The Scorpion's Sweet Venom (9 page)
Read The Scorpion's Sweet Venom Online
Authors: Bruna Surfistinha
After the third swap (I didn't have the courage to touch the girl, although I was dying to go down on her), a really drunk
guy grabbed me and said that the minute he'd seen me he'd remembered the film
Scent of a Woman,
and started telling me the plot. For God's sake, no one needs to hear the synopsis of a film in the middle of a swingers'
club.
Before the third swap, we stopped in the maze. A woman of about forty and her husband were busy groping each other, but she
was sucking off another guy. She was a confirmed dick-sucker. Out of the blue, another dick appeared and she shoved it in
her mouth. Suddenly, all kinds of men started appearing from all over the place to be sucked off by the woman. By my count,
she sucked seven dicks. At one stage I thought they were going to start taking a number and joining the queue. Oh well, whatever.
Though come to think of it, even I - a pro - would never suck seven dicks at a swingers' club.
I noticed she didn't look up. She didn't even know who all those dicks belonged to. She just grabbed them and shoved them
in her mouth. All I could think about was the sort of guys they were -not exactly the best catch, to be really polite. Who
am I to criticise anyone? But I have to admit, I was shocked. It was probably her fantasy. I'm not sure if I was more disgusted
by the woman or the men. Men are UN-FREAKING-BELIEVABLE! When they get turned on, they stick their dicks in the first hole
they see. They only don't stick them in a hole in the wall because holes in walls don't moan.
I still hadn't gone down on a woman. We were in the room where only couples can enter and onestarted touching me. Then she
suggested that we go into a private room. We went down on each other for ages. I didn't manage to come, but she came in my
mouth. Her pussy was the way I like them, nice and fleshy.
From all the relationships I've had while working in this profession, I've learnt that men will only respect me as a woman
again the day I give it up. And another thing I've learnt - when this happens and I meet the man of my dreams, the one I'm
going to marry and have kids with, I'm not going to tell him that I used to be a working girl. I've decided I want to leave
it all in the past. Forget? No, that's impossible . . . Let's just say that I'm going to put all this life experience in a
drawer and never open it again. I'll no doubt be scared he might already have met me as Bruna or find out some other way.
But I must make it clear - I don't regret what I've done. I hope with Pedro things will be different, because I love him very
much and hope he is able to respect me.
One of the classic Cinderella dreams of working girls is finding the man who will take them out of prostitution. Would you
believe it happened to me? It was a sixty-two-year-old client, who was a widower and very lonely. He came to me each week,
but we almost never had sex; we mostly just talked (this is more common than you would imagine). One day he came right out
and said, 'I want to have a serious talk with you.' He told me that his son, who lived with him, was going on exchange for
a year, and he was going to be alone. He invited me to live with him and asked me to give up prostitution. He'd pay for whatever
I wanted: studies, gym, clothes, spending-money, as long as I gave it all up.
I said I'd think about it and I really did. In reality, I wouldn't be giving up prostitution, but I'd only be doing it with
him, also for money. A single client for the rest of his life (which could be quite a while). My refusal had nothing to do
with him, since I got along well with him, nor his generous offer, because no one was fooling anyone there. But I'd left my
parents' home to have more freedom. To tie myself to a man, unless it was for love, would be like swapping one cage for another.
A gold one, yes, but a cage nonetheless. I know it would have been a good deal for me, and that I was turning down the offer
of a lifetime for many girls like me, but I was also afraid that he might die and I'd be blamed for it. I think I've seen
this kind of thing in too many films, as well as real life.
It's not every day that someone decides to 'save your soul by watching over your body', but afterbeing with the same client
many times, it often turns into a friendship. These days, all of my friends are former clients. My best friend came to me
five or six times as a client. And on several occasions the sex took a back seat. We started to touch base daily, not just
to schedule a fuck. One day, I had to make things very clear: 'The minute we become friends, there's no more sex.' I can't,
it doesn't work. I don't like having sex with my friends. If you're a friend, the professional relationship is over.
