Read The Scorpion's Sweet Venom Online
Authors: Bruna Surfistinha
By December 2003, I'd already bought myself a computer. It was a way to fill my moments of solitude. I'd always loved surfing
the Internet andhad discovered blogs. Everyone had their own and it looked interesting, fun. I decided to run a Google search
for blogs by working girls, just to see what their lives were like, the day-to-day life of another girl like myself, to compare.
You can find everything on the Internet, can't you? Well surprise surprise - no hits! I searched again, using every available
search engine. Nothing!
I was alone a lot, which I hate. It scares me, I don't know why. I'd met a girl who was really nice-Gabi, who rented a flat
in the same building as me and who is now my best friend. One night when I was feeling down, I called her over the intercom
and asked her to come and keep me company, but she couldn't. I almost went crazy. So I decided to write in my blog everything
I'd wanted to tell her that night. Someone would see it. Who knows, maybe even my family would see it. What I really wanted
was for someone to come to my aid, save me. From my life, my story. From me.
I was really down. I wrote a sketch of my life and said that prostitution wasn't worth it and that if I could turn back the
clock I'd never have chosen this path. All this in a working girl's blog . . . The next day I was feeling a little better
and decided to delete everything. People were going to think that, as well as a pro, I was crazy. I think all this happened
because Christmas was near. I thought about mymother, home. My enthusiasm for the blog cooled somewhat and I forgot about
it for a while.
On 1 January 2004, I thought: I'm going to go back to my blog. Since it was a kind of diary, it made sense to start that day.
I decided to write about my daily life instead of just offloading. And I'd also be able to record in a different way everything
that I wrote in my agenda, especially details about each client. I'd always thought about doing a more in-depth statistical
study when I left prostitution. For example, I'm 100 per cent certain that 70 per cent of my clients are married. I always
ask them why they're cheating on their wives, not to mention paying for sex. There are only two kinds of answer. They're tired
of having sex with their wives or afraid to tell their wives their fantasies because they're too prudish. Only 20 per cent
are diehard bachelors who don't have time or can't be bothered going out (or can't pick anyone up), and the other 10 per cent
are engaged or committed.
I never imagined that other people would find it all so interesting. But I thought it would be fun for me. Imagine being able
to classify sex, say what it was like. This was how I came up with my 'categories':
- Mechanical: there's no chemistry, when I'm tired and impatient. I keep glancing at the clockand watching the time, which
doesn't pass. I do everything begrudgingly, although I do everything I can to make the client come quickly and leave. Sometimes
I even sigh loudly. 'Shall we change position?' the client asks. Completely bored, I answer, 'Humph', since I can't swear.
. . . I don't even go to the trouble of moaning.
- Couple: there's chemistry, as if we were a real couple having sex for the first time, at a motel, kissing, hugging, caresses,
careful sex, the missionary position.
- Smutty: does smutty need explaining? I feel like a real prostitute, and I let it all hang out. I don't really know how to
explain it . . . With couple sex, even when it's hot, I don't feel like a prostitute. In this case I do.
My blog was hosted in the Terra website. One night, when I went to make a post, I typed in my password and a message appeared
saying it was wrong. It was a Friday and I'd have to wait until the following Monday to resolve the problem.
On the Sunday, I decided to try again and, to my surprise, I saw there was a new post and, worse, it wasn't what I had written!
I realised that someone must have hacked my computer and stolen my password . . . I was so angry I cried!
On the Monday, I called Terra and managed toget in touch with the person responsible for the blogs. I explained what had happened
and they managed to restore my password after a week. The person continued posting every day, pretending to be me.
I got scared that this person might write something compromising. But it didn't happen. The person was happy just imitating
me, and they did it so well that I actually thought I'd written some of those posts.
I got my password back, deleted everything I hadn't written and explained what had happened to my readers. A month had barely
gone by when my password was stolen again. This time it was much worse, because not only did the person pretend to be me,
but they also posted Word files stolen from my computer. They were very compromising, since some chapters of my book were
copied and pasted into the blog.
This time I cried even more and lost several nights' sleep, wondering who might have done it and why. I managed to recover
my password again, but I gave up on the blog. Until a friend who works with computers suggested I get my own site, where I
could continue my blog and also post my photos.
It was with this site that I started to taste success. The photos helped me gain the trust of people who didn't believe that
the blog was written by a realworking girl. I'd received lots of emails from people who didn't believe me. Many of them thought
I was a man dreaming it all up.
