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Subject: {ASSM} The Girl from Ipanema {Anoninsac} (Mf)
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The author relishes your comments at anoninsac (at)
yahoo (dot) com. If you like this story, see my other
stories at www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anoninsac/www.

Thanks to my proof readers who make it look like I
actually have mastered English. Any mistakes which
remain are strictly my own stubborn fault.

WARNINGS: This story depicts consensual sexual
activity between men and women, or women and women.
Some of the participants in the story may be under the
age of 18. If you are too young to read about sex
please do not read this.



The Girl from Ipanema


Rio, Rio by the Sea-O. Beautiful, tropical, sensual
Rio. I stepped from the hotel lobby and the oppressive
heat surrounded me, inundated me, sapped my strength
and left me wilted, soaked and tired... and that was
before I made it down the steps and to the sidewalk.
My friend and I found a Chope house and ordered a
round of the ice cold beer popular in Rio.
 
Rio is: the smell of diesel as the buses roar day and
night, three cars driving in two lanes, ignored
traffic lights, the tropical heat sapping your body,
Caipirinha - the national drink made with fruit juices
and a powerful liquor made from sugar cane that packs
a wallop, walking out of the tram on Sugar Loaf and
seeing monkeys in the trees where there ought to be
squirrels, a profusion of tropical flowers growing
everywhere, the smell of urine wafting up from the
alleys below your hotel window, standing at the feet
of Jesus with Rio spread out below like a postcard,
tall buildings with windows that open because Brazil
can't build an air conditioner to cool a building,
poor kids dodging cars and juggling in the middle of
busy avenues trying to get tips from the tourists, and
women, beautiful women in almost no clothing but
clothed in dignity as they stroll the avenues.

What is it about Brazilian women? It's funny: they
wear the same ugly clothing as young American women,
belly shirts and dirty jeans, but Brazilian women look
beautiful and American women look like slobs. We
watched women strolling by as we sipped our ice cold
Chope. A group of obviously American women walked by,
looking sloppy, followed by some Brazilian women
looking provocative and yet refined I turned to my
friend as she turned to me. "You thinking what I'm
thinking?"

"Yep."

"They're wearing the same clothes and really they
aren't much different physically. Why?"

"Because the Brazilian women aren't afraid to be
feminine," she said.

I turned back to the street and looked at the two
groups of women. I was shocked by what she said. And
yet I felt she was right. The Americans clumped along
like farmers with their boots stuck in the mud, their
shoulders slumped and their faces wearing expressions
of disdain. The Brazilians walked with straight backs
and dignity and strode like women proud of their
femininity, exuding a quiet and confident sexuality. 

When did Americans lose that? Did Steinem and the
radical feminists convince American women that success
is equal to not being feminine? Or did we never have
it? After all, America is the home of the Shakers, who
believed that only by avoiding all sensuality, all
sex; even for procreation could you come close to God.
The Shakers, of course, are gone. A group that avoids
sex quickly dies out. As Maugham pointed out, "You
know of course that the Tasmanians, who never
committed adultery, are now extinct."

So my friend and I sat, sipped the ice cold beer and
watched the beautiful young women of Rio walking by
the sidewalk café, and I thought, 'I need to meet a
Brazilian woman and find out why there is a
difference.'

*****

That evening I was ambling along Ipanema beach. There
was a cool breeze blowing in off of the South
Atlantic, making the evening bearable, although still
warm and muggy. I stopped at a little stand by the
beach and ordered a coconut drink. The fellow grabbed
a green coconut, took up his machete, whacked a flat
spot on the bottom so it would sit on a table, three
whacks to round the top and one last one to make a
hole where the straw could go. I looked closely; he
had all of his fingers, I was surprised to see. 

He handed me the coconut, I strolled over to a table,
sat, and sipping it, watched the runners, bike riders
and walkers go by. I wasn't surprised by all of the
people exercising at 9:00 at night. It was too
bleeding hot during the day. Even at night it was too
hot for me. 

