Stories of and for Baby Boomers - II -

This story takes place in a capital of Belíndia, a mix of Belgium, for the filthy rich, and Índia, for the very poor. Maceió, the capital of Alagoas, a small state in the Brazilian northeast is beautiful, and certainly worthwhile visiting before its beauty is gone.



José Roberto Pereira Cavalcanti Lins and his wife shared a ride down from their penthouse in the glass elevator, each one trying to hide a smile. José Roberto and Elizabeth Regina were headed to same-sex parties, or so they told each other. Neither could hold back the anticipation of going to a big time orgy.

José Roberto gave Elizabeth Regina a peck on her forehead and hurried to his convertible Porsche. The party was being held in Jatiúca, a wealthy neighborhood, in a penthouse.

He greeted some friends, all of them busy hitting on the women. Someone offered him a joint. He declined. At his age it wouldn't be prudent. The ambiance was very hip, he thought. The music was just right: Liza Minelli, Barbra Streisand, disco with the Village People, yey! YMCA, Elton John... The women were taller than average and strangely they had very wide ankles.

One of them made eye contact. She was a tall blonde, wearing a light pink dress, somewhat transparent, he could see her Venus peak, and boy, what a peak! He'd like to get closer. He did.

Her voice was deep; maybe it was due to too many cigarettes. Her name was Valerie. She was pleasant, if his wife only knew how he hated her grating high-pitched whining. They talked empty talk. She invited him to the veranda. There, at the sound of You're Beautiful, they found a way to lie down and explore each other's bodies.




It didn't take him long to hit where the sun don't shine with his hands. She had her back to him; she said she liked it better that way. Suddenly he had her pubic hairs in his hand. Then he felt bandages covering that lovely Venus peak. Whoah! He yelled in the midst of the party, which very adequately had been anounced as "men only."

"It's a faggot I got here, a faggot!"

Someone in the dark, at the sound of "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" yelled back,

"Shut up, partypooper and screw!"

José Roberto felt embarassed. Valerie cried softly in the corner of the veranda. He inhaled, exhaled, sighed. He tod her to lie down and went for it.

And you know what? It wasn't that bad. They exchanged phone numbers and he gave her a ride home.

Tomorrow, the adventures of Elizabeth Regina at her party.

humor
camp
humor
relationship