I never spoke with anyone about the things that happened in my childhood or how I felt. I never knew whether I should feel guilty or whether what happened was right or wrong.
I guess I just felt horny. Now I don’t know. Perhaps because as I aged, I became conscious that what happened to me was actually wrong, including my feelings. I hated feeling like that. I wished I were numb, like I had been. It would hurt less.
I started to have nightmares about my father again. I felt glad because it looked like he was alive again. It was very hard for me, as I was never taught about religion or how to deal with death. Before my father had died, I was scared of dying; but now, somehow, I wasn’t anymore.
Even though my mother was working for the church, she wasn’t a good person. Well, at least I thought she was the biggest hypocrite on Earth. Some people are extremely religious and sometimes they get a bit mad, but religion also helps people a lot. People get over drugs or killing people. It brings peace to them in their hearts.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that bastard who raped me, and all the kids back there in Brazil, and the auctions. Now that I was old enough to understand how bad all that was, I had to stop it. But how? I was definitely strong enough now, and I had nothing else in my life to lose. I could only win. I was my best friend, and the only thing that could stop me was myself.
One night, I couldn’t sleep – too many nightmares, too many thoughts – so I decided to go out with some friends. A girlfriend from my acting agency told me that she had to go to an art party on a blind date.
I was in a hunting mood anyway. Two months without sex… usually I can’t stand a week without it.
I wanted to look beautiful, so I wore my sexiest red dress a lot of make-up and massive heels. My hair was very long, still black and wavy.
I got very drunk. A girl came up to me to say something about my dress, and we started chatting, and she asked me which places I went to on summer holidays.
I told her how much fun I had when I went to Nikki Beach in St. Tropez, and she just gave me a look like I was the most disgusting person she had ever met. She said, “I hate show-offs. This place is full of ordinary rich Russians, Arabs and hookers.”
I told her, “Well, I went with my girlfriends and we hooked up with young pretty boys and drank the best champagne without paying for any of it. The only thing I paid for was a Diet Coke that cost thirty-five Euros.”
I couldn’t believe that she thought I was stupid and shallow just because I liked a place. Those art people were so weird; I guess there was no potential for friendship with this person.
The gallery was displaying a piece of “art” that looked like a mountain of shit, except it was made of iron. A shit sculpture. I wouldn’t have that in my living room! It really was shit.
I said to that girl, “Wow, that’s terrible, don’t you think?
She said, “I don’t think so, otherwise I wouldn’t have spent six years making it. St. Tropez suits you.”
I said, “And your sculpture suits you very well. Just because you want to show that you are an artist or you’re scruffy or don’t know what to wear, you dress up like Morticia Addams. Fuck you and your dork glasses. Don’t you know that contact lenses exist? You are like this not to show that the only thing you care about is art but for the simple fact that you are lazy.”
I was falling over drunk at that point and I didn’t really know what I was saying. It felt like I was back in school fighting off bullies.
She left me talking to myself.
After I had some more champagne, I saw a beautiful body. He was such a handsome man: super tall, slim but tan, and he had a beard. He had that look of a very wise young boy, but he was around forty and had blue eyes and brown hair.
While I was thinking about how I could talk to him, he just appeared in front of me and gave me his hand and introduced himself.
I thought, Wow, a man with more attitude than me! I like it.
He said, “Where are you from, darling?”
The only thing I could say was, “I’m from heaven, baby. And you?”
He said, “I’m from Ireland.”
You know people who are beautiful and nice who everyone wants to be around? Like Dorian Gray? He was like that.
And he knew it.
He offered mints to everyone around him. He gave each person two, but when it was my turn, he gave me just one and said, “I’m only giving you one because I want to keep you on the leash. My name is Angel, by the way.”
Oh, I was already in love. If there was a heaven he probably fell from there. I probably did too, but straight on my head.
So I chased my friend to tell her about the guy I had just met. I told her, “I just met this guy, and he’s so handsome, and his name is Angel, and he’s from Ireland, and I’m already crazy about him!”
She said, “What? That guy over there?”
“Yes! Do you know him?”
She said, “Yes! He’s my blind date!”
And she left the party so angry with me. I felt really bad and left the party too.
My father used to say, “Good people always meet again,” so I thought that maybe one day I would see that pretty boy again – and it didn’t take long.
Two days later, I ended up at a dinner party at his house without even knowing how; I had been drinking too much.
I don’t remember much of what I said because I was too drunk, but I do remember that he came to me and asked, “If you had to choose any famous person to sleep with tonight, whom would you choose?”
I said, “I don’t know. Are you available tonight?”
He didn’t answer; I think it was too much for him. I was definitely on a mission!
