Blame it on Rio - Part 1, Another short Story By Crazy Horse

So here it is folks... Our favourite guest author, Crazy Horse (who is crazy by the way), has been kind enough to write up another story to tantalise our senses and delight our minds. This one, being part of a mini series of uncompromising brilliance and audacity, takes us on a sleaze ridden ride to the beautiful beaches of rio de janeiro... enjoy

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Let me start off with some gross generalizations – Brazil is the best place in the world, nobody works, everybody parties, nobody has any inhibitions and Viagra is sold over the counter. People may scoff at the last bit and say they don’t need it but trust me after a week in Brazil you most certainly will. Half the time I took it before going out just to give me the incentive to meet people.  

The women down there are incredible – beautiful and super friendly.  Now there is an obvious “grass is greener” thing going on here. My Brazilian friends hate Brazilian chicks because you either have to have money, be somebody or be from the US/UK for them to give you the time of day.  However, these same guys make a killing with the chicks in NYC so I say take advantage of what you got where ever you can. 

I arrived in Rio not knowing what is in store for me and worse still knowing that I get bored easily. I generally like places that are a little shady and potentially dangerous.  I knew this would be a good trip as soon as I got into a cab on my way to the hotel when I saw a 6’6” tranny throwing a cinderblock at a cop car. I thought to myself I’m going to like it here. 

The trip started off great when I scored first at the exchange counter.  I caught this girl’s eye, smiled, and then waved when she walked away.  Not thinking much of it I was practically tackled when leaving the exchanger.  I don’t really know what was said, or care, since she barely spoke English and I only speak broken Spanish (not Portuguese) but the jist of it was I like you, here’s my number call me and we can hang out at your hotel.  We did and it was that night that I thought “Someone told me you don’t need a prescription for Viagra down here. I’ll have to look into that at the Pharmacy tomorrow.” 

Among the motley crew I was with, three of us stood out – myself, Brad from Iowa (all the Brazilian chicks called “Leonardo Di Caprio”) and Chino (Chinese guy).  Women would approach us on the street under any pretext – “Hey, I like your tattoos. Here’s my number.” After a few days of training and only mild partying the wheels came off the wagon as I kicked off a bender.  I bought two arm’s full of 40 .oz beers, Chino scored some weed and we made a gravity bong.  At this point I am uncontainable, bouncing off the walls and screaming at people in Chinese curses I picked up on my travels.  My friend Rafael pleaded with me to relax as he was afraid I, an obvious gringo, would end up in a favella (which I did) and would get mugged (which, by the grace of PDP, never happened). 

That night, in particular, was funny as we headed out to a club where I decide to play up the Leonardo Di Caprio thing.  Brad didn’t know it yet but he copped on pretty quick to my game.  Anywhere he went I would stand at his shoulder with one hand covering my ear and the other in my pocket.  When he went to the restroom, I checked it out first to make sure the coast was clear. I stated rather loudly that I promised his “manager” that I would get him to the studio by the next morning no ifs, ands or buts.  It was at this point that the gaggle of girls around us asked who he was.  “Why, he’s Danny Doyle from America’s newest pop group the Flash Bottom Boys.” I was an ex-special forces operative now working security to the stars of course.  To sell the story, I then purchased a few bottles of champagne and reserved a table, at seven real to the dollar it was like a cup of coffee. We later took the party back to the hotel room and gave the girls a story to remember, not to mention some autographs – worth $0.05 on eBay. 

Now this is not to say that I am without heart.  Truth be told, I fall in love every time I go down to Brazil.  Later in Sao Paolo I met up with some other friends. We go to a bar/club/restaurant thing sit down for a casual meal and a chat.  My buddy’s wife goes to the restroom and as soon as she leaves the girls next to us come over and tell my friend he is hot. He says thank you and moves on.  His wife returns when I see the most beautiful Japanese/Brazilian girl in my life. My friend’s wife then gets up to talk to her to bring her over.  While she is away the other girls approach us again and tell my friend that they really like him.  He replies that he is married to which they say “We know”. God I love this place. My friend’s wife comes back with the chick in tow.  She is excited to meet this guy from New York and she has always wanted to go there (they all do).  I tell her that I’m an ass model and she asks me if I think she could be.  I give her a good feel and tell her that she needs some work and there is a gym around the corner (not true, you could bounce a quarter of her ass). Anyway, I then proceed to tell her that her parent’s lied to her about her Japanese heritage as she is obviously Chinese and refuse to hear any of her arguments until she offers to take me around Little Tokyo the next day.  The next day turns into five as I missed my flight and stayed with her until I ran out of cash.  I thought if I could put her out to hook I could stay longer but I decided that I actually liked her so I left her with a false name, number and a promise to take her to New York. 

The last thing I remember from that trip was a Brazilian girl telling me that they like foreign guys because all Brazilian guys cheat.  After all, it’s not a like a foreign guy would traipse halfway around the world, leaving his girl back home, and hesitate to hook up with a scantily clad, sun-bathed beauty.  Nah of course not. We’re made of sterner stuff than that. 

Stay tuned for part 2....