brazil

chapter two: brazil

this is NOT a shining moment in my history of men. it may in fact be one of the most embarrassing stories i have to tell. it, of course, like all embarrassing stories, starts in vegas...

vegas for thirty. four girls. an AMAZING two room hotel suite. itty bitty dresses. and ALCOHOL. so. much. alcohol.

i don't remember which day of the trip it was. i don't remember which club it was. i DO remember table service. and a bottle of vokda for the four of us.

one of our girls managed to wander off for a bit and when we caught up with her she had met brazil. i'm pretty sure he had a real name. i think it started with a J.

braSil (they spell it with an s. we're ignorant americans) was pretty. a trained boxer with a body to match. apparently his rough english skills didn't matter when it came to tonsil hockey on the back patio of a vagas bar. or the back skylit section of a casino club. or the pretend it's outdoors because it's decorated with green stuff and you've had so much alcohol it doesn't really matter section of the bar.

brazil and our girl were getting friendly. there was even a warning about appropriate club behavior at one point i believe.

the night goes along, our girl and brazil are inseparable. two of our four head back to the suite in a cab. i stick behind with our girl and brazil- no girl left behind. especially with a non-english speaking stranger in a club.

are you confused as to how this is MY story yet?

the night ends with brazil giving my girl and me a ride back to the suite. we invite him up (she invites him up) to the suite for a night cap. only polite thing to do, right?

the way the suite was set up is entry way, room to the left, room to the right. the two gals that had headed back in the cab earlier were sharing the room to the left. future mrs. brazil and i were sharing the room to the right. being a good wingman i took the couch in the entry way (actually a large living room area, couches, tv, table, you get the idea) while my girl and brazil took to the room.

an unknown amount of time later i was awakened by brazil. it seems that my girl was a bit trigger shy when it came to closing the deal. combine a dead sleep (or being passed out, po-tay-to/po-tah-to), a large quantity of alcohol still in my system, and the fact that a gorgeous man was (sadly and second-handedly) hitting on me, suddenly of COURSE sex sounded like a good idea. after all, it wouldnt be polite to send the poor boy home with blue balls after a whole night of build up. what can i say, i'm thoughtful like that.

i honestly don't remember much of what went on. there was sex. bad sex. jackhammer sex. there was an orgasm. singular. his. and then he was gone.

oh how i wish the story ended there.

in the morning i was horrified about what had happened. my girl had brought the guy back with her. had i technically poached her catch? SO against code. you never poach. ever. then i got to thinking about it...how horrifying that only after he had been soundly turned away did he wander out into the living room and see if maybe there was still a chance with that other chick. holy fuck embarrassing. i was really conflicted. i didn't want to tell any of the girls what had happened. i didn't want them to know ANY of it.

i made it about half way through the day before i cracked under pressure. while out to lunch i talked to one of the other gals about what had happened. she had come home in a cab and had no idea about any of it- brazil coming back with us, his rejection and second attempt...or so i thought.

TURNS OUT.

holy fuck embarrassing.

brazil. rejected and kicked out of the bedroom on the right wandered all the way across to the bedroom on the left. woke up BOTH of the girls in there consecutively to see if he had a chance. after being rejected by girl 1, girl 2, AND girl 3, he wandered back into the living room for his last ditch effort.

that's right. i was not the second choice. i was not the third choice. i was the last ditch effort on the way out the door.

nothing romantic. nothing special. not even the slightest attempt. a last ditch effort.

so embarrassing. talk about a severe ego kick. granted- vegas, that much alcohol, and a true pure blood asshole, it's a rare combination. generally there's a little more thought and consideration put into things. a little less being a trashed non-cognitive mess. but there it is. in all it's vegas shame: brazil, the last ditch king.