At the end of the party the only people left were just me, him, a girlfriend of mine, and his best friend, Jerry, who was also very cute. We chatted almost the whole evening. Do you know when you connect with someone straight away? You go to say a word and it’s like the other person is reading your mind? That was Jerry and me. We had a lot in common. They say great minds think alike, and I think we did in many ways.
We all decided to swim in Angel’s pool. I was so drunk that I just had to hang on to the side of the pool while everyone was playing. We were all naked. That was fun. I was so horny that I didn’t really care who came on to me, Angel or Jerry.
Angel slowly came towards me, and finally he kissed me. I saw stars.
It was just a kiss; he didn’t even touch me. He just grabbed me hard by my hair and kissed me. And it was amazing.
I was so drunk that he had to help me to the lift to get upstairs. It was such a big house, very high tech and full of weird furniture that I had no idea how to use. When we arrived at his room, we took a shower. We didn’t have sex that night; we just slept together. It was the first experience I had like that in my life. I kept asking myself, What is wrong with this guy? So I asked him, “Are you married? Any kids? Girlfriend? Are you gay? Do you like Frank Sinatra?”
He said, “To answer all your questions, no, except the last one. I love Frankie”
I had never thought that just sleeping with someone could be so much better than sex, or that it could actually make you want the person more. The next morning, he brought me breakfast in bed. That had never happened to me.
He was amazing.
Usually I hated sleeping with men. They rubbed their cocks on my bum when I was sleeping or touched me.
Some men would say, “Oh, baby, with you in bed I just can’t control myself.”
The only thing I could think was, Just let me sleep! Please. I hated that.
But when you are in love with someone, he can sleep on top of you with all his weight on you and his cock inside your mouth, calling you “my sweet poop,” and you will think it’s the sweetest thing you ever experienced.
But this man was different; he was special. He didn’t rub his cock on my ass. Besides that, he hugged me, but not too much or too little. He tried not to move too much so he wouldn’t wake me up, and the part that impressed me most was that he didn’t prefer a side of the bed. Men usually have their side. He didn’t care.
So every time I changed sides in bed while I was sleeping, he would jump over me and change his side so he could spoon me. If I moved because I was uncomfortable, he woke up very quickly to arrange my pillow or something like that.
He woke up three times at night to brush his teeth and bring me some water in case I got thirsty. That was only the first night we spent together.
When I did get to sleep, I felt him coming towards me and lick my pussy. I said, “Don’t stop, I’m almost there.” He looked at me and said, “Come in my mouth, you stupid fat bitch.” It turned out to be my mother licking me. I kicked her really hard and said, “Not here, you bitch.” I kept kicking her, but she kept showing her tongue to me. Disgusting.
At breakfast the next morning, we were chatting, and he asked me what my religion was. I didn’t know what it was, so I said, “I’m agnostic.”
He said, “What does that mean?”
“It means that I don’t know what to believe.”
When I was leaving his house, he asked, finally, for my number. I thought he was never going to call me, but two weeks later I received a message on my phone: “I learned what ‘agnostic’ means. You were right.”
I texted back, “Nice! I just won your phone number for that!”
He replied, “I could have figured out a better way than that to give it to you. Dinner tomorrow?”
The funny part was that it took such a long time for us to have sex; he never tried to seduce me. What I felt was weird. I gave him some blowjobs, and he licked me, but we didn’t sex. Usually after the second blow job, the guy wants to have sex, but he didn’t even try to.
One day he gave me a present. He said it was from New York.
I opened the box and there it was: a super high-tech remote control.
I gave him the mug face.
I pressed one of the buttons, and it started to vibrate really fast and move around like a snake. I realised that it wasn’t a remote control; it was a high-tech vibrator! My mug face became a bug face. I thought, Does that perfect guy want me to put this up his bum? Or does he want to use it on me? Does he know what sex means? Is this a joke? Does he think sex is just blowjobs?
He looked at my face and said, “It’s just a joke, darling. You don’t have to be scared. But tell me, what do you want?”
I said, “I want to feel you inside me.”
He said, “Wait, let me do something first.” He put on a Sinatra CD and left a package of condoms by the bedside.
, He was sweet and gentle, with those beautiful blue eyes staring at me. I had never felt this way before, and I’d seen so much.
I went back home feeling so special and smiling in my face. Nothing else mattered. All the shit that had happened in my past was gone. I felt safe.
We started to see each other quite often, and in time I start feeling very guilty because he didn’t know about my past. I wondered whether he would understand. He had also lost his parents very young and had a lot of shit going on his life, but would he continue to admire me, like I admired him? Maybe everyone has a dark past.