Tuesday, 12 September
THIRD CLIENT
I went to a little party with three guys, and a girl, but one of the guys only wanted to watch. We arranged to meet at the
All Black bar and from there we went to one of their flats. It was a quiet little group session. First, I went with one in
the bedroom. We had a bit of sex but he only came afterwards, in my mouth. Then we hung around drinking and chatting with
the other two in the living room, while the girl went into the bedroom with the one I'd been with. I ended up lying on the
sofa while one guy went down on me. To make life easier, I helped him with my finger and had anamazing orgasm. The other one
just sat on the other sofa watching us. When the other two left the bedroom, the two of us went in. I rode him for a while,
then he came in my mouth.
Interesting fact: one of them had been my client before.
Sad fact: I got home at five-thirty in the morning. . .
The gynaecologist plays an important role in a working girl's everyday life. And he has to know what I do. There's no two
ways about it. How else can he give me the right advice, examine me as carefully as I need him to in order to protect me?
AIDS is the biggest fear. I get tested every three months and it's always the same agony. I'm always afraid when I go. Yes,
I protect myself, I always use condoms . . . That is, there is no way the snake's going in unprotected during sex. But I admit
I take a chance in oral sex.
The doctor told me the chances of catching something are smaller in oral sex, but they're there. Especially if I have a small
sore in my mouth, which is the kind of thing you often don't even know you have. I don't know . . . Sometimes I think the
client looks safe, I feel comfortable, trust what I'm seeing and go down on him 'a la natural'. The regretcomes later. You
can't tell if a guy has something just by looking at him. But I never swallow. I even let the guy come in my mouth, and I
like it, but I never swallow (well, not very often). I'd say that five out of ten times I'm silly enough to give blow jobs
without condoms. But I want to do this less and less.
Looking after one's body without looking after one's head would be silly, wouldn't it? Health OK, hair OK (much to the envy
of lots of women, my hair is really straight, and I don't need to use a flat iron - lucky, aren't I?), moisturised skin, fingernails
always well-kept.
When this is all in order, I take some time for myself. Every Monday afternoon I have therapy. It's funny, because I've been
to psychologists all my life. It's different now, though.
In the beginning, I didn't know who I was taking to the sessions: Raquel or Bruna. These days it's not so difficult. I've
been through the phase of wanting to tell my therapist my whole life story, which is the most difficult and complicated part.
Now, I always sum up the week, how things affect Raquel, my outlook on life, my plans. And obviously, amidst so much talk
about me, I also end up mentioning some clients and the things we did. You can't just shut them out.
Friday, 22 September
FOURTH CLIENT
Appearances can be deceptive . . . Once, over in the house on Alameda Franca, a really good-looking guy picked me. I liked
the look of him. He had a naughty air about him but he also seemed like a nice guy. And he looked like he'd be good in bed.
While we chatted intimately in the waiting room, deciding what was going to happen, he made a request: he wanted me to fuck
him in the arse. OK, no problem. He wouldn't be the first or last guy I'd do as 'Bruno'. He wanted me to come into the room
already wearing the strap-on. The client's wish is my command, right? But when it was time to get it from behind, he started
playing hard-to-get, trying to get away from me, jumping forward. He'd fantasised about being fucked, but didn't have the
courage. As soon as the dildo touched his arse he'd try to get away. But he spent ages greedily sucking the rubber dick. We
had three sessions like this.
The fourth time he showed up, he asked if I had a male friend who could come in for a threesome and, of course, give it to
him in the arse. So was that it? The guy actually wanted a real dick, but had come to a pro so he wouldn't feel queer. I joked
that the security guard might be able to do him a favour, but he took me seriously. He asked how much he'd charge to have
sex with us. Of course he wasn't going to accept, but I had to pretend. I went downstairs and told the other girls the whole
story and they fell about laughing. Then I went back upstairs and told him the security guard had turned down the offer. He
was really disappointed and looked like a lost puppy. I didn't end up doing him in the arse. I wonder if he's still a virgin
or if he's finally worked up the courage to let someone pop his cherry.