I finished the coconut milk and continued down the
beach. I passed a couple more of the well lit sidewalk
shops. Then I left the lights behind. Of course, the
city across the wide boulevard provided enough light
to see but the details blurred in the soft evening
light. I looked across the wide sand beach to see
iridescent waves breaking in the moonlight. 

The beach here dipped away from the sidewalk where I
was standing. I saw a whole group of young women on
the beach. They looked like typical teenagers,
fourteen to eighteen, just hanging out at the beach. I
stopped and watched. Several of the women noticed me
standing there, looked at me and went back to what
they were doing. 

I saw one young woman, tall, not as dark as many
Brazilians and very beautiful, standing quietly. I was
entranced. I couldn't take my eyes from her. She
didn't notice me. Every once in a while she spoke with
one of the other girls. Mostly she just stood and
looked out at the ocean her hair rustling in the
breeze. I don't know how long I watched her.

"Do you think she is pretty?" a voice asked at my
side.

Startled, I turned and saw one of the girls standing
on the curb next to me. I'm not good with ages but she
was one of the older girls and I guessed her to be
about eighteen. "Excuse me?"

"Do you think she is pretty?" the girl asked again.

"Who?" I asked.

"Renata. The girl you are looking so hard. I think
Renata is pretty." The Carioca, residents of Rio,
don't pronounce the R sound. They make it an H. He-o
instead of Rio. So, her name sounded like he-nata, and
it took me a moment to understand what she was saying.


I looked at the girl, Renata, again. Yes she was
dazzlingly beautiful. I turned to the young woman who
had asked the question. She was short and dark and a
bit plump. Not exactly my ideal woman but cute enough
in that way of a young vibrant woman. I remember the
Tom Jobim song, _Garota de Ipanema_ and told her,
"Mais linda," which translates, much beautiful.

The girl smiled and her face lit up the evening. "Bom.
I will tell her. You wait." And she turned and was
off.

What the hell? I watched the girl talking to Renata,
who looked my way. Then a few more words and Renata
came walking across the beach. The other girl came
with her, smiling, as I wondered what I was going to
say.

When they reached me the girl said, "Renata does not
speak English much. I will help."

I glanced at Renata and she smiled shyly. That smile
was radiant. I turned back to the other girl.

"For two hundred Reais Renata will come to you the
whole night." The Real, plural Reais, is the Brazilian
currency. 200 Reais was $68.

It took me a second to process the information. I was
slow because I was entranced by the beauty of Renata.
Then, like a flash, I understood. I knew why there
were ten or fifteen young girls all hanging out at the
beach. I had read that the girls, whose favors were
available commercially, would hang out at the beach.
These girls didn't look like streetwalkers. They
looked like average young Brazilians, tanned, smiling,
laughing. 

It is amazing how quickly thoughts can flash through
your mind at moments like this. I looked at the girls,
and thought, teenagers? I'll get arrested. And just as
quickly I remembered, the age of consent in Brazil is
fifteen. I remembered reading that girls have to be
fifteen to get their police permit although there are
girls who do work even younger. 

Fifteen? Isn't that immoral even if it is legal? There
is that famous Boucher painting of a fifteen-year-old
Irish girl, _Louise O'Murphy,_ with her beautiful red
hair. I've always loved that painting. She was
Canova's mistress at the time. The painting is thought
to have been a job application to become the King's
mistress. It must have worked since she subsequently
was mistress to the King of France and bore him two
children. I've always wondered why they don't consider
books of Boucher's paintings to be child porn. I mean,
pimping a naked fifteen-year-old can't get much more
child porn, can it? The painting is in the Alte
Pinkothek in Munich, in other words, Art with a
capital A, and spoken in reverent tones so no one
seems to care. Or the famous American statue of
Justice, nude from the waist up, was modeled on a
lovely fifteen-year-old woman, also thought to be the
artist's lover. That statue is in many courts around
this country. I wonder if the judges in statutory rape
cases notice the irony. 

Oh yes. The girl from Ipanema was fifteen when Tom
Jobim watched her from his favorite dive, walking to
the beach, and wrote the song that made Bossa Nova an
International sensation. To Brazilians, that girl is
the embodiment of Brazilian womanhood. They don't seem
to mind that an 'old' guy was lusting after a
fifteen-year-old. 
 
Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking,
And when she passes, each one she passes goes, "Ahhh."

At first, I was stunned. I thought the girl had been
fascinated with my rugged good looks. Of course,
mature reflection would have made such thoughts seem
ridiculous. I seldom am bothered with mature
reflections when beautiful women are involved. I was
disappointed. 

I looked at Renata, who was waiting for my answer. I
turned to the girl and asked, "The whole night?"

"You don't want?" she asked.

"No, I would want."

The girl laughed and translated for Renata who smiled
and looked down at the sand then spoke a few words to
her friend. 

For $68 this lovely young woman would spend the night
with me. "How old is she?" I asked.

I heard the question and Renata answer quinze. I
recognized the quin, same as Spanish, fifteen. The
girl turned to tell me and I said, "I understood." I
wrestled with my conscious for a moment. It was a very
uneven contest since I never took my eyes from Renata.
She was lovely. 

"I would be very pleased if Renata would join me this
evening."

The two exchanged a few words and a look in my
direction.

"She wish to know why you take time before say yes?"
the girl asked.

"Because, I never would have believed such a beautiful
woman would want to spend time with me," I said. "It
took me a while to believe it." I laughed and told her
holding out my hand, "Pinch me. Is it true?"

She laughed and turned to Renata talking quickly.
Renata smiled and turned to me and spoke to me for the
first time, although very haltingly, "I would be happy
to you night."

I held out my arm from my side and she slid her arm in
mine. We started back along the beach toward my hotel
like many other couples walking in the evening breeze.

I was quite happy to have this lovely vision on my
arm. She swayed in the moonlight, laughing now as we
talked, although I was sure neither of us understood a
word the other was saying. We didn't need to.

When she walks, she's like a samba
That swings so cool and sways so gentle,
That when she passes, each one she passes goes,
"Ahhh."

She turned male heads as she swayed along the beach.
When we reached the street to my hotel I turned and
she smiled, "There?"

"Sim," I answered, yes. She smiled at my accent and
hugged herself to my side putting both arms around
mine like lovers do when they're happy. I was
certainly happy.

As we crossed the hotel lobby I saw my friend sitting
in one of the big overstuffed sofas. She looked
startled, then raised an eyebrow in my direction and
blew me a kiss. I was sure I turned several shades of
red. Renata didn't miss a thing and once in the
elevator asked, "Know her?"

"A friend," I said.

"Girlfriend?"

"No, just a friend. She was teasing me."

"Teasing?"

"You know, teasing." I made a face and tried to act
out the idea of teasing. Renata understood and
laughed.

"Teasing. She tease tomorrow?" pointing at me.

I nodded. "Yes, I'm sure she will be all over me
tomorrow."

Renata didn't understand all of the words but she got
the meaning. She took my face and kissed me, "Make
it..." searching for word, "...worthhile."

"Yes, worthwhile."

The door of the elevator opened.

I was staying in one of the nicer hotels in Ipanema as
the exchange rate made a first class hotel affordable.
A little while before this would have been a $400 a
night room. Now, it was $135 a night. But that is
Brazilian first class. It was basically Holiday Inn
with tropical mold. Perfectly nice but nothing to
write home about.

Renata fell on the bed and kicked off her sandals. She
pointed at me and said something. I shrugged and she
pantomimed, get out of those clothes. I felt my
stomach flutter. Was I really going to do this? The
truth was there was no way I couldn't do this. I
unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it aside, skinned out
of my shorts and stood, naked, nude, unadorned before
my Goddess. She smiled and scooted across the bed,
stood up and took my face in her hands and kissed me.
A luscious fragrant wonderful kiss that brought full
hydraulic pressure to the system. My cock was poking
her in short order.

She reached down and lightly stroked it smiling at me
as she did. Then she pulled her dress over her head,
skinned out of her lacy underwear and put her arms
around my neck, pulling me down for a passionate kiss
as our bodies melted together.

