The confession of the trip to Brazil that changed me

I decided to go to Brazil alone after three years without leaving the house. The breakup had left me dried out inside, with no desire for anything, and a friend told me a change of scenery would do me good. I booked two weeks in a little town on the Bahia coast, with no company, no plans, and a pocket full of money.

The first few days felt strange. I walked along the beach at dawn, ate seafood at whatever beach shack I found, and went back to the hotel with my body tired and my head spinning. I was looking for something and I didn't know what.

One afternoon I walked into a bar on the main avenue, one with a terrace facing the sea, and ordered a caipirinha. The five o'clock light hit the dark wood of the counter and I was already feeling that warm drowsiness that comes with the heat.

Then I saw her.

Her name was Beatriz and she sat two stools to my left. In her mid-thirties, tawny skin, black eyes, and a way of moving her head when she talked that took my breath away. She ordered a beer and looked around with a calm smile, as if she knew exactly why she was there.

—Are you bored being alone? —she asked me bluntly, in Spanish with a sweet accent.

—More like I was bored —I answered.

She laughed. She had a husky laugh, the kind a woman has when she has lived enough not to waste time on nonsense.

We talked for almost an hour. She was from there, had worked in hotels, and now got by however she could. At some point she made it clear what she offered and how much it cost. It didn't bother me. I had spent years without feeling like a woman was looking at me the way she was looking at me.

—Let's go —I told her—. If you're free this afternoon.

—I've got the whole day and night, if you invite me —she replied.

I paid the bill and we walked the four blocks to my hotel together. She took my arm like we were old lovers. People stared at us. For the first time in a long while, I didn't care.

***

I closed the room door and, before I could say anything, Beatriz shoved me against it and kissed me. A long, deep kiss, her tongue all the way in, unhurried. She smelled of coconut and sun and something I couldn't name then and that later came back to me every time I remembered the trip. I felt her hand slide down my stomach and squeeze my package over my pants, feeling the bulge, palming my cock already hard beneath the fabric.

—You're already like this —she whispered in my ear, laughing softly—. Relax. Tonight you don't decide anything.

She took me to the bed and made me sit on the edge. She stood in front of me, took off her skirt and blouse with a calm that made my palms damp. She wore a cream-colored bra and panties in the same shade, simple, no tricks, and I thought no magazine woman could hold a candle to her. She unclasped her bra and her breasts fell heavy, with dark nipples hard and pointed. She pulled down her panties slowly, showing me a shaved cunt with a strip of short hair on the pubis and lips already shiny with wetness.

She knelt between my legs. She yanked down my pants and underwear and my cock sprang hard against my belly. Beatriz smiled when she saw it, grabbed it by the base with her right hand and licked me from my balls to the glans, a long, flat lick, like someone savoring an ice cream. Then she took the whole head into her mouth and started sucking me without theatrics, without speeding up, sucking gently and letting go with a pop, salivating my cock until strings ran down her hand.

—What a delicious cock —she murmured with her lips pressed to the glans, and swallowed it halfway again, setting a slow rhythm with her mouth and hand at the same time.

I closed my eyes and stopped thinking. It had been so long since I'd let myself be carried away like that by anyone. She took it out of her mouth, licked my balls one by one, sucked each one whole and went back up my shaft with her tongue coiled, looking me in the eye. When she noticed I was starting to lose myself and my cock was swelling too much, she let go suddenly, pinching the base with two fingers to stop me from coming.

—Don't even think about coming yet —she said, and laughed.

She stood up, climbed over me and pushed me down. She straddled me, grabbed my cock with her hand and rubbed it against her soaked cunt, wetting the glans from top to bottom between her lips. When she found the entrance, she lowered herself slowly, hands on my chest, eyes locked on mine, and I felt myself enter her centimeter by centimeter, into a hot, tight cunt that closed around me like a glove.

—Oh, it's so big —she gasped, and stayed still for a second, taking me all the way in, her ass resting against my thighs.

She started moving at her own pace, unhurried, finding the angle with each roll of her hips. Her breasts were full, natural, and bounced softly with every rise. I grabbed them, squeezed them, pinched her nipples, and she moaned louder and sped up, riding me up and down, her cunt dripping over my shaft and my balls.

—Look at me —she told me when I tried to look away—. Don't close your eyes, look at me while you fuck me.

