THE HISTORY OF MIRTES

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When Mirtes moved from the country to the city, she, her mother, Dona Armenia, and a younger brother, Francisco, came. Mirtes was 12 years old. His father had been murdered in an ambush and whoever killed him had not been found or discovered. The motives for the crime were also unknown.

In the first few days, shortly after moving out, in his memory the memories of those sad and tragic moments in the small hut where he was born and lived until a few days before were still very vivid. But two memories insisted on remaining before his eyes wide with horror. In the first, he saw his father’s bloody body, two holes in his chest where he kept his heart, which no longer beat, fallen in the doorway, half body out, half body in, as if in his last act of life was undecided between entering or leaving the house, which he would never do again. No sound accompanied Mirtes’ vision. At that moment, a deep silence took over the night and everything.

The second image that didn’t leave her was that of her father, hands clasped over her chest, eyes closed, wearing a white shirt that someone must have given her mother (she didn’t remember seeing her father wearing that shirt), bare feet, close together, as if they had been glued together, lying down and very well accommodated in a simple polished wooden coffin surrounded by a thin purple fabric, placed on a bed frame supported by four small stools. Those same stools that served as a seat for the family during their meals meals.

But that memory was always accompanied by the voice of his hand saying to him quietly: “Come on, Mirtes, serve some cakes like coffee with milk for our friends. The night is cold ”.

 In the city, Dona Arênia worked as a seamstress and Mirtes, still young, already helped her mother by selling rustic eggs and homemade cakes, door to door. Francisco had a shoeshine box and was in the square, shining shoes. They both studied, and were good students.

Dona Armenia’s family was respected and admired by everyone for their hard work. Everyone worked. That was the story that everyone knew. According to Fê, Mirtes’ best friend and main gossip in the city told me, as she grew up, Mirtes was being watched by someone, a highly regarded person in the city, with a lot of financial and economic power, who came to have her. a special interest. This interest began on a day that Mirtes passed by this person on the street and greeted him, as he did with everyone. But the way she smiled got that person excited. Mirtes was then fourteen. She had a well-developed body and was becoming an admirable woman. Anyone who didn’t know her would think she was about eighteen to twenty. But it was still going to be fifteen. That day, the person called her and asked her if she knew how to do nails. She said yes, that she did her own nails and her mother’s. But I had never studied for that. The person then told him to go home later and look for Dolores, his wife. That she would teach you how to do nails right, like a professional. Thus began the story of Mirtes as a manicure and pedicure.

Every day she went to Dolores’ house, the person’s wife – Fê insisted on not saying the name “I speak the miracle, but I don’t tell the name of the saint” – where she trained in nail care techniques. Of hands and feet. Whenever he arrived, he had someone different to serve as a guinea pig. In a short time his skills were already known, recognized and it could already be said that he was a

professional. In a briefcase he kept all the material he used for his work and soon the word spread that he was doing nails at home was spread around the city. The suitcase had been brought from São Paulo by Dolores, the person’s wife, who told her, when she wanted to know how she would pay “It is a gift for you to start your career. Gift from me and my husband ”and concluded“ I just want you to do my nails every Saturday ”. So they were agreed. And so it was done every Saturday.

When I asked Fê how she knew about this story, she told me that Mirtes herself had told her. But that most of the story only she knew. And that much was said about Mirtes, but there was little truth in what the others said. “Maledicences, you know how it is,” he said, smiling.

Mirtes did not take long to have a large number of women who became his clients, to do nails in their homes, all week. Always at home. And a lot of men. Some, to keep their nails clean and well cared for, in a show of male vanity that was beginning to become common all over the world. Others, for the simple fact of having their hands and feet being “cared for and caressed” as they said, by Mirtes, whom they referred to as “The Hot”.

Mirtes spent his days roaming the city, from side to side, working. He assembled his scripts according to the schedule he made. She was starting to earn a buck that had already made her regain confidence in her future. He dreamed of helping his mother and tidying up the house where they lived and which they had bought when they came to the city, shortly after their father’s murder, with the money they had obtained from the sale of the land where they lived.

