I know enough Portuguese to get a guy to have sex with me. Two words, to be precise:
I didn’t even say those words to Guy #16. Instead I wrote them down on my cell phone for him to read.
Guy #16 nodded in agreement.
For those of you less eloquent than I am: Mi casa means My place, which is short for Hey, your looks attract me to the point I want to do stuff to your body in exchange for stuff you do to mine so that we may both experience pleasure, a potential ego boost and someone to be hung over with the next morning, at my place.
The language of sex dating is very efficient.
Mind you, Guy #16 and I had eyed each other a lot of times before I showed him my invitation. We both frequented the same tiny gay scene. We both knew it would only be a matter of time before we’d do each other. Mi casa merely sealed the bond we had already established.
I guess it goes without saying at this point that Guy #16´s only language of output was Portuguese. After we left the dance floor of our country’s only gay night club we ended up in a taxi. Before we got to the part that included sex, he took me to a place I can only describe as a Brazilian whorehouse, where promiscuously dressed women made half hearted attempts to seduce me, as they did with every man they saw.
I wasn’t sure why Guy #16 insisted on stopping by this shady place at 4 AM in the morning, but I welcomed the experience. I remember it being shady as much as it was gay friendly.
Guy #16 introduced me to a whole new tiny subculture of the country we lived in at the time, consisting of often illegal Brazilian gold miners who spent their hard earned money on equally hard working women. The men spent their entire week in the jungle, aching to find gold. The women spent their entire weekend giving the men a purpose to ache.
Guy #16 felt at home in this place. Maybe that’s why he had taken me there, as a non-verbal introduction to his life. He introduced me to some of his friends, all of which spoke Portuguese. They all welcomed me into their circle. I might have felt awkward were it not for the alcohol I got offered.
The sun was already rising when Guy #16 and I finally grabbed a taxi again. This time the destination was sex, but the journey was a silent one. Mi casa was the only thing we could agree upon.
When Guy #16 and I finally got around to having sex together, things got lovely. I learned it’s not a big deal if a guy comes quickly, provided he can do it twice.
Only we somehow ended up doing it twice at his place.
Also, I would later find out that mi casa is in fact Spanish, not Portuguese.