The very few transplanted North Americans he encountered who lived in Pará full time had developed a basic understanding of Brazil and its culture, but they were a distinct minority. By contrast, most of the business travelers from the United States who were staying at the hotel had come to stay for only a few weeks’ time or less, usually for business rather than pleasure. They were quite unapologetically stupid and superior. They were there to drive hard bargains and maximize their profits. They seldom made an attempt to learn the language of the people they were doing business with. It was easier to rely on an interpreter, or to talk loudly and gesticulate impatiently. And their wives, when one was occasionally brave enough to leave the comforts of North America and accompany her husband, hardly ever ventured beyond the limits of the hotel terrace. They were afraid of the sun, of bugs, of being thought immoral and accosted by young Brazilian men if they went out alone.
On subsequent excursions, Sebastien amused himself by once again exploring, on foot, the city’s more upscale shopping district. He had no real intention of buying anything. He did do something he made a habit of whenever he traveled. He checked out virtually any shop he passed in which food products were sold, to see whether or not they carried any Lion of Lisbon Food Corporation products, and if so, which ones. The line, he discovered, seemed to be reasonably well distributed here in Brazil—assuming Belém was typical of the country’s urban areas.
In the process, he discovered one of Brazil’s national treasures—its astonishingly wide variety of exotically flavored ice creams. They were for sale everywhere in the city. Sebastien sampled two flavors made from local fruits—mangaba, which resembled a tart green grape, and araçá, with a biting citrus tang.
Window-shopping, Sebastien was slightly surprised to find himself in front of an adult bookstore, rather resembling those back home, complete with its vibrant neon sign in an otherwise discreet window display. Out of curiosity, he entered. Except for the fact that the signs on the walls, and the labels on the shelf and rack displays, were in Portuguese, he might indeed have been in a shop in New York. Idly, he inspected the rows of DVDs on the gay rack, noting the familiar faces and buffed bodies of popular porn stars on imported videos, mixed in with samples of the local product.
He was intrigued by a line of Brazilian-manufactured lubricants in a display case. They were all fruit-flavored and latex compatible. Having already enjoyed mangaba ice cream, Sebastien couldn’t resist when he saw mangaba-flavored sex cream. He bought a jar.
In the cooler air of the evening, he dined in a restaurant near the hotel. As the night descended, with the soft lights in the square across the way falling on the mango trees, their fruits shined pale and green as they caught the artificial light which streamed from tall windows everywhere. Little brown children would stray up from their crowded quarters a short way down the narrow side streets, sent to the main thoroughfares to beg from anyone more fortunate than they were. They never said a word, but stood near the doorways, their gaze wandering from one table to another, until they caught a sympathetic look. Even then they were not bold enough to enter the restaurant, but waited patiently until the meal was over to intercept the departing diner on the sidewalk and, with any luck, receive a centavo or two. Good-naturedly, Sebastien handed over this tariff as he left the restaurant. Then he decided to go for a stroll.
Several blocks farther down the street, Sebastien slowed his pace and began to glance sideways, into the alleyways. Small groups of two or three young, dark-skinned, and handsome young men stared back at him, provocatively. Their fingers were typically hooked around the belt loops of their trousers or shorts. Often bare-chested, they leaned sensuously against the scarred brick walls and pushed their crotches out for their potential customers to walk by and view—to touch and fondle, by way of closer inspection, should that be considered necessary before negotiating a price.
The appearance on the street of an obvious foreigner like Sebastien was always cause for these local male whores to celebrate. And unlike the majority of their customers, who were older, unattractive, or nervous—or all three—Sebastien was the kind of young, handsome, self-confident customer who was coveted.
Sebastien had to admit that he was, at least potentially, on the prowl. His cock ached for relief, and masturbation back in his hotel room seemed like a boring and perfunctory option. He could almost feel a pair of warm, wet lips wrapped snugly around his tightly pulled back foreskin, sucking on his exposed glans and straining to extract the jism that compacted itself within his fat, hairy nuts. Every step he took rubbed his cotton boxer shorts and loose trousers across his imprisoned prick, teasing that stiffening dick as he slowed his stride to a near halt and began a more critical scrutiny and assessment of the various male prostitutes who were leering at him.
