What I Experienced at Carnival with Two Strangers

I’m telling this because I still can’t believe it happened to me. I landed in Brazil to experience Carnival, that much I knew for sure, but I never imagined how far a single night could go once you stop thinking and simply let yourself be carried along by the tide of people.

I had arrived with a group of coworkers, but I lost them around midnight. I decided not to carry my phone with me for fear it would get stolen, so when I let go of the last familiar hand, I was left completely adrift, in the middle of an avenue overflowing with bodies dancing, singing, and drinking under a light, warm rain.

I met her there, shoved against her by the flow of people. Her name was Bianca, or at least that’s what she told me, shouting over the music. She was wearing an improvised costume, a short orange skirt and a top of the same color that barely covered anything. She had brown skin, chestnut hair falling down her back, and a huge flower tattooed between her shoulder blades. She smiled at me as if she’d known me all her life.

—Come on, gringo —she said to me in Spanish tangled with a Brazilian accent, grabbing my wrist—. Don’t just stand there.

I followed her. I had nothing better to do and, to be honest, I didn’t want to be alone. She dragged me down the street through the crowd, stopping every so often to greet people she seemed to know and people she clearly didn’t. The night felt unreal, as if all the rules that govern the normal world had been suspended for a few hours.

—Are you having fun? —she asked, close to my ear so I could hear her.

—I don’t even know where I am —I replied, laughing.

—Even better.

We walked aimlessly until, suddenly, someone shouted her name. A tall woman with black hair and one entire tattooed leg came running toward us with her arms open. She was in her thirties, like Bianca, and it was obvious she’d had more than a few drinks: her makeup was running a little and she moved with that cheerful awkwardness of someone who’d long since lost any shame.

—Girl! —the two of them squealed as they hugged.

Her name was Renata. She noticed me right away, and especially that Bianca still hadn’t let go of me.

—And who’s this? —she asked with a crooked smile.

—My gringo —Bianca replied, caressing my face as if I were a trophy she’d just won—. He loves Brazilian women.

—Oh, yeah? —Renata looked me up and down, amused—. But he still hasn’t tried women like us.

And saying that, she grabbed her friend’s ass and started kissing her neck without taking her eyes off me. Bianca closed her eyes, threw her head back, and let out a sigh that made my skin tingle. I just stood there, not knowing what to do with my hands, feeling my heart start to race.

—Tell my friend what you told me earlier —Bianca suddenly asked, fixing me with her eyes.

—What? —I asked, though I knew perfectly well what she meant.

—What you like to do most.

The alcohol and the night’s euphoria had stripped away any filter I had left. I looked at both of them and said it without thinking.

—That I’m addicted to oral sex. That I love giving pleasure with my mouth.

Renata didn’t say anything. She just bit her lip and kept pinching her friend’s hip, looking at me with a mix of defiance and curiosity. The fact that she was taller than me gave her a dominant air, as if she’d already decided something and I still hadn’t been told. She leaned toward Bianca and whispered something in her ear. Bianca smiled first, then bit her lip the same way, and finally burst out laughing and nodded.

—Come with us, gringo —Renata said, grabbing my arm.

***

An alarm went off somewhere in my head. Two women I had just met, a foreigner alone, no phone, no friends, in a city I didn’t know. I knew this could go badly. But I was also drunk, wired, and more turned on than I could remember being in years. And above all, I thought I was safer with them than wandering alone through unfamiliar streets. So I followed them.

We went up some stairs and crossed a narrow alley that opened onto a much smaller, less crowded square. It was just as decayed as the rest: empty cans everywhere, damp corners, two or three scattered groups drinking in the half-light. No one paid us the slightest attention.

Renata let go of my arm and walked toward a small garden area at one end, a couple of meters from us. It wasn’t especially hidden, but she didn’t seem to care. She pulled down her pants without a shred of embarrassment and squatted to pee as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I could see a huge tattoo running along her thigh and up toward her back. I looked away, more out of reflex than shame, because by then nothing that was happening felt normal to me.

Bianca, meanwhile, sat on the raised edge of the flower bed and tugged my hand so I’d settle beside her. The moment I sat down, she threw herself on top of me. She started kissing me with messy urgency, aimless, running her tongue along the corners of my lips, tasting of beer and cigarettes. She slid her hand inside my pants and grabbed me firmly, and I, without thinking twice, slipped mine under her skirt.

To my surprise, I found she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. My hand met the hot skin of her thighs directly. I began to stroke her slowly, parting her little by little, and she answered with a deep moan, moving her hips against my hand and grabbing my nape to kiss me harder.