It was with this change of address that my blog started making waves. Many people thought - and still think - that my stolen
passwords were just a marketing ploy to get attention.
My blog suddenly had so many visitors that I got a fright. Something so startling was going on that the guys at iBest, the
host site, called to tell me my blog was the second most visited link. I had no idea it would go so far. At first, I was frightened.
It's strange thinking that lots of people know what's going on in your life. It was as if they'd invaded my house and rummaged
through my drawers. At the same time, I discovered that that was exactly what I wanted - for people to read about my life.
At least my public life. Not Raquel's, but Bruna's.
I went to bed for the last time in that flat. Our talk had really upset me. My father didn't trust me at all. Not even in
my ability to look after myself. He made me feel useless. I promised myself it was the last time I'd allow that to happen.
With him or any other man on the face of this earth. I oscillated between moments of distress and great excitement. In a few
hours, I'd be free to go wherever I wanted, to do whatever I wanted.
Wednesday, 28 June
FIRST CLIENT
Client profile: a bit nutty at first. Later, he was OK. And really naughty. There was no chemistry or affinity.
Classification: mechanical.
Interesting fact: he slipped his dick into my cunt thinking it was my arse. But it wasn't my fault. I swear.
Funny fact: he swore I'd smoked pot. It wasn't true. I swear.
Round one: we went down on each other, but neither of us came. Just as well. Then I rode him until his eyes rolled back in
his head.
Round two: I got on all fours and we had anal . . . oops . . . vaginal sex until he came.
Since June 2004, my posts in
www.brunasurfis-tinha.com
have all been like this. Standardised, very simple, without many details.
I had up to ten clients a day. I didn't have much time to write, just enough between clients to jot things down on a piece
of paper to type up later on the computer. Even so, due to the blog, I inspired the fantasies of many boys and men as they
wanked themselves off. And I gained a certain fame. It wasn't exactly what I'd been seeking, but since it had happened . .
.
In August 2004, the magazine
É
poca
interviewed me and a special edition of the magazine
Capricho
did a story on me. I gave an interview to
Vip
, several newspapers and a couple of porno magazines. I appeared in a number of websites, participated in online chats and,
one day I was invited to appear on the TV programme
Superpop,
hosted by Luciana Gimenez. It was a double opportunity.
Firstly, I'd be able to show my face so people would believe I actually existed and was really me. Yes, lots of false Brunas
were beginning to pop up all over the place using my name, like a certain Samara, who passed herself off as me in the online
community
Orkut
and even created a community: ENOUGH OF BRUNA, THE SURFER GIRL.
Secondly, I believed my parents would see me and realise that, although I'm in prostitution, I'm fine. I'm not rotting in
a corner. That's what I wasthinking when I gave the interviews. I even went on the radio station Jovem Pan's programme
P
â
nico
(lots of fun). By the way, they were really nice. I was worried they were going to have a laugh at my expense - but they didn't.
They even avoided inviting listeners to ask questions. I guess there's a lesson in it for all of us. I hope that one day,
when this is all over, I can have a relationship with my parents again.
The day I went on
Superpop,
the exposure started to make itself felt before I'd even gone on air - or left home. The production car arrived at my building
and the driver asked the doorman to let me know they'd arrived. The doorman, of course, asked if I was going to be on TV and,
obviously, watched the programme, which is live. Needless to say, word got around. It didn't change the way the employees
here treat me. There was just one time that the building manager got on my case, saying that the other residents were complaining
that I brought a lot of men here. I'd never seen a soul in the corridor . . . He was the one who had a problem with it. When
they saw that I'd become 'famous', however, it stopped. They started treating me with even more respect (not that anyone had
ever treated me badly).
Thursday, 13 July
I'd always wondered what it would be like to have sex with a call boy. Were they as diligent as I was with my clients? Were
they able to please a woman, get her nice and wet and make her come for real? There were lots of call boys living in the same
building as me. All really cute, but trying hard to cultivate a bad-boy image or a swish, designer look. Since curiosity always
speaks loudest, especially to me, I decided to give one a try. I can't even begin to describe it. It was . . . it was . .
