…a new post on a new year…

Rio is the Hawaii of the Southern Hemisphere…

The same warm and comfortable.

The same body relax of mother warmth that says ‘all is well’.

The same Mix of world, clash of race and culture.

But with Nature, the Art of the gods… could they do better?

All the world of faces….skins …and…. cultures

There………For the taking..

Mixin it up.

It isn’t easy … going back to where I was…

Feeling and reviewing all of it.

But then again, it’s a good movie that I don’t mind sharing.

I think of my first impressions of Brasil, as i got off the plane… and later, as i walked the winding streets of the island we lived on…  The people are so individuated in their appearance.  Somehow the combination of races and cultures gives so much a variety to choose from when designing a body.  Indiginous, Portuguese, and African…. but then the place became a glamor spot in the twenties, where movie stars and the rich came to play, a glorious background to all their party pictures.

After WWII, the Japanese and the Germans came in droves.  One could escape to Brasil and never be seen again, it’s so huge.  So you see Asian faces and blue eyed blondes, full figured blacks and sinuwy brown skins.  The women for some reason have turned out to be some of the most gorgeous creatures on the planet, and they show it off, flaunt it, display their power fully, and it is likely their grandest power.   They shop at the local markets in skin tight pants, yet never shorts… that’s the sign of the professional.  Oh no, no shorts!  Just skin tight down to below the knees or longer.

Their hair is long, full and big, frequently lightly colored in stripes, as that’s what the news ladies on TV were wearing at the time.  Lots of Stripes.  Wild things!  And at one point, all those gorgeous news ladies also wore hair that curved in to the face in long curled, knife-like blades, five and six levels, all curving in like scythes, like Forks, ready to Bite you.  Fierce!

Their tops showed lots of cleavage and skin….after all, it is the Tropics, humid and hot.  They were Fully made up, with big hoop earrings, and heeled sandals….always heels, which accentuated their butts, jutting out to balance, the way heels make you do.  Not that they needed accentuating.  Most of the women had the most gorgeous asses the world has ever known.  That was the Black part that they all seemed to get, no matter what the rest of the creature chose.  Fabulous high round cantilevered asses that you just couldn’t Not look at.  I did not see Cracker asses, nope, just these great big perfectly proportioned booties.

The culture is backwards when it comes to male-female roles, and the men are not about to let it go.  Latin men do what they want, when they want, and they all drink together at the street pubs open to the sidewalks.  It’s an evening ritual, and although you do see couples mingling about, strolling the walks late at night, after the day has cooled, still it’s the men who are out late, talking story endlessly into the night.

My Alcir was steeped in the tradition, and seldom a night passed that he didn’t leave for a while.  “I’ll be back” became a joke, for the fact was once he left, i never knew when I’d see him again.  Sometimes he’d come back for a while, and then leave again.  Other times he’d be content to come home after a little, two or three liter bottles of  ‘Chops’ under his arm, the favorite beer locally, and freezing to the point of slushies… he’d shove it into the freezer to keep it that way, and we’d drink into the night, laughing and dancing wildly.  He got jolly when medium drunk, with lots of stories and tenderness.  But in the late nights, when he’d visited the favellas and scored the white powder he called coke, but knew better, he’d get mean.  I realized later that he snorted to get straight, so he could get drunk twice.

Yet through all this self abuse, he remained sinfully good looking.  Six foot, swimmers’ body, a natural grace and classic proportions.  Brown skin, white teeth, snapping dark brown, slightly slanted eyes, and thick salt and pepper hair, by then.  He was used to the female attention he’d gotten all his life, took it for granted, yet boasted on it too.  I remember one time in some charming bar, and when i returned from the restroom, he informed me that two blondes had chatted him up, and invited him to join them.

“Geeeesh,” I smiled…”I can’t leave you alone for five minutes!”

“Naaaa,” he’d reply, the smug creeping into his smile…
“I’m a gooood boy.
I tole them i was waiting for my fiancee…”   and looked proud
of himself.
I gave him a squeeze.

It was true, he was a good boy when I was there.  When I was gone was another matter.  A doctor’s visit proceeded my return, and although nothing was found, still his concern made it quite clear to me what he’d been up to.

Next…. the Second Time, which makes up for the First.

 

 

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