Brazillian back seats

Funny how the longer you go without killing your brain with alcohol, the more shit that you would rather forget comes flooding right back to you.

One of the benefits of being wasted all the time is that even though you can't completely forget all the stupid shit you did the night before, it's MUCH easier to push it to the back of your mind and then just take another shot to bury it that little bit deeper.

In the 3 years I was first in Japan, I did a lot of stupid, drunken shit. Nothing that crazy, but you know, things I'd much rather forget. (Wanking off Mickey Mouse boy ring any bells??) But you see, I'm in a tough spot now, I got pregnant after just 2 months of dating Ryota, and you know those first few months of dating where you don't fart, and you put on make-up before the guy sees you in the morning and try to act all proper so you can seal the deal? Yeah, well we kinda skipped the next stage where you're supposed to let it all hang out and reveal your deepest secrets to each other and shit, I got knocked up and married so quickly that I've never told Ryota most of the crazy stories, there's also cultural and language barriers that make me hesitant to tell him certain stories too. So god bless blogs and the lovely sensation of spilling the beans without fear of judgement from the father of your child! Of course, anonymous commenters may judge, but I'd rather that than having to live with the judgement!

So, here is one of the stories from the slutty drunken period, no gang bangs or amateur pornos or anything that good, but slutty enough to warrant a dirty laundry post I think!

Brazilian back seats...

I was at the club. Again. I didn't even go with any friends that night I was getting so good at blending in and making random friends and lovers. It was getting dangerous, I'd find a group of friends and then suddenly I'd get a pang of familiarity and they'd say "You don't remember us from the other week!?" The Osaka club scene is pretty small, you have to be careful as everyone blends in to one. This night was a particularly drunken one. I was drinking Moscow mules, my drink of choice to get totally fucked up and chances of vomiting my guts out to the point of a torn wind pipe were high, but it was better than drinking beer, it made me bloated and took about 12 to get me fucked up by that point.

I'd stay at the bar and down three drinks in a row, it was all-you-can-drink so I'd just down it and they'd pour another one without walking away from me. I vaguely knew the bar tender, but so many of them are tattooed and pierced that I'd forgotten his name but was trying to look confident, like the ground wasn't spinning as I found myself once again with my head thrown back and looking at the bottom of an empty glass, the bitter citrus and vodka ripping through my system like acid. When I felt the urge to vomit I knew it was time to dance, I needed to move around, get the blood flowing and the alcohol to take over so I wouldn't want to stab the next fucking Japanese bitch with a short skirt and spike heels that stepped on my foot, once I was pissed enough I either wouldn't notice or I'd just push her out of my way with a definite shove.

I reached the dance floor and squeezed in to my usual spot near the speaker, perfect for making the 'hands in the air signal' and pretending you couldn't hear if some douchebag was talking to you, or if he looked worth it, an excuse to take him away to a quieter corner so you could hear each other better. And sure enough, pretty soon, the Nigerian guy who I'd made the mistake of shagging once came over and started sweating all over me. I pretended I couldn't hear him and then I pretended I couldn't remember him but he still didn't get the point and I was annoyed that I had to move away from my usual poaching spot. I started dancing and edged myself away and got lost in the crowd, back to the other side of the stage and I was safe again, it was then that the guy we called the 'French hobbit' came bobbing over, his big bald head glistening with sweat, the only thing I liked about the French hobbit was that he was straight up, no fucking around with small talk, he'd grab a big handful of your arse without even kissing both your cheeks and as soon as I'd slap his hand away he'd make a pissed off face and then go target some poor naive J-girl who didn't see the hobbit-ness of him. After I'd gotten ridden of Frenchie I was almost getting pissed off and thinking about catching the last train home but decided on one last drink in the hope that the night would improve. But it's always the nights you think are going to be shit that take interesting turns isn't it?

I ended up talking to a group of Brazilian guys at the bar, Brazilians in Japan are always great fun because they usually only speak Portuguese and there's always a big confusing pot of English, Spanish, Japanese and Portuguese in the language mix. The guy I'd taken a liking to couldn't speak a word of English, so we were communicating in broken Japanese, I knew this meant his wife was probably Japanese, but you try not to think of things like that when you're trying to pull. We didn't even dance, we didn't even go through the normal channels, we just left. He grabbed my hand and that was it. It was still early and we went out in to the cool night air and started kissing up against the wall of the building the club was in but I still had the senses to not want to make gross public displays of affection so I said we had to go somewhere. I didn't want to go to a love hotel and I definitely didn't want to go back to my place so I asked him if he had a car, and he did, perfect!

We walked a fair while, it wasn't coin parking so it must have been his house or work parking lot, now I think about it, it was incredibly dangerous, winding through those dark streets, but we laughed the whole way, probably saying the same thing in each other's languages like, "Fucking hell, I can't believe we're doing this, I don't even know your name!!"
We reached his car and climbed in the back seat, I sat on a squeaky toy and tried to block out the fact that a squeaky toy means this guy had kids, and we got to it. It was so fun and carefree, when it was over we just lay there, my feet up against the back windows and for a minute came to my senses and freaked out. But the Brazilian guy was giggling like a little girl as he tried to find a cigarette and I had to laugh as I told him I didn't smoke but he gave me one anyway because he wanted to be a gentleman! I stuck it behind my ear and struggled to get dressed again. When I got out of the car I was cold, my legs were wobbly and I realised I had no idea how to get back to the club, Brazilian guy walked me back and we parted ways at the street before the club, he gave me a long kiss and said "Ciao bella!" with that cheeky Brazilian giggle. I never did ask him his name, but I was kind of glad. I didn't feel dirty or like a whore (although I did get a cigarette out of it!) I just felt the usual feeling of 'what the fuck is going on' that is so common when you drink too much for a long period of time.

I went back to the club and danced until it closed at 7am, it was a fucking great night, but who knows how I had the energy!