We fell to the bed still kissing. Renata scooted down
taking my cock in her soft little hands before putting
it in her mouth. Her lips caressed the head as she
gently sucked and kissed my cock. It was driving me
crazy. I looked down at my young angel and I wanted
her, wanted her completely, wanted to possess her,
take her, fuck her.

I smiled at her and she could see the desire in my
face. I smiled. She returned the smile and rose above
me. She reached over quickly for her purse and pulled
a foil packet out, slid the rubber over my cock and
straddled me rubbing my cock over her pussy. It was a
struggle to hold my hips still. I so wanted to plunge
into her. 

She slowly worked my cock into her pussy, sliding down
lower, then back up, and then lower, until I was
buried completely in her. She looked so young sitting
there and yet she looked completely natural as well.
She rose and I watched my cock appear and then
disappear into her, as she pushed down fucking herself
on my cock. I bent forward to take her tit into my
mouth, playing with her nipple, licking and sucking.
Renata moaned and leaned forward, bringing her tit
closer to me and rubbing her clitoris along my cock.

She was getting worked up. Soon her eyes closed and
she leaned back her movements becoming jerky. A low
moan rolled from her. I felt her pussy spasm around my
cock. She was cumming. I grabbed her hips and shoved
up into her, once, twice and thrice. My climax was
rising. Renata moaned louder as I drove my cock hard
up into her. I felt it come, my cock blasting out
again and again until I collapsed back on the bed,
sweating and panting. Renata collapsed over me her
hands stroking my sides.

'Damn,' I said to myself. Renata lay on top of me, so
light, like a feather. I gentled her, softly caressing
her back.

She looked up at me and smiled. We kissed and she laid
her head back on my chest. There was no need for
words.

My cock softened and slipped from her pussy. "Oh," she
said looking up. She rolled off of me and headed for
the bath. I followed and started the shower.

We jumped into the shower and washed off the sweat and
aroma of our loving. As I stepped from the bath and
started to dress I realized I was already getting
sweaty. Ugh. Renata threw on her dress and underthings
as I put on shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and we headed
out.

We walked among the shops and bars of Ipanema, dodging
the hordes of people out at this hour. I wanted to wet
my whistle but remembered Renata. I stood looking at
the Chope house wondering if I could get one to go.

"Chope?" she asked me.

Wistfully, "Sim."

She pulled me into the door, found a table by one of
the open windows and plunked us down. The waiter
quickly appeared and Renata jabbered away in
Portuguese. The fellow appeared a few minutes later
and I handed him a bill. I had my Chope and Renata had
some fruit concoction. I didn't see any requests for
ID.

I put my hand across the table and Renata smiled as
she put her hand in mine. I looked into her soft brown
eyes and was entranced. 

I felt it then, at that moment sitting across from a
lovely young woman in the heat and noise of the
Ipanema night.  If you've ever felt it, you know what
I mean. If not, I cannot explain what it was. All else
disappeared, the noise and confusion and lights and
people. It was just the two of us, sitting hand in
hand. I felt so close to her that my whole universe
expanded and it was just the two of us in that
universe. I felt light and happy, so happy that I
could never be unhappy again. And more, I just knew
Renata had to feel the same as I. We didn't say a
thing, just sat and looked at each other. 

We wandered the streets of Ipanema and walked along
the beach, smiling, laughing and telling jokes that
neither of us understood but made both of us laugh.
She was so happy, so vibrant that being with her made
me smile and laugh and feel young again. 

We stopped for a moment looking out to sea. I turned
to look at her just as she looked at me. Our lips met,
we kissed. My desire for her burned brightly. I think
she felt it as well. As we parted, she grabbed my hand
and strode off toward the hotel. We nearly ran back to
the hotel, still laughing but with a purpose.

Once in the room Renata attacked me, pulling my
clothes off and kneeling before me. She took my cock
in her hands, cooed at it, and took it in her mouth
laving it with her tongue and lips. Her mouth wrapped
around its girth and she sucked it in, stroking it
with her hand as she sucked. 

It was wonderful, but I wanted her, wanted to fuck her
to feel myself in her body, moving as one. I reached
down and tugged at her shoulders. She resisted a
moment but I persisted. She stood and looked at me
questioningly, didn't I enjoy? I stoked her face and
smiled, "Oh yes, it was wonderful but I want you."

