relationship. My head and body might be tired, but when I'm with my partner I want to have real sex. Sometimes, I have to make an effort. But it's awful not to give attention to the person you're with. After all, the guy already has to deal with the fact that his girlfriend is a pro. How could I let him go without sex? Even though he knew all about me from the outset, like the others before him, after a while he found he couldn't handle the fact of my profession and all the hype about the blog, my 'fifteen minutes offame'. What a shame. These minutes will pass and I'll still be here, being myself.

  Amidst all the razzle-dazzle, all the attention I was getting because of the interviews and, of course, the TV shows, there were people who already knew me and called me up just to talk. On the other hand, there were also people who called to remind me that being a pro has its price in any day and age. A kid who had gone to school with me at Bandeirantes called and really got me down. 'Well, Raquel, who would have imagined? A pro!' What hurt most is that he wanted to hurt me. 'Everyone that studied with us is in their second or third year of university and you're the only one that's a pro.' He put me down, and got to me in a way I didn't want him to. Of course I'd already thought about these things, and the lives of the people who'd gone to school with me: they were all progressing. To this day I'm not really sure why he did that. He didn't gain anything, insulting me like that. Still, what did I expect?

  There are those who think that prostitutes don't have needs. How silly. It's like saying that cooks don't get hungry. That must be why, although sex was my work, I was always masturbating. I wanted to enjoy my own fantasies. The last time I went withsomeone as a 'civilian', the guy ended up getting fired. That's right! The person who told me the outcome of the story was Natalia, a friend who swells the numbers in group sex when the clients don't bring other girls. We'd gone to a normal nightclub, just for fun, in Jardins. I mentioned it in my blog, saying what club it had been at (some grass probably read it and the guy got fired as a result). I felt bad, but he was the one who was working, not me . . . I'd drunk a lot. When that happens I'm really easy, I lose control. Actually, in my opinion, all women become easy and turned on in this situation.

  The club is divided into two parts. I was upstairs, where he was working as a waiter at the bar. I noticed him staring at me - and I stared back, of course, openly flirting. When I went to get another beer at the counter, he flirted back and I couldn't help myself - I kissed him. I asked for a paper napkin to write my number on so we could meet elsewhere. 'No, I've got an idea. I'll go into the bathroom, you wait a minute, then follow me in. We can have a quickie in there.' It was more than half an hour . . . When we came out, there was a huge queue at the door. The bathroom is unisex and I was so embarrassed as I walked out. It had been ages since I'd had sex with whoever I wanted. I needed to have sex likethat, with someone I was interested in - and not for money.

  I'd already given up hope of ever being involved with someone. But, on Valentine's Day, 2005, I felt like a normal girl again - someone asked me to be his girlfriend. That's right!!! It was Pedro. He was married and was always saying his marriage was on the rocks, but he hadn't separated because of his two young daughters. He'd never been with a prostitute, but he followed my blog, was curious to meet me, and, as he said, became my fan. He ended up visiting me seven times, from the time we met until we became friends. He'd separated from his wife a few months before.

  On Valentine's Day, surprise surprise! He asked me to go out with him. He'd already insinuated that he'd support me financially if I wanted to give up prostitution. I explained (and he was mature enough to understand) that I'd left my parents' home to be independent. He respects me and handles being with me just fine. So much so that we now live together and have plans for the future. I think he's the love of my life. My mother would certainly love him. I always joke with him, saying that experience has taught me all the excuses husbands tell their wives when they're cheating on them. He'll have to be really creative if he ever feels tempted . . . Poor Pedro.

  Thursday, 7 August

  FIFTH CLIENT

  Yay! Finally someone invited me to a swingers' club!!! We arrived at 11 p.m. and left at 4 a.m. He'd already gone out with me three times before. I was left with a weird feeling at the end of the evening. I ended up crying in the couples' room. It was packed, but it wasn't nice, even though there were lots of beautiful people there. There were lots of young guys on their own, lots of hard-to-please women and, in the maze, on Thursdays, unaccompanied men are allowed in. In other words, you can't go in there, because they're like vultures to a carcass. It's true. But the music was excellent, with lots of old classics. They even played one of my favourites (I don't know the name, but I know it's by The Mamas & The Papas).