I’d barely been doing that for a few seconds when I felt an unfamiliar hand settle on my head from the side.

—Gringo, look here —said a voice I already recognized.

I turned my face and found Renata standing in front of me, pantsless, just inches away. She still had her shirt on, showing off her belly button piercing, and she was still wearing the ridiculous cap that was part of her costume. She pushed her hips toward me, holding my head with one hand so I wouldn’t pull away.

—Mmm, girl, what a treat —murmured Bianca, who was still jerking me off with one hand while with the other she touched herself.

—The gringo is never going to forget Carnival —said Renata, starting to rub herself against my face—. Right, gringo?

I wasn’t answering anymore. I was completely overwhelmed, trapped between the two of them, feeling the heat of their bodies and the intense scent of a long night of sweat and desire. It was all too much, and yet I didn’t want it to stop.

—Have you ever tried a Brazilian woman? —Renata asked, eyes closed, head tilted toward the sky, speeding up the motion—. Because I want you to. Since you like it so much.

—And me too —Bianca interjected, standing up to my right—. The two of us, gringo. Her and me.

***

She lifted her skirt with one hand and with the other held my head from behind, just like Renata. I was left sitting on the edge of that flower bed, with one woman on each side, both of them waiting. I didn’t think about it. I started pleasuring them with my mouth, alternating between one and the other, while they, standing, began kissing each other over my head.

It was hard. Sitting so low and with them standing, my tongue could barely reach properly, and finding a comfortable position was almost impossible. But they didn’t seem to notice the effort. They tugged my hair one way or the other, deciding who to attend to and when, as if I were a toy they passed back and forth with laughter. Every time they felt I’d spent too much time on one of them, a sharp yank sent me back to the other.

My face was soaked, dizzy from the heat, the alcohol, and the whole situation. Bianca was the first to lose control. She started trembling, moving her hips more violently, and dug her nails into my scalp.

—Put them in —she ordered with a tug that left no room for delay—. Now.

I obeyed almost blindly, because at that moment my attention was on Renata, to my left. A few seconds later I noticed Bianca shaking with increasingly strong spasms. She tried to hold back her moan because they were out in the street, but it came out anyway, loud enough to be heard around us. I glanced sideways, a little afraid I was making a scene, but no one seemed to care in the slightest. Everyone was minding their own business.

When she finished, Bianca stepped back, panting, and held my hand up for a moment, like closing a chapter. Renata, on the other hand, was just getting started. Seeing her friend reach the limit had only turned her on more. She pressed my face hard against her, moving her hips forward and back, setting a rhythm I could barely keep up with.

—Don’t stop until I tell you to —she said, more to herself than to me.

I was trying to focus, do a good job, make sure I satisfied that woman I had literally met minutes before. I didn’t know her from Adam and yet all I wanted at that moment was for her to leave there thinking it had been worth it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bianca talking to a couple of people who had come over. They were speaking Portuguese, too fast for me to understand anything. One of the voices was a woman’s. A flicker of unease crossed my mind, but a firm tug from Renata yanked me right back into the present.

With a sudden movement she threw my head back, leaving my face pointed up at the night sky. She leaned over me, putting me right beneath her, and pushed herself to the limit with her own hand until I felt her whole body shudder. She let go without the slightest restraint, moaning out loud, no longer seeming to care about anything around her.

When she finally stepped away, I let out a long breath, dizzy, soaked, not really knowing whether it had lasted a minute or half an hour. Renata walked over to a bench where she’d left her things, took out a tissue, and started cleaning herself off as if nothing had happened.

I wiped my face with my forearms, still trying to process what I’d just experienced. Bianca came over and offered me a sip of her beer.

—Have a drink —she told me, stroking my hair—because you’re not done yet.

I looked at her, not understanding. Then she nodded toward the side with her chin. A few meters away, two girls in their early twenties had witnessed the whole scene. One of them, short, brown-skinned, with curly black hair, was drinking from a can while touching herself brazenly beneath her clothes, looking at me with a slow, shameless smile.

—They asked me if they could watch —Bianca said, amused—. I told them if they watched, they had to join in. Do you mind?

I already knew the answer before she asked. And so did I.

The curly-haired girl handed the can to her friend and started walking toward me, never taking her eyes off me, until she was only a few centimeters from my face. Behind me I heard Renata’s hoarse laugh.

—Today’s your lucky day, gringo —she said in Portuguese, laughing.

And honestly, I couldn’t agree more. That night I understood that Carnival isn’t a party: it’s a pause, a break where everything you forbid yourself for the rest of the year, for a little while, stops being forbidden. What happened after that, maybe I’ll tell another day.