She understood and smiled. I reached for the hem of
her dress and she helped pull it over her head. She
slipped from her panties before lying back on the bed.
I moved between her legs. I needed her - wanted her
and now. She looked up at me and she felt it too.
Desire was written on her face as I lay between her
legs my cock finding her pussy. I rubbed it back and
forth coating it with her arousal and buried it inside
her.

Renata moaned as I lanced into her body. I had already
cum this night and normally that would leave me less
frenzied but the passion burned hotly in me. But this
coupling was about passion. Our loins slapped
together, again and again. The heat of Rio, the heat
of our passion, soon we were both bathed in a sheen,
our skins coated with our sweat, as the wet smacking
sound, as my body met hers, filled the room. The heat
of the room, the heat of our mating was made manifest
in the sounds of our bodies coming together.

I felt it rising, the climax, and let it take me. My
mind was taken by it. All I could feel and experience
was the rising tide of pleasure swamping my senses as
it came.  I exploded, filling Renata with my cum. She
moaned and cried out, her fingers grasping at my
shoulders. Drained, I rolled to the side, pulling her
with me. 

Afterward I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Renata
was curled up at my side, softly breathing, asleep.
She looked so young laying there but also heart
rendering beautiful. 

This is ridiculous I thought to myself. I was in love
with this girl. Ridiculous or no it was true. I could
marry her. It was legal in Brazil. But what was a
forty year old guy going to do with a fifteen year old
wife? I remembered a buddy from the Air Force. He had
married a Thai girl from out in the country when she
was fifteen, completely normal for Thailand. They had
two kids and a happy marriage. But he was twenty at
the time they married, not forty. 

I could just see going to the office Christmas party.
Oh Lord, the American women would go ballistic. They
are already worried that their husbands are going to
turn them in for a younger model, not without reason
considering the statistics, and would go nuts having
their noses rubbed in it like that. I'd be a social
pariah. Everywhere would be the cold shoulders and
constant stares. I wouldn't do that to myself and I
couldn't do that to a young girl. Living in a foreign
country is hard enough. As a Pariah, it would be
impossible. I wouldn't be surprised if I got arrested
even if it was a legal marriage in Brazil.

I lay awake a long time, enjoying the feeling of
Renata at my side but tortured at the same time. I
knew I wanted her with all of my heart and I knew I
should let her go. How would she react?

*****

The gray light was coming in the window when Renata
stirred next to me. Her eyes opened and she looked
out, "Morning?"

I nodded. "Bom gia." 

She smiled at my Portuguese and rolled over and looked
into my eyes before kissing me. I couldn't hold her
eye so I rolled off the bed and headed into the
bathroom. When I came back she was sitting up in bed
looking gloriously beautiful her skin gleaming in the
morning sunlight. "Is wrong?" she asked.

"No. Nothing's wrong," I said airily. I looked at my
watch. "It's getting on and I have to meet some people
for breakfast. I need to get dressed." I looked at her
expectantly trying valiantly not to break my act.

I could see her trying to translate and then she
understood. "Sim." She nodded and smiled that same
sunny smile as the evening before. She rolled out of
bed and, completely comfortable with her nudity, went
into the bath closing the door behind. 

Feeling like shit, I went to the window. I stared down
at the beach and saw the early morning beginnings to
another Rio day: the busses roaring down the street,
the early workers on their way to work and the
tourists starting their day. A minute later, the sound
of a flush, and the door opened.

Renata smiled as she emerged. She gathered up her
clothes and dressed quickly. Dressed, she finally did
look my way. "I go. Obrigada," as she leaned in and
kissed me again.

I nodded, "Yes, and thank you."

"Ciao," she said airily and opened the door. She
turned back and smiled a last time that sunny smile
that made my heart melt then hurried through the door.
It clicked behind her.

