Report of a making out with the university student at the Indian party

Breno Agnes Queiróz
“The Tupinambás are so luxurious that there is no sin of luxury that they do not commit. […] They are very fond of nefarious sin, among which there is no affront; and the one who uses a male is considered brave, and this bestiality is counted for prowess; and in their villages across the hinterland, there are some who have a public tent for those who want them as public women ”Source: Gabriel Soares de Sousa. Descriptive Treaty of Brazil in 1587. Belo Horizonte, Itatiaia, 2001.
I love themed parties. One of the first in which I participated, and it was mandatory to be dressed according to the theme, was called “Programa de Índio”. It was in a student republic, two reais to enter (or “doilão”, to value the meager reals), cheap drink (a small cup with a drop of flavor for 50 cents, two swamps for 5 stories) and a lot of crazy people.
The good thing about this party was not the prices, nor the fact of having a bunch of college students away from their parents, drunk and one more delicious than the other… but the friend who called me explained that whoever was not dressed up as an Indian would have to stay whole party shirtless and make gouache traces on the cheek and chest.
I was 17 and already very hairy, so I was ashamed to get there and have to take my shirt off. To this day, I believe that hair drives people away at first impression, but I also know that many love it. My friend said that, for sure, I would find something good at this party.
Quickly I ran to the stationery shop, bought gouache and some colored papers and made a piggy improvised headdress. I put on a brown T-shirt and grabbed necklaces made of seeds. I was a little Indian ready to make some noise.
When we got to the party door, I couldn’t contain my lust. There was a lot of cat there, half without a shirt. I was already getting a tent (or a tent, I don’t know). We paid, went in and went to see the territory.
The entrance was through the garage and had a freezer in a corner with a table improvising a bar. The entrance hall became a dance floor with DJ and everything. Through the side corridor was the access to a huge yard that had a children’s pool full of Styrofoam fish for people to play fishing. In the kitchen they were selling snacks, candy, popcorn and hominy. Further down there was a kind of small house and the male bathroom (the female was inside the house).
“Oca” was written on the door of the small house on a poster made of something that looked like straw. Inside there were about 5 hammocks and houses already on fire. But my friend cut the cheap and told me to be careful because it was a straight party and not every straight guy is cool.
Okay for me, I was walking around, looking at some pectorals and dying of envy for the women who passed their hands on them… If envy killed I would have become a royal victory !!! That Indian party was almost becoming an Indian program for me. I was getting drunk and decided to dance in the “dance-floor room” with my friend, who was already angry with a guy he knew from college.
The room was full and, as soon as I entered, I came across a breastplate and mouth-watering nipples. But my friend pulled my arm, brought me back to reality and we were dancing by the window. Once in a while my friend would give nervous hands to the guy who was with him. A guy behind us saw one of the kids and I looked at him right when he saw it. I prepared for anything, imagine if he starts hitting us?
But he got closer to me and started kicking my heel lightly, until one hour he touched me whole! I don’t know how the paint on my face didn’t melt because my face caught on fire! The guy was tall, his chin was hitting my head. As he realized that I was enjoying it, he took one of my elbows and rubbed his cassava on me. Ahhhh I almost gave a battle cry, that was the smoke signal I expected!
He came close to my ear and said, “Shall we get another church?” I said “ahn-han” and he was pushing me towards the door while I was dodging the people. We got the beer and he took me to the back of the house to talk. We talked for a long time, he said he was engineering something and he was 22.
There was my tupiniquim of the honey lips, whose hair was blacker than the wing of the grain. The honeycomb was not as sweet as his smile; nor did vanilla smell in the woods like its fragrant breath. It had entrances on the sides of the abdomen and a few brown nipples on top of firm and soft pectorals. Few hairs on the body, just a few hairs smeared with gouache in the middle of the breasts and a little more fed up on the “path of happiness” – that little trail of hair that goes from the navel to the turnip and potatoes.

As I had already drunk too much, and I was a little clueless, I started pulling the dry ink out of his hair … and he gave me a little bit on his six pack with each pull. Then he said “come, let’s go to the hollow” and we went.
We enter a hammock, in a dark corner. I asked “Won’t that be a problem?” He said, “No, the people here are Sussa, but they have to be isolated. And I am one of the residents of the house ”. So I asked “And why are you shirtless and painted? Aren’t owners released from paying entry or wearing costumes? ” He looked at me with a dirty face and said, “And I was going to miss the opportunity to feel you tearing pieces of paint off me?”
He closed the net and we started to kiss, lying down. I think he liked pain, because he breathed hard whenever I took a bite out of his lips (and I am almost a cannibal Indian), and he squirmed and squeezed my waist whenever I pulled a little hair with paint. How was it that people were seeing that network shaking so much? I kept taking paint chips closer and closer to my pants, until I finally reached the pipe of peace. He did the same, and as we knew we couldn’t do much more there, we started playing drums for each other.
Before we rained and smeared that rain dance inside the hammock, we went to his room. We take off our clothes. And as this is just another make-up tale, I will just say that in the end I fell asleep, being hugged from behind by the chief of the tribe, slick with gouache paint, beer and manioc porridge, while he hummed in my ear ”one, two, three little Indians, four, five, six, little Indians… ”

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