Rainy day in Rio

[Guest Gringo]

It rains alot as Rio enters Fall. Although I enjoy the smmer~s sun, I am so fond of cloudy days and the magic of rain. An early afternoon walk throught Campo Santana was a pleasant diversion. The park is clearly divided—the working girls cruise the west side and the working boys cruise the east side. At the center of the east side is a bridge over a pond. It is surrounded by small boulders and is often referred to as point de ladrao (the place of the thieves) because sometimes the enexpected attack happens in the narrows of this bridge. Stayng on one side until I am certain that no one is hiding among the boulders, i walk across quickly.

It is Monday after the lunch hour and business is slow. Here you will not often find the professional sex workers of the saunas, but the common man. It is across the street from Central do Brasil, the major bus and train station. Sometimes, with hours between connections, common men from the interior who are in transit walk to the park. They are not the fabulous barbies of the saunas or the night clubs, and probably because of that, they have a natural beauty that I find most attractive. The reputation of the park is well known, and they have some time to kill.

It begins slowly. Then becomes a little more intense. People begin to walk a little faster toward their destinations. The hard core will not so easily be removed from the park and the hunt—nor am I. The rain comes harder and people seek shelter under the beautiful large trees and foilage. In isolated pockets of 2 or 3, they huddle under the graceful sweep of a hanging branch. The rain becomes even more serious...even the gringo seeks shelter now. I choose to share the shelter of a large tree were a solitary man has gone. The plop plop of the heavy rain is almost hypnotic. He is perhaps 25 or so, medium coplexion, with a tight, lean physique. He takes his wet shirt off and draps it over a branch. And there he stand...oh golden youth in all his majesty surrounded by a thousand shades of green. He fondles himself. I walk behind him and watch the drops of rain glisten across his back. He does not speak. He doesn~t have to. The time is right and the message is clear.

Boldly, without making eye contact at all, I lick the sweet rain on his back. He moves to thicker foilage and smiles. His dick is hard, like over-ripe fruit bulging down his thigh. The rain drums a tribal yearning..plop, plop, plop. My legs quiver like a tuning fork. I am weak with desire and drop to my knees. Plop, plop, fizz, fizz---oh what a relief it is.

The rain subsides and passion ebbs into afterglow.

We never spoke a single work because our hearts knew the music.

A single magic moment for me. I am in Brasil again.

Thank you Jesus.

:+

[catnip]

Lucky you, Gringo! I felt like I was in Rio as I read your post.

 

Thanks,

[jackhammer91406]

Great story Gringo, thanks

 

[CarloRio]

So full of poetry... I felt like to Campo de Santana myself on a rainy day...

 

:7

[Guest Gringo]

Thanks Jack & Carlo. "It's rainy men" has real meaning for me now. :+