I looked at her. I grabbed her hips and pushed from below, driving her down to the hilt with each of her descents. She bit her lip and started squeezing me from inside with a rhythmic force, choking my cock in spasms. And while I watched her, she came over me, slowly, without a cry, just pressing her lips tight and gripping my chest with her nails, her whole stomach trembling. I held on, I don't know how, clenching my teeth, and let her finish coming before I let go.

When she collapsed slowly onto my chest, my cock still inside her, she bit my shoulder with her mouth and whispered:

—Come in my mouth. I want to taste you.

She got off me, knelt again between my legs and took my cock to the back of her throat, sucking hard and working me with her hand at the same time. It only took a few seconds. I came in her mouth with a hoarse groan, thick ropes that she swallowed without pulling away, looking up at me with shining eyes. When I was done, she slowly took my cock out of her mouth, licked what was left on her lips and gave the tip a wet kiss.

After that she lay beside me, her head on my shoulder, silent for a long while.

—You're not like the ones who come here —she said at last.

—Why?

—Because you looked me in the face.

***

Beatriz stayed for two nights. We fucked another four or five times, in the shower, against the window, with her on all fours on the bed while I fucked her from behind and spanked her ass until it turned red. We ate prawns by the sea, walked barefoot in the streetlight, slept wrapped in each other's arms with the fan humming. On the third day, over breakfast, she took my hand across the table.

—I have to leave for a couple of days, my own business. But I don't want to leave you alone with that whole body still to discover.

—What body? —I laughed.

—Yours. You don't know yourself either, darling. —She smiled—. I'm going to send you a friend. Trust me. And open your mind.

I didn't fully understand what she meant, but I agreed. That same afternoon someone knocked on the door. There were two women.

The first introduced herself as Camila. Tall, from the northeast, dark curly hair, a big mouth and a way of tilting her head that already promised things. The second said her name was Yara: shorter, mixed race, with slanted eyes and a very still smile, like someone who listens more than she speaks.

—Beatriz sent us —Camila said—. She says to treat you well and for Yara to explain to you what she wants to explain to you.

I still didn't know what I was getting into, but I let them in.

***

I ordered champagne to the room, three glasses. We talked for a while like old friends, laughing about stupid things, the heat, how in my town nobody knows what a real caipirinha is. Camila had almost finished undressing without me noticing, first the shoes, then the blouse, like someone settling in at her own house. She had small, firm tits, dark nipples, and a high, perky ass that showed through her panties. Yara stayed dressed longer, watching, a glass in her hand.

—Come here —Camila said, patting the mattress—. Tonight you just let yourself go.

I lay down between the two of them. Camila kissed me long, tongue deep, biting my lip, while Yara took off my shirt and, little by little, everything else. When they took off my underwear, Camila crouched down and without saying anything took my cock into her mouth, sucking it slowly until it got hard as a rod. Yara stroked Camila's neck while the other woman sucked me off, and whispered something in Portuguese in her ear that I didn't understand but made Camila laugh with a mouth full of cock.

Their hands were warm. Both of them knew how to caress without tickling, pressing exactly where there was tension. I was going slack like an old rag while Camila's mouth rose and fell over my shaft with a slow, perfect suction.

Camila yanked off her panties, climbed on top of me and rode me the way Beatriz had, but with a different cadence, more playful, laughing if I made noise, biting my lip if I got serious. She let herself drop all the way onto my cock, to the hilt, and then lifted herself slowly, squeezing me from inside with the muscles of her cunt, milking me. Yara stayed beside us, first just watching and stroking my hair, and little by little sliding her hand down my chest, my stomach, to my thighs. She leaned down, licked one nipple, then the other, and whispered:

—You look so delicious like this, baby. Look how she's eating you.

—Can I show you something? —she asked in my ear when Camila was already breathing hard on top of me, her soaked cunt slapping wetly over my cock.

—Anything you want —I said, and I meant it.

Yara smiled. She got up, went to the bathroom and came back with a small towel and a bottle of oil she took from her own bag. She had also taken off her clothes along the way: she had a small body, small breasts set wide apart, and a triangle of black hair between her legs. She said nothing else. Camila kept moving gently, keeping me on the edge without letting me fall, while Yara settled herself between my spread legs, pushing my knees up.