  Unfortunately for the men, Thursday is also the day when there is a strip show just for the ladies. I wasn't pulled into the middle of the show, as usually happens. Partly because I didn't feel like it. We switched couples three times, but only one of the women was worth it for me. With the first couple, the girl was really sexy, but she didn't gowith women, unfortunately for me. When I took my top off, she squeezed my breast and said, 'It's silicone, isn't it, hon?' Calling me 'hon', especially during sex, was a turn-off. I laughed in her face. I don't like it when people call me 'honey'. Much less 'hon'.

  Her partner was also an annoying young guy who wanted to come on my tits. I refused, but he insisted. I don't like it when someone insists on something I don't feel like doing, so I ended up saying it was OK. Just when he was about to come, I got back at him - I moved away and not a drop of come fell on me. The second swap was with a Japanese guy who I actually quite liked, but when we got down to business, I didn't enjoy it. We were having sex with me on all fours on the sofa and him standing. He was really pounding me. I turned my face to one side to avoid slamming my nose straight into the wall. I ended up banging my head anyway. I saw stars. He was a bit aggressive, but luckily he came quickly. My client pretended to come with the 'hon' so they'd leave quickly and we could have sex by ourselves. With me, he came.

  After the third swap (I didn't have the courage to touch the girl, although I was dying to go down on her), a really drunk guy grabbed me and said that the minute he'd seen me he'd remembered the film Scent of a Woman, and started telling me the plot. For God's sake, no one needs to hear the synopsis of a film in the middle of a swingers' club.

  Before the third swap, we stopped in the maze. A woman of about forty and her husband were busy groping each other, but she was sucking off another guy. She was a confirmed dick-sucker. Out of the blue, another dick appeared and she shoved it in her mouth. Suddenly, all kinds of men started appearing from all over the place to be sucked off by the woman. By my count, she sucked seven dicks. At one stage I thought they were going to start taking a number and joining the queue. Oh well, whatever. Though come to think of it, even I - a pro - would never suck seven dicks at a swingers' club.

  I noticed she didn't look up. She didn't even know who all those dicks belonged to. She just grabbed them and shoved them in her mouth. All I could think about was the sort of guys they were -not exactly the best catch, to be really polite. Who am I to criticise anyone? But I have to admit, I was shocked. It was probably her fantasy. I'm not sure if I was more disgusted by the woman or the men. Men are UN-FREAKING-BELIEVABLE! When they get turned on, they stick their dicks in the first hole they see. They only don't stick them in a hole in the wall because holes in walls don't moan.

  I still hadn't gone down on a woman. We were in the room where only couples can enter and onestarted touching me. Then she suggested that we go into a private room. We went down on each other for ages. I didn't manage to come, but she came in my mouth. Her pussy was the way I like them, nice and fleshy.

&nbs
p; From all the relationships I've had while working in this profession, I've learnt that men will only respect me as a woman again the day I give it up. And another thing I've learnt - when this happens and I meet the man of my dreams, the one I'm going to marry and have kids with, I'm not going to tell him that I used to be a working girl. I've decided I want to leave it all in the past. Forget? No, that's impossible . . . Let's just say that I'm going to put all this life experience in a drawer and never open it again. I'll no doubt be scared he might already have met me as Bruna or find out some other way. But I must make it clear - I don't regret what I've done. I hope with Pedro things will be different, because I love him very much and hope he is able to respect me.

  One of the classic Cinderella dreams of working girls is finding the man who will take them out of prostitution. Would you believe it happened to me? It was a sixty-two-year-old client, who was a widower and very lonely. He came to me each week, but we almost never had sex; we mostly just talked (this is more common than you would imagine). One day he came right out and said, 'I want to have a serious talk with you.' He told me that his son, who lived with him, was going on exchange for a year, and he was going to be alone. He invited me to live with him and asked me to give up prostitution. He'd pay for whatever I wanted: studies, gym, clothes, spending-money, as long as I gave it all up.