He was sixteen when, on a Saturday afternoon, he was at that person’s house, when a storm began to fall that seemed capable of destroying the world. The two of them, she and Dolores, the person’s wife, were sitting on the internal porch of the house, doing their nails and talking animatedly. On the television in the living room, a film was shown that the two watched without paying much attention, through the window that looked from the balcony to the living room. At one point, in the film, two characters kissed passionately, passionately. Two women. There was a strange silence on the porch. The two, Mirtes and Dolores, the person’s wife, looked at each other awkwardly.

 Dolores, the person’s wife, then forced a smile and told Mirtes that this was not the right time for a kiss like that.

Mirtes, in his innocence, replied that he saw nothing much. That he thought there was no time for two people to kiss. Then Dolores, the person’s wife, asked if she thought it was normal for two women to kiss and Mirtes said yes, that she thought there was nothing too much, that she even thought it was beautiful. And when Dolores, the person’s wife, asked him if he would have the courage to kiss another woman, Mirtes simply got up from the stool on which she was sitting, walked over to where Dolores, the person’s wife was, bowed and kissed her on the mouth. , lightly. It was a quick kiss that didn’t even taste. Then he went back to his bank and continued to take care of the person’s wife’s nails.

According to Fê, that kiss was just the beginning of a series of kisses that followed that day, on the balcony, in the living room and, finally, in the couple’s bedroom, where Dolores, the person’s wife, initiated Mirtes into things of sex. .

At sixteen she was a virgin. She already had a woman’s body, but she had never had a boyfriend. I had only been kissed a few times, by a more audacious boy, from a neighboring town, who had come to play football in my town, on a Sunday. But it hadn’t even been a proper kiss. Now, he had known what it was like to actually kiss. With tongue in tongue, being squeezed by another woman, feeling her body being covered by an avid mouth that kissed her all over, while she was squeezed by hands that felt electric when touching her, giving her shocks and more shocks that made her shake all over the body, from head to toe. He learned what it is to be horny, to have the middle of the legs on fire, to feel a delicious languor when the tongue of the person’s wife ran through the back of his neck. For the first time, she was stripped by someone. And for each piece of clothing that was taken from her body, more kisses, more hugs, more squeezes, but a wet tongue making her intoxicated.

Mirtes told Faith that he simply went mad on that day with pleasure, love and passion. As the person was traveling and Dolores, his wife, had stayed alone at home, Mirtes decided to stay to sleep at the person’s house, even without telling his mother. He knew she wouldn’t mind because she was going to imagine that Mirtes was taking shelter from the storm at one of her clients’ houses. After all, Mirtes was pure and innocent. I wouldn’t do anything that was wrong. no madness.

That night they made love, she and Dolores, the person’s wife, until they were exhausted. Mirtes never forgot everything that happened that Saturday.

Fé told me that the person was the first man to have Mirtes. And that it had happened on the Saturday following that on which she had been initiated by his wife. No trauma, no betrayal, no problem.

Fê told me that Mirtes told him that she spent the next week waiting and hoping only for Saturday to come quickly. Imagining how good it would be to be with Dolores again, the person’s wife, in his arms, having his body covered in kisses and also covered with kisses that other body, as he never imagined he would be able to kiss. Mirtes, according to Fê told me, seemed to enjoy pleasure just in saying what the two of them, she and Dolores, the person’s wife, would do on Saturday. She, Fê, could guarantee that that Mirtes who was telling her all that was not the same Mirtes she had known for so many years. It had undoubtedly undergone a marked change.

After being quiet for a while, Fê told me that anything I heard being said about Mirtes was actually an invention. Especially when they called her a dyke. She was not a dyke. I wasn’t even a whore. He had never made love to a woman other than Dolores, the person’s wife. And it had only been given to a single man. Any

something else I heard in addition, was the purest and most outright lie. To prove it, he gave me to read some sheets of notebook where it was written, by Mirtes herself, the account he had made in his diary, of what had happened. Mirtes, according to her, had given him those leaves because she herself had not had the courage to tear them up. So he asked Fê to do it, as soon as he had read it. But Fê, as she said, preferred to keep it, promising in her heart to keep the strictest secret.

This is what Mirtes wrote in his diary.