The first thing was the warm oil on her hands, rubbing the inside of my thighs slowly, until I began to forget where my body ended. Then she moved up. She massaged my lower abdomen with her open palm, pressing deep, like someone who knows where everything is inside. She grabbed my balls with the other hand, rubbed them with oil, and kneaded them gently, one in each finger. And then she went lower again, to the perineum, right to that spot I had never known had a name. Then lower still, until the pad of her finger brushed my ass.

I clenched my teeth. Not from discomfort. From surprise.

—Easy —Yara murmured—. I'm not going to do anything you don't want. But breathe. Let the air out.

I let the air out. Camila slowed down on top of me, almost stopping, with my cock still buried to the hilt in her cunt, and kissed me deeply so I would focus on her mouth and stop thinking.

Yara kept going. With an oil-soaked finger, slowly, she began tracing a path I didn't know. She didn't shove it in. She brushed the rim of my asshole, rubbed in circles, massaged the outside, waited for my instinct to clamp shut to fade. When she felt I was no longer resisting, she went in a little. Just a little. The fingertip only, sinking into a ring that opened more easily than I'd expected.

I let out a sound that didn't belong to me.

—You okay? —she asked softly.

—Keep going —I answered without looking at her.

She pushed a little more. The whole finger, up to the knuckle. She found something inside, a hard swelling the size of a walnut, and with her fingertip she pressed in a small circular motion, almost like tuning a string. Camila, on top, noticed my cock tensing inside her and gasped in surprise.

—It's getting harder —she told Yara, laughing softly—. Keep going, just like that.

What I felt was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It wasn't just pleasure in one place. It was a thick wave rising from below, filling my stomach, making my legs vibrate. Camila felt the change and rode me harder, leaning back, bracing herself with her hands on my knees so I would penetrate her deeper, laughing quietly when she saw my face. Yara kept her slow, exact rhythm, adding pressure with each thrust from Camila, massaging that spot inside every time she came down hard.

—Look how he reacts —Yara murmured—. Look at his face.

Camila leaned forward without stopping her ride and put a breast in my mouth. I sucked hungrily, bit her nipple, and she gave a long moan and sped up even more, her cunt dripping all over my cock.

I held on as long as I could. When I started trembling, the two movements —Camila's from the outside, Yara's from the inside— synced without either of them saying a word. I was no longer the one directing anything. I could feel my cock about to explode and my ass opening around Yara's finger with every press.

I came with a long, hoarse sound that came from the bottom of my stomach, not my throat. I unloaded into Camila in bursts I felt one by one, each one deeper, each one longer. And it kept going. Yara didn't stop, Camila didn't get off. I kept coming as if it were two waves in a row, one after the other, three, four, five spasms that wouldn't end, with my cock still hard and dripping inside Camila's cunt and my ass clenching around Yara's finger, until I could barely breathe. I closed my eyes and saw white dots. My face was wet and I didn't understand why until I realized I was crying a little, without any drama, as if that had come out too along with everything else.

Camila got up slowly, carefully, and I felt my cum slipping out of her cunt and running down onto my balls. Yara withdrew her finger with the same calm with which she had put it in, wiped it with the towel and stroked my face without saying a word.

***

When I came back to myself, Camila had my face against her chest, stroking me slowly. Yara was beside me, already dressed in a robe, pouring herself another glass of champagne.

—Are you okay? —she asked me.

—I don't know —I said—. Yeah. I think so.

—It's normal. The first time it comes out like that.

They both stayed until the next day. Nothing like that happened again; we talked, slept, had breakfast on the balcony with the fruit I'd ordered myself. When they left, Yara kissed me on the forehead as if she'd known me all her life.

—You're not the same as you were two days ago —she told me.

And she was right.

***

Beatriz came back the next night, as if nothing had happened. She asked if I had liked what she'd sent me. I told her yes, without going into details. She nodded, satisfied, like someone who has given a gift and knows she got it right.

I spent the rest of the two weeks with her. I haven't seen her since, or Camila, or Yara. I don't know if those are their real names. I don't know if I'd want to know.

All I know is that I came back from that trip changed. Quieter, more whole, less afraid of what my own body could still tell me. I haven't told anyone out loud what I'm telling here. I'm writing it because there are confessions that rot inside you if you don't get them out, and because maybe someone reading this is, like me then, about to board a plane without knowing they're coming back as someone else.

And if that's the case, go. Dare to.