  I said I'd think about it and I really did. In reality, I wouldn't be giving up prostitution, but I'd only be doing it with him, also for money. A single client for the rest of his life (which could be quite a while). My refusal had nothing to do with him, since I got along well with him, nor his generous offer, because no one was fooling anyone there. But I'd left my parents' home to have more freedom. To tie myself to a man, unless it was for love, would be like swapping one cage for another. A gold one, yes, but a cage nonetheless. I know it would have been a good deal for me, and that I was turning down the offer of a lifetime for many girls like me, but I was also afraid that he might die and I'd be blamed for it. I think I've seen this kind of thing in too many films, as well as real life.

  It's not every day that someone decides to 'save your soul by watching over your body', but afterbeing with the same client many times, it often turns into a friendship. These days, all of my friends are former clients. My best friend came to me five or six times as a client. And on several occasions the sex took a back seat. We started to touch base daily, not just to schedule a fuck. One day, I had to make things very clear: 'The minute we become friends, there's no more sex.' I can't, it doesn't work. I don't like having sex with my friends. If you're a friend, the professional relationship is over.

  Tuesday, 12 September

  THIRD CLIENT

  I went to a little party with three guys, and a girl, but one of the guys only wanted to watch. We arranged to meet at the All Black bar and from there we went to one of their flats. It was a quiet little group session. First, I went with one in the bedroom. We had a bit of sex but he only came afterwards, in my mouth. Then we hung around drinking and chatting with the other two in the living room, while the girl went into the bedroom with the one I'd been with. I ended up lying on the sofa while one guy went down on me. To make life easier, I helped him with my finger and had anamazing orgasm. The other one just sat on the other sofa watching us. When the other two left the bedroom, the two of us went in. I rode him for a while, then he came in my mouth.

  Interesting fact: one of them had been my client before.

  Sad fact: I got home at five-thirty in the morning. . .

  The gynaecologist plays an important role in a working girl's everyday life. And he has to know what I do. There's no two ways about it. How else can he give me the right advice, examine me as carefully as I need him to in order to protect me? AIDS is the biggest fear. I get tested every three months and it's always the same agony. I'm always afraid when I go. Yes, I protect myself, I always use condoms . . . That is, there is no way the snake's going in unprotected during sex. But I admit I take a chance in oral sex.

  The doctor told me the chances of catching something are smaller in oral sex, but they're there. Especially if I have a small sore in my mouth, which is the kind of thing you often don't even know you have. I don't know . . . Sometimes I think the client looks safe, I feel comfortable, trust what I'm seeing and go down on him 'a la natural'. The regretcomes later. You can't tell if a guy has something just by looking at him. But I never swallow. I even let the guy come in my mouth, and I like it, but I never swallow (well, not very often). I'd say that five out of ten times I'm silly enough to give blow jobs without condoms. But I want to do this less and less.

  Looking after one's body without looking after one's head would be silly, wouldn't it? Health OK, hair OK (much to the envy of lots of women, my hair is really straight, and I don't need to use a flat iron - lucky, aren't I?), moisturised skin, fingernails always well-kept.

  When this is all in order, I take some time for myself. Every Monday afternoon I have therapy. It's funny, because I've been to psychologists all my life. It's different now, though.

  In the beginning, I didn't know who I was taking to the sessions: Raquel or Bruna. These days it's not so difficult. I've been through the phase of wanting to tell my therapist my whole life story, which is the most difficult and complicated part. Now, I always sum up the week, how things affect Raquel, my outlook on life, my plans. And obviously, amidst so much talk about me, I also end up mentioning some clients and the things we did. You can't just shut them out.