“Ah, how God seems to be making up for what he took from me by taking my father. I’m sure that everything from now on will be much better than it was until today. Only good things have happened to me. I am very happy. I even think that those who know me must be wondering how happy I look. It’s just that they don’t know that I don’t just look happy. I am and I am really happy. Ah, how good it is to be filled with love. I had never even imagined, not for a second, how love is good, how loving is good and how making love can be so delicious. I didn’t believe it when Dolores told me she was going to eat me in such a delicious way that I would stay crazy. But when she started to kiss me, everything became so good that I started to lose my fear and more and more I wanted her to squeeze me more, kiss me more, to hug me more and to keep her body from mine. As she was touching me, caressing me, sliding her hands over my body, I was losing more and more fear and letting myself be dominated by a huge desire to never let that end again. God. I thought I was going to die when she put her hand lightly on my pussy and was smoothing me, smoothing, smoothing and when I realized, I was sticking a finger that moved sideways, removed and stuck, up, down, to the sides, while I was moving the body as if it were being commanded by that finger, directing me, guiding me, the finger sticking, making me move, move, move, going in and out in a nice way, oh, there, that only to remember now I’m almost cumming and my body is moving tasty like that finger made me move. I had never really come and I had no idea what it was like to really come. So, without even knowing why I told her that and she told me that she was going to make me explode in wonderful joy, that I wouldn’t even understand what happened when I came. He put me on all fours on the bed, got under me and started to lick my pussy, squeezing my lips with my lips, while I was rubbing my ass. I was getting soft and I almost didn’t feel it when she, still sucking on me, licking my pussy inside and out, was sticking he I didn’t understand anything anymore and I just wanted that finger to go deeper and deeper, deeper, deeper. My body refused to stay still, to be quiet and just moved, as before. My body bucked and swayed trying to keep up with the movements and rhythm of that tongue sucking and nibbling at my pussy and that sticky finger and pushing it deeper and deeper into my ass. I didn’t realize how much time had already passed when she pulled me into her fine and told me that she also wanted to come hot and that she was going to leave it to me. I stuck my head in the middle of her legs and looked at her pink pussy, all shaved. I gave a little shake when I touched it with my tongue and pressing my lips against it, I started to suck. It had a taste of fennel and a sweet, sweet scent. While I was sucking, I ran a hand over her belly, up to her breasts, which she squeezed in the rhythm of my tongue on her pussy. The other hand I had put propping up your ass while I was going to stick a finger in your ass, which was warm, with a vein pulsing as if to accompany your heartbeat. I confess that I didn’t know what it was like to suck or how to suck a pussy. But I found it more and more delicious and only stopped when she took my head away with her hands and made me hug her body. Then, we positioned our bodies so that my pussy was above your mouth and yours was above mine. A perfect 69. So we suck on each other deliciously until we run out of cum. We didn’t even notice that the rain had stopped and it was already late at night. Our first day of love ended when we slept, hugged, satisfied and happy. I’m not even going to say how my week went because, really, I just thought about what our next Saturday would be like. I couldn’t wait.

Now, at this moment, just thinking about what I am going to write, I am feeling such a hard-on that I can’t even stand it anymore. I’m going to tell you everything, put everything on this sheet because I want to feel what I felt again. And I want whoever reads what I’m writing to know that this was the best day I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t think I’ll ever have a better day than the one I had that Saturday.