I rubbed my eyes and went into the bath and started
the shower.  Standing under the water, I argued with
myself. It was the right thing to do. I couldn't
possibly offer her anything. Yes, I thought we had a
special connection, a spiritual and physical
connection but there is more to life than that.
Christ, I'm forty fucking years old and she's fifteen.
It would never work. I stood under the shower arguing
with myself until the water ran cold.
 
Oh, but I watch her so sadly;
How can I tell her I love her?
Yes, I would give my heart gladly,
But each day she walks to the sea,
She looks straight ahead, not at me.

I met my friend at eleven and we took a boat over to
Fortaleza Barra Grande, an old fort on the mouth of
the inner harbor. I was moping and blaming it on the
heat. We walked around the fort for a while. Finally
she asked me, "Okay. Tell me about her."

"Who?" I asked.

"Oh, please."

I stumbled and bumbled and couldn't get anything out.
She finally stopped me and putting her hand on my chin
forced me to look her in the eye. "You didn't fall in
love, did you?"

I shook my head but she looked deeply into my soul.

"You did. What happened? Where is she?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"What do you mean, you don't know? You stupid shit."
That's one of the troubles with really good friends.
They know when you've been a stupid shit and aren't
afraid to tell you.

"She left and I don't know anything about her," I
said. She just looked at me like I'd gone crazy.
"Look, there is no way we could ever... I mean, there
were just too many differences." She just continued
looking at me. "She was a hooker for Christ's sake."

"You know why the girls here have to do that," she
said quietly.

"She was only fifteen," I said throwing myself down on
a bench and burying my face in my hands.

She sat down next to me, "That's an issue all right.
How much of this is love and how much lust?"

I turned toward her violently and was about to blast
her when she said, "Oh." My anger quickly deflated.
"You know soul mates?" She nodded. "I never
experienced it before, not even when I was married.
But I felt it with Renata. Like she was a part of me."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," I told her.

She shook her head, "You damn fool."

I stood up, mad. "It would never work. People would
think I was some kind of pervert."

"Well, if what people think matters more than who you
love..." she left that hanging in the air.

I walked away and back toward the ferry. We spent the
rest of the day doing tourist things. She never
mentioned the girl again but I could see it in her
eyes, the way she'd look at me. 

Over dinner she gave me one of those looks, "I'm all
right."

"No you're not," she said. "If you were all right you
wouldn't be snarling at me."

I was about to really snarl at her but held back.

I started to tell her what I knew to be true but the
words caught in my throat. She noticed and her eyes
got wide, "You okay?"

I nodded and forced them out. "She doesn't love me.
What I felt last night was so special. But in the
morning, when she was leaving she gave me that same
smile that she had the night before. That smile that
made me love her was the same as she left. I love her
but I'm just one more guy to her. She probably doesn't
even remember my name."

"You're sure about that?" she asked.

I nodded, willing the tears from my eyes. "I fell for
those smiling eyes but they were just as happy in the
morning as she went out the door."

She reached across the table and took my hand in hers.
She nodded compassionately, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too," I said.

That night I walked down to the beach. I looked both
ways wondering if the girls were out tonight. They
would be. I walked part way down the beach. The sea
was crashing against the sand, the wind blowing in off
of the Atlantic and there was a lighted stand just
ahead of me. It was just like the night before. I
turned and fled back to the hotel.

We left Rio the next morning. At the Rio airport I was
too busy to think until we cleared security. Then,
sitting, looking at the airplanes getting ready to
take us back home, I remembered her. 

Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking,
And when she passes, I smile,
But she doesn't see, no she doesn't see,
No, she doesn't see me.

She will be on the beach tonight waiting for someone
else. No, she doesn't see me.







Girl from Ipanema

Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking,
And when she passes, each one she passes goes, "Ahhh."

When she walks, she's like a samba
That swings so cool and sways so gentle,
That when she passes, each one she passes goes,
"Ahhh."

Oh, but I watch her so sadly;
How can I tell her I love her?
Yes, I would give my heart gladly,
But each day she walks to the sea,
She looks straight ahead, not at me.

Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking,
And when she passes, I smile,
But she doesn't see, no she doesn't see,
No, she doesn't see me.

Vincius De Moraes, Antonio Carlos Jobim




	
		
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