There are people who are scared to call me because of the price. Sure, there are girls who charge 300, 400
reais,
but they only have one, two, or three clients a week at the most. I know that with my 'fame' as Bruna, the Surfer Girl, I
could even charge more. But I like what I do, I won't deny it. It makes me feel wanted, something I never used to be. And,
obviously, there's the practical side. I'm a practical person: the more clients I have, the more money I make. I don't waste
time negotiating prices. Lots of guys try to haggle for discounts, advantages, exclusivity. I can't be bothered with any of
it.
Friday 10 November
FIFTH CLIENT
Getting asked to a swingers' club is a prize that all call girls love. I went to a really up-market club in Moema with an
amazing client - he never got tired of fucking me and all the other women we went with while we were there. That was when
he wasn't wildly wanking off as he watched me with the women he was going to fuck or had already fucked. And he came every
single time. I saw it with my own eyes!
Now there's a place at this club that I love. It's this tiny room, just the right size for a couple. Those on the outside
can peer through a glass window at about eye-level, but it's almost impossible to see what's going on inside, because the
glass is for the people on the inside to see who's outside. Get the picture? It's a turn-on for those who like to be seen
but deep down only want to have the 'sensation' of being seen. But this is just a starter - and those outside aren't left
twiddling their thumbs. There are two holes in the wall between the room and the corridor, right underneath this window. You
can stick your hands through and touch the peoplegetting it on in the room. My client and I were instantly addicted: we spent
two hours groping everything that came near the hole: arses, tits, dicks . . . That was when a couple invited us in with them.
What a crazy feeling! We saw the hungry eyes of those who couldn't see us, while we felt hands blindly groping for any bit
of skin within reach. It's a huge turn-on. And with a big advantage: we only let the people we found attractive touch us -
the lookers and the sexy ones.
It's a shame it took me so long to discover this place. I didn't come at all because there wasn't enough space to lie down,
and I can't have an orgasm standing up, but I had a great time anyway. It didn't detract from the night at all. And I solved
the problem with my magic finger: I went home and masturbated. After I'd come, tired and happy, I closed my eyes and dreamed
sweet dreams.
The same way I entered this life, I know I'm going to leave. I don't want to be a pro for the rest of my life. That's what
I work towards. First, I got rid of the pimps. No way am I giving half or more of what I earn to someone. Yes, there's a down
side to working alone, which is the lack of security. Receiving clients in a serviced flat helps a little. And I always get
their phone number - and confirm that it's really theirs. 'What's your phone number? Thatway, if something comes up, I can
call and cancel. Since they always make appointments a few hours in advance, it's cool. To this day, I've never had problems
with aggressive clients. Just as well, isn't it? Truth be told, my biggest fear is running across one of my father's or sisters'
friends. I've already had people I knew as clients, including former classmates from Bandeirantes (who didn't recognise me,
but I made a point of saying, 'I remember you from somewhere, but not here - we went to school together').
Wednesday, 22 November
SECOND CLIENT
Whatever turns people on is fine by me but sometimes you can't help wondering . . . A client arrived at my flat and took off
all his clothes, but left his socks on. The sex was mechanical for me, because I couldn't concentrate. I wanted to know why
he hadn't taken his socks off. Did he have really ugly feet? Or maybe he had sores or something. He seemed really relaxed,
had a good shag and came twice, once with me sucking his dick and once with me riding him. I led the session, because I didn't
want to see his feet in socks. They were ordinarymen's socks, no holes, nothing special. He went to have a shower after he'd
come for the second time and I sat in the bedroom, perplexed. Suddenly, I heard, 'WHAT THE FUCK?' almost shouted from the
bathroom and I ran to see what had happened. There he was, starkers, showering . . . with his socks on! Would you believe
he'd simply forgotten to take them off both to have sex and to shower? We had a good laugh. Men!