I tried the whole time I was with him to have fun and just enjoy what I could offer him at that point without having to talk much about personal things or who I really was. We went out with friends a lot, but we rarely went out, just the two of us. I guess I was scared.
I had no idea what was his favourite colour was or what he liked to listen to, besides Frankie, if he did any sports, what food he liked, but those things didn’t matter. Even without knowing each other, with him, everything was special. I guess him being so mysterious made me like him more.
Some men are different. And that’s when you really know you are fucked.
After a while we went out to dinner.
It was our first dinner alone; we talked as we never had before. We had so many stories to tell and so many things in common. We had such a great connection.
He paid the bill and then said it was about time for us to talk about our relationship. I felt butterflies in my stomach.
I tried to change the subject the subject, but I was freaking out and spilled wine on the table. I said, “I have to leave.” He grabbed my hand and said, “Please, I really have to talk to you. Stay.”
“I cant,” I said. “I have to go.” I got up from the table and left Angel there.
I didn’t call him the next day. I got really scared and decided not to talk to him anymore. I ran away and didn’t answer his phone calls. I didn’t want to read his messages in case I would change my mind.
My dad once told me that you shouldn’t ask someone what to do with your love life because deep inside, you already know the answers. I wasn’t sure about Angel or myself.
Don’t think I was bad. I was doing him a favour. I was protecting him.
Love is the most wonderful thing you could have and is the fuel that drives us. It keeps us alive.
But love requires respect, admiration, tenderness, sex; it is different for everyone.
I think part of what I felt was admiration for who he was around other people, for the respect and tenderness he had for his friends, the way he listened to everyone and tried to help them in any way he could. Despite the hard life he had lived, loved everything about life and never stopped being happy because he was alive. I also admired the way he realised very early how to be mature and learned that life has many beautiful things to learn and love. He said love will get you back on the track and keep your mind and heart warm.
One thing about love is true: there is no formula for it.
With Angel I was more afraid of how I would hurt him with my lies. My father had said once that he was afraid of what people would do to me; now I was afraid of what I could have done to Angel’s heart.
I once was crazy for a client. Sometimes that happened. I did everything to please him: threesomes for free, I would even have shagged a horse for that guy. Once he asked me to piss in a glass so he could drink it, and I did. He asked me to spank him, and even though I hated that, I did. I had no idea what I liked about that guy then, but today I know.
He used to tell me how much he preferred blonde girls with light-coloured eyes and very slim, almost anorexic figures –the opposite of me. I couldn’t understand why I was with him.
Sometimes after we fought, he would call me at my house and shout, “Fuck you!” and hang up on me.
So one day I woke up, and just like that, finally I realised that I actually hated him. I didn’t feel a thing for him anymore.
So I told him. He had always been manipulative, and when I broke up with him he just went mental. He asked me to come his flat to talk.
When I got there, he said, “I’m sorry. I know how bad I was for you, but I love you so much. If you don’t love me anymore, I can’t be alive anymore. I can’t live without you.”
So dramatic. I always felt disgusted when people tried to kill themselves for such a stupid feeling. Not that love was stupid, but I felt ashamed for him. It was what I said about not loving yourself. If you don’t, no one will. I just wanted to tell him, “Oh, just do it. I don’t care.”
I looked deep into his eyes and said, “I don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry, but to be honest, I don’t think I ever loved you.” I was being honest.
He screamed and cried like a baby. He got up, broke the table in front of him, then punched the mirror and took a piece of it. I ran for the front door, but he grabbed me and said, “Now you will have watch what I’m going to do to myself.”
So I jumped on him to stop him from cutting his wrists. It wasn’t because I cared for him, but because I was so embarrassed for him. He looked like a clown. I tried to take the piece of glass from his hands, then I tried to stop him from jumping from the window. I was afraid of the police saying that I had killed him, and I still didn’t have my legal documents.
We fought on the floor for what seemed like half an hour, and then he ran to the bathroom and locked himself inside.
I called his ex-girlfriend to help. I knew she would come because she was still in love with him and he had been cheating on me with her.
No one died that day, but he was still chasing me over a year later.
He had told me when I broke up with him that he would change, but deep inside me I knew he wasn’t going to.
And I was right. Many years later I met a girl who had been with him for a year, and she was having the same problems that I had had, and she was living life by his rules.
The only serious thing that happened after this was his father’s death. He hanged himself in his bathroom. I didn’t care. Once, the client and I had a fight because I didn’t know how to drive his car, and he punched me in the head while I was trying to drive. I stopped the car and couldn’t stop shaking because I was so nervous. The police came because we were holding up the traffic. At the police station, his father showed up to pick him up, and the only thing his father said was, “Everything is because of this hooker.”