It was still early, about eight o’clock in the morning when I arrived at the person’s house and Dolores, the person’s wife, opened the door and sent me in. As soon as I entered, she closed the door and hugged me giving me a long kiss, sticking her tongue in my mouth with all her will. She took my hand and took me to her room and was taking off my clothes while she was kissing me. I just wanted to feel everything that I had felt the previous Saturday, I was letting her do what she wanted to do. She laid me down and lay on top of me. Still kissing me, he was intertwining his legs between my legs, until our pussies were leaning against each other, very close together. So she started to move, to move her body over my body, up and down, this way and that, squeezing me more and more, our pussies glued together as if one wanted to penetrate the other, wet, squeezed, hooked. I was so committed that I just wanted it to go on, not to stop. He groaned and groaned and groaned. I couldn’t keep my eyes open and I didn’t want to open them for fear that it would all end like a dream ends when you open your eyes. That was when I heard a noise and realized that someone else was in the room. She walked away from me and let me see the person, standing by the bed where we were, naked, smiling. I was neither scared nor afraid, nor had any reaction. I just stood there, looking at the person, while Dolores rose from the bed, reached out and pulled the person to the bed. To our bed. That was when I realized that the person had a hard stick pointing upwards. That’s when Dolores took my hand and made me take that stick, hot, soft, incredibly hard. I had already felt what a hard dick was during the kisses I had already had with my flirtations. But I had never seen or taken one. Now, I held that cock and was immediately sure that I wanted it to enter me. That would tear me up. Eat me. Fuck me. When Dolores pushed me away, hugged me and laid me on her, I already knew what was going to happen. But I didn’t care. I was dying for it to happen. While we kissed, holding each other, I felt the person’s hands squeezing my ass, his finger trying to get into my ass. After a while of sticking and taking my finger off my ass, he grabbed me by the shoulder with one hand while with the other he forced me to open my legs. Hugged with Dolores I felt when the person’s dick was squeezing my pussy and forcing his head until he entered. It didn’t hurt like I thought it would. Just a sting and I soon felt like I was shoving everything. I was afraid to move but I wanted him to shove it all at once. So, I threw my ass up and let that stick stay in my pussy until I felt its bag hitting my ass, every time it stuck. It was how I stopped being a virgin. The person kept sticking the stick in my pussy and I got more and more excited, the pussy was already burning but it was a good flavor. Under me, Dolores sucked and bit my titties, which made me even more horny. I don’t even know how many times I came until the person shuddered between moans and I felt his cum dripping into me, a hot liquid like lava from a volcano. Ah, how nice it was to give it the first time. Ah, surely God is compensating me for the pain and sadness of having taken my father. I am very happy.”

When I finished reading the report made by Mirtes in her diary, I understood what Fê wanted me to understand.

Mirtes was not a jerk, nor was she a whore. She was simply a happy woman who had that person and Dolores, the person’s wife, the reason for her happiness. They just loved each other. The three loved each other. Anything I heard beyond that would be and was the purest and most outright lie.

FERNANDA, THE F.

The Bar do Paulo was right in the middle of the main square of my small town, located in the center west of Minas Gerais. It was there that, while the group of friends had beer, I, who did not drink anything that had alcohol content, had juice and soda while we talked about various subjects. Pure philosophy of bar. Bar table wisdom. Talk thrown away. Gossip, lots of gossip. Of these, the most interesting, I learned through the mouth of my friend Fê, who was always very well informed. And that was part of our group because of the importance we gave him to keep us informed about everything and everyone in the city or, perhaps, the fear that we had deep inside us, to become news, one day, in his mouth, if we did not treat her very well. But before reporting them, they must know, as I know them, the Faith. So that they may believe or not believe in it. After all, gossip is the fruit of conversation only between friends. Fernanda’s parents, Fê for her friends, as she liked to say, had moved from my city to Goiânia when she was still a small child, at the age of two. The father, Seu Horácio, had been approved in a contest for the INPS and was appointed to the Capital of the State of Goiás.

The mother, Dona Carlinha, who in my city was a primary teacher, accompanied her husband as a simple housewife. But, arriving in Goiânia, a while later, she got a place as a municipal teacher. They lived in Goiás for seventeen years, until Seu Horácio got a transfer to the INPS Post in a nearby town of mine. But as the distance between the two cities, mine and the one I was going to work were only twelve kilometers away, they preferred to live in my city, where all their relatives lived. His Horacio worked there and spent the weekends and holidays at home, along with Dona Carlinha and the Faith. As he himself said: “Until he could move again. Or until he retired. ” At the age of nineteen, Faith swore with her feet together that she was about to turn seventeen, on the biggest club face. And he would close his face if anyone doubted it. But everyone liked her and no one wanted her to be bored. Especially because if she did not like somebody, alas, poor fellow. She was addicted to gossip. And the addiction to gossip and gossip in the eyes of most people proved to be much worse than the worst of any other addiction. But Fê, whenever she was going to talk about someone, apologized and began saying, “Excuse me, but although I know very little about Fulana’s life …” and soon she would release her tongue for as long as it took to exhaust the whole subject about that person. Then he would restart with another. To those who claimed to know very little about one’s life, until she was always wonderfully well informed. In general, I was informed of the hidden flirtations, who betrayed who with whom, who was fighting with the husband to the point of not talking more, but tried to keep up appearances so that there were no scandals, things like that. Gossip. Gossiping. Gossip. Lots of gossip.