This is absurd, he told himself. Don’t be a fool. You might as well just go back to the hotel, get naked, lie down on that comfortable bed that’s waiting for you…and jack off before you try to go to sleep. Safe sex, in every sense of the term!
In this newly abstemious frame of mind, he turned from one alleyway and walked quickly down the block toward the next, intending to pass by it quickly as well.
He paused in front of the display window of an antique shop. As he idly looked at the wares on display, the dusty plate glass reflected his image back at him—a straight-bodied, tall, muscularly built man. His soft salmon-colored polo shirt had its two-button placket at the top open, exposing just a hint of chest hair. His pecs bulged almost to the point of creating a cleavage between the large, dark brown nipples which protruded through the clinging cotton fabric. A fine dusting of hairs coated his thick forearms and extended down to his powerful, large hands and fingers. His face was sharply chiseled, the cheeks angular and reddened now by the sun, his chin firm and square, his nose straight and broad. His two bushy black eyebrows arched over his brown eyes and nearly met over the bridge of his nose. Sebastien had never thought of himself as particularly handsome. I’m not so bad-looking was his usual modest way of thinking about it, on the infrequent occasions when he did give the matter any real thought. But other gay men had always been attracted to him, and perhaps, studying his reflection, he could now see why. It was a rugged, masculine face that looked back at him in the glass, a face that expressed a certain roughness, but was at least open and honest.
It’s funny, he thought. Back home in the States, I never thought of myself as looking particularly Hispanic. But here, now that I think of it, I can see the Portuguese ancestry in me. I could almost pass for one of these lighter-skinned Brazilians. Not that I seem to be fooling any of the locals. They’ve all got me pegged as a typical North American tourist type. An easy mark.
“Would you like some company, senhor?” a small, lithe, young man asked, in quite tolerable English. Sebastien, startled by the sudden sound of the voice, now saw the other man’s reflection next to his own in the window. The proposition automatically sent a throb of response through his groin. But it never paid to be too hasty in such circumstances.
“Perhaps,” he replied, conveying a casualness he was in fact far from feeling.
“I am very good company,” the Brazilian assured him.
“You speak excellent English.”
“Thank you, senhor. I have worked hard to learn it.”
“But how did you know I spoke English?”
“I could tell by your clothes, senhor. They are of the United States, are they not? Especially your shoes.”
Sebastien had to smile. This was an observant lad, which was promising. He obviously took his work seriously.
“My name is Sebastien.” Sebastien saw no reason to lie about it.
“But that is a Brazilian name!”
“I have relatives here in Brazil,” Sebastien said—although it would have been more accurate for him to have used the past tense. “That’s why I’m here. To visit them.” He made a mental note, though, to be careful about providing any additional autobiographical details. It would be more pruden
t to keep the conversation casual, and impersonal. This wasn’t New York, after all, and he wasn’t dealing with the ever-reliable Ivan, of the escort agency.
“I am Luis.”
“Perhaps you would like to take a walk down the street with me, Luis, to that café over there,” Sebastien suggested. “We could sit down and continue our conversation over a drink.”
“I would be delighted, senhor.”
Sebastien waited until they were seated at a table, on the sidewalk in front of the café, and he had given the waiter their drink order, before he picked up the thread of their small talk.
He discovered that Luis, like Neil, had a day job—in the Brazilian hustler’s case, as a stock boy in a grocery store. On his time off, he supplemented his income by offering his services as a “guide,” the standard euphemism. Luis preferred foreign gentlemen to his fellow Brazilians—the foreigners tended to be more generous. Sebastien good-naturedly interpreted this remark as a none-too-subtle hint. Luis volunteered the information that he was careful—he always insisted on practicing sex seguro, safe sex.
Their drinks arrived. Sebastien had ordered a popular Brazilian drink, batida de limão, a sugarcane liquor flavored with lime and served over ice shavings. Luis, who was apparently a cheap date, or wished to create the impression that he was during these preliminaries, had asked for a bottle of one of the inexpensive local beers.
