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BRAZIL 
Uploaded to Pink Triangle by Dave Parkinson 
 
I never met another man who enjoyed being fucked as much as the Brazilian 
Bombshell.  At the time I first met him, I was twenty two, and he was a bit 
younger.  
 
It's hard for me to describe how beautiful he was.  Photographs I have show a 
tall, lean, lightly muscled young man, with high cheekbones, bright clear 
almond eyes, and a mane of tangled black hair which he absolutely refused to 
comb.  His skin tone was extraordinary, being rather light - he was of mixed 
European descent - and a kind of golden colour.  In the right light, it was 
hard to resist the impression that he was glowing.  
 
But the photographs don't do him justice, as the real secret of his sexual 
attractiveness was dynamic.  Stationary, he was very attractive; in motion he 
was devastating.  He moved with a kind of easy grace, almost a lope, which was 
deeply sexual; I remember being turned on terribly once, just watching him 
cross a road.  
 
We used to make love by candle-light - not because it was terribly romantic 
(though it was), but because we were usually very stoned and bright light hurt 
our eyes.  After a bit of fooling about and foreplay, he'd always want to be 
fucked.  His favorite position for this was with me on my back, and him 
kneeling with his legs either side of my groin, slowly lowering himself onto 
my cock.  
 
He always used to have a very serious look while doing this, a sort of intense 
concentration, as if trying to remember an equation, or solve some complex 
logical puzzle.  At he did this, a small globe of semen would form at the end 
of his own erect penis, glistening like a small pearl.  
 
Eventually, he'd be comfortable, and his look would change, as an 
extraordinary grin spread across his face.  At the same time, he'd break into 
a light sweat, which on his golden skin would catch the candle light; combined 
with the stunning smile, it was hard to avoid the impression that he was 
catching fire, or somehow lighting up.  
 
I once facetiously described fucking him as like plugging a power cable into a 
Christmas tree - the effect was electric.  He'd be still for a while, just 
smiling, then he'd place a surprisingly cool palm on my chest and start to 
move (or ask me to), slowly at first, just flexing his bum, but building 
slowly to a vigorous sexual crescendo.  
 
After I'd cum, and we'd hugged each other for a while with my cock still 
inside him, he'd slowly disengage, and we'd rest, possibly having a smoke.  
He'd then usually fuck me, which was fun, though I don't think either of us 
enjoyed it as much as the other way round; perhaps he felt obliged to, as the 
remnants of some form of South American macho.  
 
We'd often finish the evening on our sides, with me behind him fucking him 
again, but very slowly and gently this time and for as long as possible, while 
running a hand though the layer of sweat on his smooth chest, or playing with 
his hard nipples.  
 
Completely relaxed, and rather sleepy, though still sexually aroused, he'd 
sometimes make a curious noise in the back of his throat as I moved in him, a 
kind of growl.  It's the only time, before or since, I've ever heard a man 
purring.