I have never been to Brazil.
I don’t know their customs, nor do I know how they have sex – if they perform the act like a ritual on top of volcanoes or in the sea.
All I do know is that I’ve been told: If you have the chance to take a Latin lover – DO IT.
For most of my life, I did not know what this meant. That was, until I met a particular girl from Brazil.
It is only now, some miles away from that experience that I even feel brave enough to attempt to articulate what happened with my Brazilian goddess. It is as though she placed me under a spell, and ever since – an orgasm is no longer sufficient – either in description, or in practice.
I know, I know. Just give me a minute, and I’ll try to explain:
We met the night before in a crowded bar.
Like a sleek skyscraper she is tall, has dark hair, dark eyes, a dark mouth. Her features are striking. The orbits around her eyes and her golden cheeks are so impressive as to only be believed when placed in the context of the story that they have been cultivated for centuries; in anticipation of taking some holy, royal throne. She is slender with branches for arms and legs – the kind that you want to crawl into and hold post on. She is a ballerina. She is a model. Everything about her is defined: her body, her mannerisms, the way she kicks her head back and bends her wrist in dance – everything, absolutely everything is defined. That is, except her command of the English language.
Initially I didn’t believe that anything favorable was occurring between us. Despite her voluptuous and expressive lips and her glassy, marbled eyes, conversation was difficult, however many laughs we were afforded on account of our barriers and frustration. But within only a couple of hours of our initial meeting we moved beyond the words.
This new communication came without any siren or sea change in the back of a bar. One moment we were close, the next – we were leaping at each other’s throats. With an exquisite ferocity her teeth landed on my neck first – where she remained, licking and nibbling and tearing into my arteries as though she knew where her spell spread from: my lifeblood.
With a fist full of hair, she opened my neck further – trying to get at me even more. And before I knew it, both of our hands were entwined in the others hair, tugging and jerking – for better penetration, for easier access. This was the beginning of unquenching; the beginning of not-enough; of give-me-more-now.
That first night we danced and kissed and began the process of learning the other’s touch. We landed in her bed after the sun rose and kissed and licked and sucked and fingered until exhaustion set-in. I said goodbye to her at 10 o’clock that morning, still stimulated by her scent, her potpourri of feminine potions.
The next night we began where we left off; kissing and teasing and flirting frivolously out in public. Our hands interlacing and tickling each other’s palms. Our grips not discriminating on where they landed: on hips, hands, mouths, breasts, nipples, asses, thighs. In this I was oblivious to anything else around me, apart from her – her arousing breath and wild eyes, large as the whole South American continent. And her body… was polarized with some mystical magnetism; my hands were forever finding her tummy and hips. On this night, I was unable to hold anything, let alone a drink or a thought, for any extended period.
And while the electrification of her storm was lifting me to a shocking delight – unbeknownst to me, we had only begun.
Once closing the door to her apartment 80 feet up from the ground and overlooking the city, we disrobed with an informality so sweet that I could find no complaint. On this night she casually she fell out of her clothes, where the night before she had performed a most intricate strip dance for my eyes – using all the items in the room and, on several occasions, kicking her leg over her head with a ballerina’s precision and grace.
On this night our routine was more primal: she showed me some Brazilian music and then we simply fell to her darkened bed, without rite, without ritual. Little did I know what was coming next. And my only lingering question, now, is: Did she know?
Both naked, we gently crawled into each other – with I, exhausted, drunk and still tired from our night before. But as soon as our skin melted all of our separate parts together and we became warm with our alchemical tonic, the tornado began to spin and, in her revolutions I took my delight – becoming more awake, more aware, more present and more aroused.
I learned the night before that she her preference was to be “active” as she said, in contrast to “passive”. For the first time in my life, I just laid there that night – a scarf around my wrists, her ass on my chest and her thighs quivering in their squeeze of my cheeks. For the whole time that night prior, she was on top dictating a pace wherein the chemistry simply did not grant me permission to roll her over.
Every morsel of that experience I inhaled, then exhaled in ritualistic fashion as her head rolled around at my midsection. For the first time in my entire life, sex was relaxing; nothing was required of me – apart from breathing. At first I was nervous – feeling as though I needed to do something, anything. But no, this was not her requirement, this was not my duty in this moment…
And so, on this second night, when her whole body, once on top of me, pressed mine further into the bed, I did not fight back. Instead, my mind went blank and I was not hearing even the music that was right next to my head.
She started at my nipples, twisting them with her pulsating tongue and wet lips. I had never known pleasure in this area before my Brazilian goddess. But, like some sense memory, I began to feel the familiarity of the vibrations. She licked and tugged and sucked away, sleek in her movements as though she had this whole routine choreographed to the number, like the many ballets she danced in.
Working her way down my torso – she was relentless in her attention. At every fold and ripple of my body, she paused and sucked, kissed and whipped her hair around.
Down my hyper-ticklish sides she swooned with a grace that possessed some ancient knowledge about extent of her power; an aptitude about the duration of her tongue impact; a measure on the reach and stretch of my skin – and how far everything, absolutely everything could go. Because at the apex of each ticklish, erotic stroke, she somehow knew when and where to magically conclude each movement. And I inhaled – tearing the molecules around the pillow into me with a terribly forcible suction.
In all this, she read my body like a thesis, swirling her tongue around my exclamation points, curling them up my vowels and creasing down the corners of all my syllables.
Sliding her tongue down from my hip into that valley-like slide of my groin, she grabbed my cock and powered it into her mouth with a delicate violence. With her hands on my hips, she used her tongue as a slide, and her lips like a steering wheel. And for a near-eternity she diligently sucked and licked. With only the hallway light on now, I couldn’t see much – but as she pulled away several minutes later, my glistening cock waved before us both like a statue from a battle won, an ideology regained, a new flag, raised.