“How old are you, Luis?” Sebastien asked.
He noticed the hustler’s slight hesitation and tried not to smile—an indulgent, tolerant smile. Sebastien had had enough dealings with male prostitutes back home to know that, as a matter of course, they tried their best to tell a customer what they thought he wanted to hear.
“Eighteen,” was the figure Luis finally came up with.
Sebastien was sure he was lying. The age of consent in Brazil was a somewhat mind-blowing fourteen, but it was a crime to coerce anyone under the age of eighteen into prostitution, which was why, he suspected, Luis was careful to claim to be at least that old. He wanted to set Sebastien at ease, on that legal technicality. But Sebastien guessed that Luis was probably a couple of years into his twenties—even though he could certainly still pass for a teenager.
“That’s rather young,” he remarked, just to yank the guy’s chain. “I usually am attracted to somewhat older men.” The look of anxiety on Luis’s face, as he worried about the possibility of having made a miscalculation, was something to see. “But you do seem quite mature for your age,” Sebastien went on. “I suppose I could make an exception, in your case. But are you sure you’re under twenty-one?” He let disappointment seep into his voice.
“I am twenty-three, senhor,” Luis confessed. “So many gentlemen prefer young boys—”
“I understand. I appreciate your honesty. And personally, I value experience. And versatility.”
“You will not be disappointed, senhor. I will please you.”
“How’d you like to please me, in exchange for five hundred reals?”
Luis would not have made a very good poker player. His jaw visibly dropped. Five hundred reals was obviously a small fortune to him.
“I–I will do anything you wish,” he stammered.
“Finish your drink,” Sebastien said. “And then we will go to my hotel.”
Sebastien was not exactly cynical, but he was a realist by nature. In the hotel, he asked the desk clerk if there was any mail, or any messages, for him. There were none. Sebastien hadn’t really expected there to be. He wanted the clerk to get a good look at his companion, so he would remember Luis’s face, just in case of the remote possibility that there was any trouble. In the hallway outside his room, Sebastien felt no embarrassment about asking Luis to wait there for a moment while he entered the room alone to “tidy up a little.” The quick tidying-up consisted of Sebastien finding a suitable hiding place for his wallet, after he had extracted Luis’s fee from it and placed the money on prominent display on the nightstand.
With these safety precautions in place, Sebastien let the young male prostitute into the room.
“Let’s get undressed,” Sebastien suggested, in a businesslike tone of voice, as he closed and secured the door. He pulled off his shirt, noticing that the warm night air had made him perspire.
“Yes…I want to see you naked, I want to touch you…I want you to touch me.” Luis purred seductively, as he not only stripped, but then stepped close to Sebastien, to help him remove his remaining clothes. This was promising. Luis evidently wasn’t mere trade, but enjoyed his work.
When both men were naked, they sank down onto the hotel’s soft bedding, locked in each other arms, their abandoned necking and petting quickly exciting their cocks to hard, eager rigidity. They were soon too aroused by the sight and the feel of each other’s bodies to restrain themselves any longer. They ran their hands over every part of each other’s muscular virility as their mouths ground together in a long, tonguing, breath-taking, cock-hardening kiss.
Luis boldly thrust one hand between the smooth cheeks of Sebastien’s ass and fingered his asshole while he pumped on the norte-americano’s enormous hard-on with the other, making it even stiffer from his expert manipulations. Sebastien groaned as, breaking their kiss, he twisted his head to one side and stuck his wet tongue in Luis’s ear. The male prostitute’s silky black hair rubbed over his hot cheek as they strained their squirming bodies together, panting.
“Go ahead, play with my ass,” Sebastien whispered, inviting his pickup to invade that hypersensitive aperture. “But don’t think you’re going to fuck it,” he taunted. “You’re going to let me fuck you, aren’t you?”
“Yes, senhor, whatever you wish.”
They separated only long enough for Sebastien to twist his big body around on the mattress so that they were in a sixty-nine position, faces thrust at each other’s groins.