Fê had in principle to speak anything that knew that everyone, of any person, friend or not, but at the same time, secretly hid the most intimate and interesting parts of his own history, So what we knew of his life was more related to the lives of her parents than to herself. And always narrated by her. But as with all people, there is always someone more intimate with whom we open ourselves and trust our secrets and sins. Then, everything is being uncovered gradually and what was once considered an eternal secret is becoming known, by some privileged at the beginning, until it became known to the general public.

I became acquainted with Fe’s true secret story through the indiscreet account of Amora, our common friend, with whom I had had a short-lived affair, but who had left us a certain attraction that made us more than friends. Amora knew all about Faith. “What happened, did you think I was a little sad today?” “Has anything happened? “It was not nothing, Amora, I’m not feeling very well today, it’s memories that make me feel bad.” _ Why do not you tell me? Maybe just talking will improve. Come on, put it out. ” “You know, Amora, I should be celebrating today the birthday of someone who was very important in my life, but who is so far away” _ “In Goiás?” “Yes, Amora, there in Goias.” “_ Boyfriend?” “No, Amora, more than a boyfriend, the only love of my life.” “Listen, Amora, I’m going to tell you some things no one’s ever known, but I’m feeling I need to talk to someone. my name is Pedro and he lives in Goiânia, if he has not changed from there. “

I had finished that first grade year and was going to attend my first day of high school classes in a private school in Goiânia. My parents did not let me go to public school because, according to them, because they could afford to pay for my studies, they preferred to leave a place for someone who did not have these conditions. So, I went there for my first day of classes. He was fourteen. He had already dated an older boy’s boyfriend for two months, when he was twelve. With him I had had some handles, let him suck my little tits that were still very small, but hard, and even took his stick and beat him a few wrists. I had also felt her hand smoothing my whole body, ending always in the middle of my legs, covering my pussy and making fun of her that made me very excited. We used to be very dirty. Everything under his guidance, always teaching me, as he told me. For two months I would meet this boyfriend twice a week and there would always be something new. But he never tried to eat me for real. Although sometimes it was almost. Especially when I took off my panties and kept rinsing the dick in my pussy. I, at those moments, felt a tremendous thirst and a craving for him to eat me. I even asked her insistently to eat me. But he always said no, that I was too young. That he was going to teach me a lot of shit but he was not going to eat me. One day he got a job inside and moved in. So, when I entered that room in junior high school, I was still a virgin, but I was already a jerk. Since I had arrived much earlier, I chose a wallet in the back of the room, from where I could see everyone and not be much of a view. That first day Pedro sat in a wallet next to mine. He did not leave my side until our graduation. We turned nail and meat.

In the beginning, as friends. Until one day he told me that he could not stand being my friend any more, that he wanted me every time he saw me, and that night, every night, he was pounding in his bedroom before bed, thinking that he was fucking me. He spoke just the same, as I am speaking, very clearly, without any shame of me. We were at school, in a corridor overlooking the courtyard and the toilets, and when he finished talking, he stood and showed me the volume of his cock stowing his pants and said to me: “Look how you leave me every day when I see you “He took my hand and started to pass on his pica that was hard and almost ripping the jeans. At that moment I felt I was going to give it to him. My pussy started throbbing, vibrating, and I felt myself getting pissed off. We went to the toilets and walked into the ladies room. We kissed, hugging each other, my body glued to his, feeling his dick stick harder and harder. I then opened his pants, pulled his **** out as he ran his hand over my ass and unbuttoning my blouse, pulling away my bra to nibble on my tits. I could not stand it any longer. He walked away, went to the door that had the key in the lock and keyed inside. He came back, made me turn his back to him, facing the wall, and as he stroked me, he ran his hand over my wet pussy. I was growing weaker and I was giving myself to his caresses without resisting. He guided my hand to his cock as he ran his hand over my ass, pulling my legs slowly, until I put a finger on my ass. When I touched him, I felt him react, closing and opening, closing and opening without me being able to control. He was poking a finger lightly, spinning as he went deeper and deeper. I felt like I’d stuck my finger in and it drove me crazy. I only remember going down to get on all fours while I asked him to eat me, to eat my ass, to fuck me all. He opened the buttocks and shoved his cock into my ass, while he told me to go fucking his butt, swinging. He ate my ass right there, at that moment. In a painful way at first. But that was getting so good as he was shoving and pulling, shoving and pulling, that in the end I just wanted him not to take the stick out of my ass, so good it was. In the end, he was stuffing the little dick into my ass, so deep that I could feel his sack pounding on my ass when he stuffed it all. I only know, Amora, that it was very good to give Pedro’s cua for the first time. From that day forward, we were no longer just friends. Until we graduated, we fucked often. I could not even tell. “But this guy from Pedro just ate his ass, did he?”