. HORRIBLE! We were like two little sex-machines: him faking it on the one hand while I faked it on the other. It was like
choreography: I trotted out my tricks and he did his. Kiss, suck, lick, stick it in. Really strange. But that wasn't the worst
of it. I was completely turned off when I remembered that most of his clients were men. Modesty aside, I think I manage to
be a little bit less mechanical with my clients. And, since I wasn't paying (neither was he), there was no reason for it to
be a 'free sample' of professional sex . . .
I realised that my blog, as well as attracting a lot of people who didn't used to be my clients, could alsobe 'something extra'
for my clients to enjoy. They love seeing my assessment of their performance. So much so that I have a notice: THE 'MOST INTERESTING'
OR 'BEST' PERFORMANCES OF THE WEEK. IF YOU'VE VISITED ME IN THIS PERIOD AND I'VE FAILED TO MENTION YOU, DON'T WORRY. TRY AGAIN
WHEN YOU CAN . . . And a lot of them really do try several times. Good for business, isn't it?
When things stabilised at an average of five or six clients a day (from Monday to Friday, only after lunch), I decided to
spice up my blog. But always taking care not to reveal the identity of my clients. Only they know who I'm talking about. There
are things like tattoos, or the location of a piercing, or some detail of their body or personality that can give them away.
Which is not my intention. There are prostitutes who end up making their clients' lives hell, blackmailing them even. But
this is definitely not my cup of tea. I get my kicks from other things.
Something everyone always asks is if I actually feel pleasure with my clients. The answer is yes. No matter how professional
it is, if there's chemistry, affinity and the guy turns me on, why shouldn't I make the most of it? After all, playing is
my job. I'm paid to indulge other people's fantasies. (I have myown, but I keep them to myself. As a 'business woman', I have
my professional routine and a 'Bruna quality standard' to keep up).
In spite of this playful side to my work and getting to meet a lot of people, I confess that I sometimes feel lonely. I don't
like being on my own. I need to care for someone and feel that someone cares for me. I'm not a machine. I sense something
good's going to happen when the client really wants to give me pleasure. If that's what he wants, why not give it to him?
Or at least try. Of course, sometimes it just doesn't happen. Not even with what I like to call 'inner effort' - Kegal exercises
using the pelvic-floor muscles, which potentialise the strength of an orgasm. I use this technique with the clients who really
want me to come. To come more quickly . . . These certainly don't go in my blog . . .
In spite of the life I lead, I've managed to have a few boyfriends, as well as a lot of flings. The last one lasted four months.
I know, not long. But, for someone with a life like mine, it was a long time. We met through a mutual friend. Well, he wasn't
a friend, until he became one. This guy called me several times, and we started chatting a lot. With me, when you're a friend,
there's no sex. I don't have sex with my friends. One night, I was hangingout at my place with Gabi and I told him to come
over and bring a friend for her.
No fooling around. I was looking for company, to shoot the breeze, and if something happened it would be personal. He did
bring a friend - my boyfriend! When we saw each other, it was like something out of a film, devastating and mutual. He knew
who I was, what I did and everything. Even so, I went with him that night and we started seeing each other. It felt great.
Once again I was just a girl who liked a guy and felt something for him.
Our relationship was like that of any girl my age. We went out, watched films, went dancing, hung out at home, laughed, talked
and, of course, had sex. I know how to separate the sex of my work from sex with my boyfriend - with love, lust, or whatever
it is that drives the relationship. My head and body might be tired, but when I'm with my partner I want to have real sex.
Sometimes, I have to make an effort. But it's awful not to give attention to the person you're with. After all, the guy already
has to deal with the fact that his girlfriend is a pro. How could I let him go without sex? Even though he knew all about
me from the outset, like the others before him, after a while he found he couldn't handle the fact of my profession and all
the hype about the blog, my 'fifteen minutes offame'. What a shame. These minutes will pass and I'll still be here, being
myself.
Amidst all the razzle-dazzle, all the attention I was getting because of the interviews and, of course, the TV shows, there
were people who already knew me and called me up just to talk. On the other hand, there were also people who called to remind
me that being a pro has its price in any day and age. A kid who had gone to school with me at Bandeirantes called and really
got me down. 'Well, Raquel, who would have imagined? A pro!' What hurt most is that he wanted to hurt me. 'Everyone that studied
with us is in their second or third year of university and you're the only one that's a pro.' He put me down, and got to me
in a way I didn't want him to. Of course I'd already thought about these things, and the lives of the people who'd gone to
school with me: they were all progressing. To this day I'm not really sure why he did that. He didn't gain anything, insulting
me like that. Still, what did I expect?