“Suck me while I suck you,” Sebastien instructed. “Take it all down your throat, boy. Choke on it, if you have to!”
Luis was good at it, taking all of Sebastien’s cock into his mouth and nursing on it energetically. He didn’t seem to be faking his enthusiasm. When Sebastien’s hand slid over one of his ass cheeks in a lingering caress, the younger man groped blindly until he found Sebastien’s wrist, which he grabbed and pushed into his butt cleft, mutely encouraging Sebastien to use his fingers to first rub, then penetrate, his taut sphincter ring. Luis took first one, then two, and ultimately three fingers in his ass without complaint, sucking harder on the cock in his mouth as Sebastien sucked him in return and probed the depths of his ass.
Finally, Sebastien eased his lips off the head of Luis’s juicy young prick, which he lapped with his tongue, savoring the taste, before he spoke.
“Are you ready to get fucked now?”
Luis immediately took his mouth away from Sebastien’s cock. “Yes, senhor,” he said politely. He threw himself face down on the mattress, spreading his legs. Then he reached behind himself with both hands to hold his ass cheeks open for his partner.
Sebastien grabbed a condom and put it on, then retrieved the jar of mangaba-flavored lubricant he’d purchased on a whim and smeared the cream all over his dick. As long as he was going native, he might as well go all the way! He put the container down and mounted Luis, positioning his prick between those enticing buttocks with both hands. Within seconds, he had sunk his cock up the Brazilian stud’s warm, juicy asshole to the balls. Sebastien was in the mood to take his time and not rush the fuck. He stretched out languidly on top of the younger man’s body, putting his legs on the outsides of Luis’s and sliding his arms around his bedmate’s waist to grip and massage his cock. Then he began to fuck him with slow, deliberate strokes, not going too fast or too hard at first, because he wanted it to last and to be good for both of them. Luis, he suspected, was the kind of pro who was not only good at his work, but allowed himself to really get into it, if the circumstances were right. These were evidently the right circumstances—Luis moaned happily as he writhed b
eneath Sebastien’s weight and lay there passive, letting the other man use him as he wanted to, exulting in the feel of Sebastien’s big cock in his ass.
They both quickly got extremely excited, though, and fucked more vigorously. Luis’s whimpers and gasps of erotic urgency now filled Sebastien’s ears, urging him on to greater efforts as he worked his cock back and forth within the deceptively virginally tight clasp of that hot ass. He began to drive his dick in and out of the hustler’s ass harder and faster, responding to the eager humping movements with which the aroused Brazilian youth reacted to his steady plowing.
“Fuck me, fuck me…oh, you like fucking me with your big, hard cock, don’t you, senhor?” Luis gloated as Sebastien humped him.
“Hell, yes!” Sebastien exclaimed. “You are one hot little fuck!”
It was no exaggeration—the street whore’s butt felt burning hot as he squeezed his ass cheeks together, trapping the rigid instrument that slid in and out of the narrow space that lay between those fleshy globes, reaming him out. Sebastien’s cock had become the center of the other man’s being, the fiery core of his existence and awareness. His body no longer seemed to belong to him, but had turned into a mere extension of that hard-driving anal probe. Luis was the willing property of the man who had hired his favors.
“You are such a forceful lover, senhor,” Luis crooned. “Ah, you fuck me so well!”
“Flatterer,” Sebastien gasped. “I’m fucking you, all right. That ass of yours is very inspiring.”
His cock felt hot. It was as though some drug in the lubricant had penetrated the condom, been absorbed by the skin of his dick, and had now entered his bloodstream, exciting him like an adrenalin rush, making his heart pump faster, making his prick swell and pulse with extraordinary strength. His stiff cock pushed in and out of the Brazilian’s writhing anal membranes at a monotonous, deliberate pace now. Their two muscular male bodies slid slowly and voluptuously over each other in long, lingering caresses as they humped. Hot, wet sweat dripped from them, lubricating their skin so that they could squirm against each other with little fiction to impede their roving bodily contact.
Brazilian Cattle Baron (Siren Publishing Ménage and More ManLove) Page 8