For a long time I did not let him in my pussy. Just in my ass. When he wanted to, I said no, I wanted to marry a virgin. That my ass was always his and no one else’s. But the pussy would not even get married. Idea placed in my head by my mother. After we finished high school, Peter and I engaged in a more serious relationship and ended up engaged. We got the wedding. And we’re still fucking more comfortable now that we’re getting married. So one fine day we received an invitation to spend the weekend at a friend’s site of a friend of ours, a few kilometers away from Goiania. We went on a Friday afternoon to return on Monday morning. There we met two more couples: the owners and our common friend, with his wife. We left the part of the food on account of the men, who planned to prepare a barbecue and we arranged to enjoy only the walk, without any home obligation. Since I was the only single, I was a little separated from the others who, because they were married, had more in common to talk. Still on the afternoon of the day we arrived, I decided to enjoy the beautiful view that could be seen from the edge of an artificial lake located some fifty meters from the house where we were. There, sitting on a wooden stool made on a tree trunk, I stared at the landscape. I was so distracted, Amora, that I only realized that I was no longer alone, when I heard a scratch of throat beside me. When I turned around, a man appeared to be in his early forties, handsome and smiling.

“I scared you, I did not mean to, I was so caught up in the landscape that I did not even notice when I arrived, I’m Quincas, a friend of Aparicio, owner of the site.” He held out his hand and when I picked it up, “Oh, Amora, it was as if I had taken a 220-volt shock.” He looked me straight in the eye and told me without letting go of my hand. new, but you’re beautiful, very beautiful, it must be Pedro’s girlfriend, he’s very lucky. The only thing I could say was a “Thank you” that came out scratched from my throat. Really, Amora, I had never felt that way. I wanted him. I wanted him inside me, anyway. I thought I was going crazy when I said, “You’re beautiful too. I do not know why I said that, but I did. When I found myself, he had washed me up in a kind of orchard, where there were some old mangoes that looked so old they were so big. Without a word, he hugged me, covered my mouth with his lips in a warm wet kiss, put his tongue in my mouth until he almost choked me and pressed me against the trunk of the tree. When I came to understand what was happening, I was holding in my hand a large, thick, hot spike that pulsed between my fingers, throbbing. He gently pushed me down, making me crouch down as I stuffed that beauty of cock in my mouth into my throat. I suckled that cock every time with more will. I would take it and lick it, I nibbled it lightly while it was tucked in and I would get that hot tooth in my mouth like I was fucking it. Without saying anything, as I shook from head to toe, she took off my panties and made me stay on all fours. I was sure he was going to fuck me and I wanted to say that I could not, that I was a virgin, that I had promised that the first time in my pussy would be Pedro’s, but I could not speak a word. I just started moaning when I felt he was stuffing that cock into me, carefully, as I moaned and clung to him. I felt it when it tore at me at once, and I did not care about the pain it caused. After shoving, he pushed and pulled the stick inside me. On four, as it put me, I was without any contrary reaction. He fucked me for many minutes until I heard him moan loudly, squeeze me hard, give a thrust that almost knocked me to the floor and wince as hot liquid trickled inside me and down my legs. I do not know, Amora, if I did. What I can say is that I really liked that guy fucking me the pussy I kept, so lovingly, for Pedro. I can say that my first fuck in the pussy could have been divine.  “Uai, Fê, if it was as you told it, it was divine.”