There are those who think that prostitutes don't have needs. How silly. It's like saying that cooks don't get hungry. That
must be why, although sex was my work, I was always masturbating. I wanted to enjoy my own fantasies. The last time I went
withsomeone as a 'civilian', the guy ended up getting fired. That's right! The person who told me the outcome of the story
was Natalia, a friend who swells the numbers in group sex when the clients don't bring other girls. We'd gone to a normal
nightclub, just for fun, in Jardins. I mentioned it in my blog, saying what club it had been at (some grass probably read
it and the guy got fired as a result). I felt bad, but he was the one who was working, not me . . . I'd drunk a lot. When
that happens I'm really easy, I lose control. Actually, in my opinion, all women become easy and turned on in this situation.
The club is divided into two parts. I was upstairs, where he was working as a waiter at the bar. I noticed him staring at
me - and I stared back, of course, openly flirting. When I went to get another beer at the counter, he flirted back and I
couldn't help myself - I kissed him. I asked for a paper napkin to write my number on so we could meet elsewhere. 'No, I've
got an idea. I'll go into the bathroom, you wait a minute, then follow me in. We can have a quickie in there.' It was more
than half an hour . . . When we came out, there was a huge queue at the door. The bathroom is unisex and I was so embarrassed
as I walked out. It had been ages since I'd had sex with whoever I wanted. I needed to have sex likethat, with someone I was
interested in - and not for money.
I'd already given up hope of ever being involved with someone. But, on Valentine's Day, 2005, I felt like a normal girl again
- someone asked me to be his girlfriend. That's right!!! It was Pedro. He was married and was always saying his marriage was
on the rocks, but he hadn't separated because of his two young daughters. He'd never been with a prostitute, but he followed
my blog, was curious to meet me, and, as he said, became my fan. He ended up visiting me seven times, from the time we met
until we became friends. He'd separated from his wife a few months before.
On Valentine's Day, surprise surprise! He asked me to go out with him. He'd already insinuated that he'd support me financially
if I wanted to give up prostitution. I explained (and he was mature enough to understand) that I'd left my parents' home to
be independent. He respects me and handles being with me just fine. So much so that we now live together and have plans for
the future. I think he's the love of my life. My mother would certainly love him. I always joke with him, saying that experience
has taught me all the excuses husbands tell their wives when they're cheating on them. He'll have to be really creative if
he ever feels tempted . . . Poor Pedro.
Thursday, 7 August
FIFTH CLIENT
Yay! Finally someone invited me to a swingers' club!!! We arrived at 11 p.m. and left at 4 a.m. He'd already gone out with
me three times before. I was left with a weird feeling at the end of the evening. I ended up crying in the couples' room.
It was packed, but it wasn't nice, even though there were lots of beautiful people there. There were lots of young guys on
their own, lots of hard-to-please women and, in the maze, on Thursdays, unaccompanied men are allowed in. In other words,
you can't go in there, because they're like vultures to a carcass. It's true. But the music was excellent, with lots of old
classics. They even played one of my favourites (I don't know the name, but I know it's by The Mamas & The Papas).
Unfortunately for the men, Thursday is also the day when there is a strip show just for the ladies. I wasn't pulled into the
middle of the show, as usually happens. Partly because I didn't feel like it. We switched couples three times, but only one
of the women was worth it for me. With the first couple, the girl was really sexy, but she didn't gowith women, unfortunately
for me. When I took my top off, she squeezed my breast and said, 'It's silicone, isn't it, hon?' Calling me 'hon', especially
during sex, was a turn-off. I laughed in her face. I don't like it when people call me 'honey'. Much less 'hon'.
Her partner was also an annoying young guy who wanted to come on my tits. I refused, but he insisted. I don't like it when
someone insists on something I don't feel like doing, so I ended up saying it was OK. Just when he was about to come, I got
back at him - I moved away and not a drop of come fell on me. The second swap was with a Japanese guy who I actually quite
liked, but when we got down to business, I didn't enjoy it. We were having sex with me on all fours on the sofa and him standing.
He was really pounding me. I turned my face to one side to avoid slamming my nose straight into the wall. I ended up banging
my head anyway. I saw stars. He was a bit aggressive, but luckily he came quickly. My client pretended to come with the 'hon'
so they'd leave quickly and we could have sex by ourselves. With me, he came.