Then, just as the night prior, she pulled away and palmed my quadriceps as she flipped my legs up and over my head. In one swift movement my ass was in the air; my head deeper in the pillows on the bed. The sheer infrequency of an act like the one she was preparing for heightened every notion of exquisiteness and titillation in my now-erotically-torn body.
With her explosive tongue she licked and lapped and slid in and out of me, up and down my ass – pulling-out and tickling my perineum and balls and thighs with a tongue that was more like a jackhammer: pulsating and vibrating like something mechanical more than human.
My breathing was now exhaustive and necessary; resurfacing as I was in-between acts. During her tongue-whippings and comprehensive attention to my whole body I was not breathing. I felt my mouth agape, but nothing was coming in, nor going out. I could only see darkness; a great and thick void enveloped all of my sensory input. And this was all on account of she: leaning in to me with her entire being – paying ferociously close care to every part of my body. Her hands were slippery, sliding all over me, simultaneously massaging every muscle I owned: In my neck, my arms, my calves, my chest…
Her tongue lashed at my nipples and then downward to my belly-button – where she sucked and tugged at my fleshy stomach with her entire mouth. Sucking she was, on my stomach in the most erotically-charged and insatiable way that I have ever known.
Lightheaded, I was now forcing intermittent breaths from not only my lungs, but from further down – from my gut and every erogenous zone in my body. And the count of these holy zones was expanding by the minute.
From down below she came and grasped my arm, rolled it open and began lapping at the crook of my inner elbow. Her tongue was pulsating in its vacuum suction. With my eyes closed my vision was bleeding a fire red, with soft colors exploding on the fringes of what I could see and feel – just like a great flame. Again reading me as I writhed about in the bed and moaned, with inarticulate words coming from my mouth – she stayed in that place, in the crook of my elbos, where I never knew so much pleasure could be found.
Then she flipped me over… With which motion I obliged – thrilled with the unknowing darkness.
She pressed into me with every end of her body. Her fingers, palms, elbows, knees, thighs and tongue all orchestrated the most intoxicating symphony of touch that I have ever felt. Here everything was energetic, nothing was timid. Every end of her had a strength that dug into me, past my skin and muscles and into my mind. Kneeding at my back and neck, she began working her way down to my ass.
I couldn’t see, but it felt like her eyes were closed as she worked on me. Here, sight was of no consequence and furthermore inhibited any of the other more important senses finding their explosive stride in this moment.
With my eyes closed I was seeing only flashing color. The whole spectrum of hot tones – reds and yellows and oranges, all bursting across my visionscape sky.
She worked down to my feet, massaging, kneeding and taking my toes in her mouth, all while sustaining attention on my legs.
Now over an hour into her devouring attention – and just when I felt that collapse was near; and just when I was finding difficulty in locating my breath, she leaned into me and began sliding her tongue in and out of my ass. My hips began bucking and the colors were now swirling behind my closed eyes.
Running fiery hot and sharply cold, with my spine undulating in supreme pleasure – she finally collapsed on the bed next to me. Without word we laid there for several minutes – both with our eyes closed. And I, unable to speak, still pressing my cock deeper into the bed was shivering with sharp tingles in my sides and my now-countless erogenous zones – as though I was feeling them all at once.
In this I did not want an orgasm. In this, that kind of climax was unnecessary and moreover, not in line with the loping sensations bounding and coursing throughout my entire body.
For she had pushed me into the exquisite pain of extreme thirst; the heartbreaking relief of hunger quelled; the release, down below, of all bodily functions; she was pushing into that accomplishment of a sick body healed through defecation and urination and vomiting and a running nose. My body resounded with the sensation of a perfect sneeze; of the sweetest scent; of the perfect. But it was all coupled with its antithesis, of putrid scents and cacophonies extreme hunger and thirst and the need to cut open my entire body – with the intent of escape. This was the most terrifying fear laced in a bouquet of the most glorious joys.
And, at some strange point, she had pushed me up and over the brink of orgasm. This place, I have never known. I have never known an orgasm to be insufficient, or unwanted – to be usurped by a whole pallette of more-intense, more-vibrant sensations. For once it felt as though my sexuality and my cock were secondary, at best, in their ability to lead my way.
Sure I returned the favor – as best I could. I rolled her over a couple of times, licking and lapping and tickling her with my tongue – but even I knew that my effort was illustrating my ineptitude when piggy-backed ontop of her paralyzing display of erotic attention.
Almost an hour later and I fell to the bed next to her. Neither of us with the capacity for uttering a single word. In this I was most-satisfied – there was no further need for any recourse. Here there was no desire, nor impetus for intercourse. Our bellies were full. Or, at least, mine was.
Finally coming-to, with the blur of colors subsiding, my breath found its way back into my body. Slowly I began to expade then deflate. Inhale. Exhale.
My body was still uncertain what had happened. I tingled on the blades of fiery heat and shivered in-between the pains of cold slivers of ice. I could still feel my body reacting. And when I dressed in the morning to leave, I was still flighty and shakey, at best.
For the next several days I was satiated. For the first time in my adult life my hunger for all things sexual was quelled and held in a place that it never had been, hitherto. For several days I was bewildered; uninterested in an orgasm; all while being incredibly titillated by this Brazilian goddess’ indigenous dance across my entire sexual being.
In words, or even in memory – there is no true measure of articulation for what happened, in her care. Forevermore the question for me has will be: is Brazil is a place, or a sensation?