  Friday, 22 September

  FOURTH CLIENT

  Appearances can be deceptive . . . Once, over in the house on Alameda Franca, a really good-looking guy picked me. I liked the look of him. He had a naughty air about him but he also seemed like a nice guy. And he looked like he'd be good in bed. While we chatted intimately in the waiting room, deciding what was going to happen, he made a request: he wanted me to fuck him in the arse. OK, no problem. He wouldn't be the first or last guy I'd do as 'Bruno'. He wanted me to come into the room already wearing the strap-on. The client's wish is my command, right? But when it was time to get it from behind, he started playing hard-to-get, trying to get away from me, jumping forward. He'd fantasised about being fucked, but didn't have the courage. As soon as the dildo touched his arse he'd try to get away. But he spent ages greedily sucking the rubber dick. We had three sessions like this.

  The fourth time he showed up, he asked if I had a male friend who could come in for a threesome and, of course, give it to him in the arse. So was that it? The guy actually wanted a real dick, but had come to a pro so he wouldn't feel queer. I joked that the security guard might be able to do him a favour, but he took me seriously. He asked how much he'd charge to have sex with us. Of course he wasn't going to accept, but I had to pretend. I went downstairs and told the other girls the whole story and they fell about laughing. Then I went back upstairs and told him the security guard had turned down the offer. He was really disappointed and looked like a lost puppy. I didn't end up doing him in the arse. I wonder if he's still a virgin or if he's finally worked up the courage to let someone pop his cherry.

  There are people who are scared to call me because of the price. Sure, there are girls who charge 300, 400 reais, but they only have one, two, or three clients a week at the most. I know that with my 'fame' as Bruna, the Surfer Girl, I could even charge more. But I like what I do, I won't deny it. It makes me feel wanted, something I never used to be. And, obviously, there's the practical side. I'm a practical person: the more clients I have, the more money I make. I don't waste time negotiating prices. Lots of guys try to haggle for discounts, advantages, exclusivity. I can't be bothered with any of it.

  Friday 10 November

  FIFTH CLIENT

  Getting asked to a swingers' club is a prize that all call girls love. I went to a really up-market club in Moema with an amazing client - he never got tired of fucking me and all the other women we went with while we were there. That was when he wasn't wildly wanking of
f as he watched me with the women he was going to fuck or had already fucked. And he came every single time. I saw it with my own eyes!

  Now there's a place at this club that I love. It's this tiny room, just the right size for a couple. Those on the outside can peer through a glass window at about eye-level, but it's almost impossible to see what's going on inside, because the glass is for the people on the inside to see who's outside. Get the picture? It's a turn-on for those who like to be seen but deep down only want to have the 'sensation' of being seen. But this is just a starter - and those outside aren't left twiddling their thumbs. There are two holes in the wall between the room and the corridor, right underneath this window. You can stick your hands through and touch the peoplegetting it on in the room. My client and I were instantly addicted: we spent two hours groping everything that came near the hole: arses, tits, dicks . . . That was when a couple invited us in with them. What a crazy feeling! We saw the hungry eyes of those who couldn't see us, while we felt hands blindly groping for any bit of skin within reach. It's a huge turn-on. And with a big advantage: we only let the people we found attractive touch us - the lookers and the sexy ones.

  It's a shame it took me so long to discover this place. I didn't come at all because there wasn't enough space to lie down, and I can't have an orgasm standing up, but I had a great time anyway. It didn't detract from the night at all. And I solved the problem with my magic finger: I went home and masturbated. After I'd come, tired and happy, I closed my eyes and dreamed sweet dreams.

  The same way I entered this life, I know I'm going to leave. I don't want to be a pro for the rest of my life. That's what I work towards. First, I got rid of the pimps. No way am I giving half or more of what I earn to someone. Yes, there's a down side to working alone, which is the lack of security. Receiving clients in a serviced flat helps a little. And I always get their phone number - and confirm that it's really theirs. 'What's your phone number? Thatway, if something comes up, I can call and cancel. Since they always make appointments a few hours in advance, it's cool. To this day, I've never had problems with aggressive clients. Just as well, isn't it? Truth be told, my biggest fear is running across one of my father's or sisters' friends. I've already had people I knew as clients, including former classmates from Bandeirantes (who didn't recognise me, but I made a point of saying, 'I remember you from somewhere, but not here - we went to school together').