It would have been really, Amora, it would have been if when Quincas had taken his cock out of me and got up I had not come face to face with Pedro, standing about ten meters from us, staring wide-eyed at us, white as a deceased
When I recovered from the shock of that sight, he had already moved away toward the house where our other friends were. I ran, still with his sneaky legs, to meet him but when I got there, he was already accelerating the car and returning to Goiânia. No one understood his back nor my crying. We never met again.
Today, it’s his birthday.
“But what about Quincas?”
Quincas, Amora, stayed there all weekend, comforting me with his pica while his wife just wanted to know how to stroke the pool.

A HISTÓRIA DA MIRTES

Quando a Mirtes mudou da roça para a cidade, vieram ela, sua mãe Dona Armênia e um irmão menor, Francisco. Mirtes tinha 12 anos. Seu pai havia sido assassinado em uma tocaia e quem o matara não havia sido encontrado nem descoberto. Os motivos do crime também não eram conhecidos.

Nos primeiros dias, logo após ter-se mudado, em sua memória ainda eram muito vivas as lembranças daqueles momentos tristes e trágicos do pequeno casebre onde nascera e vivera até poucos dias antes. Mas duas lembranças insistiam em permanecer ante os seus olhos arregalados pelo horror. Na primeira, via o corpo ensanguentado de seu pai, dois buracos no peito sobre onde guardava o coração, que já não batia mais, caído no vão da porta de entrada, meio corpo para fora, meio corpo para dentro, como se em seu último ato de vida estivesse indeciso entre entrar ou sair de casa, o que não faria nunca mais. Nenhum som acompanhava a visão de Mirtes. Naquele momento um silêncio profundo tomava conta da noite e de tudo.

A segunda imagem que não a abandonava era a de seu pai, mãos entrelaçadas sobre o peito, olhos fechados, vestindo uma camisa branca que alguém devia ter dado à sua mãe (ela não se lembrava de já ter visto seu pai usando aquela camisa), pés descalços, bem juntos, como se tivessem sido colados um no outro, deitado e muito bem acomodado em um caixão simples de madeira polida envolvido por um tecido roxo bem fininho, colocado sobre um estrado de cama sustentado por quatro pequenos tamboretes. Aqueles mesmos tamboretes que serviam de assento para a família durante as suas refeições refeições.

Mas essa lembrança era sempre acompanhada da voz de sua mão lhe dizendo baixinho: ” Vai lá, Mirtes, serve uns bolos como café com leite pros nossos amigos. A noite tá fria”.

 Na cidade, Dona Armênia trabalhava como costureira e Mirtes, ainda novinha, já ajudava a mãe vendendo ovos caipira e bolos feitos em casa, de porta em porta. Francisco tinha uma caixa de engraxate e ficava na praça, engraxando sapatos. Estudavam, os dois, e eram bons alunos.

A família de Dona Armênia era respeitada e admirada por todos pelo tanto que trabalhavam. Todos trabalhavam. Essa era a história que todos conheciam. Segundo me disse a Fê, melhor amiga de Mirtes e fofoqueira mor da cidade, à medida em que crescia, Mirtes ia sendo observada por alguém, uma pessoa muito bem conceituada na cidade, com muito poder financeiro e econômico, que passou a ter por ela um interesse especial.  Esse interesse começou em um dia que Mirtes passou por essa pessoa   na rua e o cumprimentou, como fazia com todos. Mas o jeito como ela sorriu  deixou aquela pessoa  agitada. Mirtes tinha, então, quatorze anos. Tinha um corpo bem desenvolvido e estava se tornando uma admirável mulher. Quem não a conhecesse pensaria que ela tinha uns dezoito a vinte anos. Mas ainda ia fazer quinze. Naquele dia, a pessoa a chamou e perguntou-lhe se sabia fazer unhas. Ela disse que sim, que fazia as suas próprias unhas e as da sua mãe. Mas que nunca tinha estudado para isso. A pessoa, então, lhe disse que mais tarde fosse até a sua casa e procurasse Dolores, a sua esposa. Que ela iria lhe ensinar a fazer unhas direito, como uma profissional. Assim começou a história de Mirtes como manicure e pedicure .

Todos os dias ela ia até a casa da Dolores, esposa da pessoa – Fê insistia em não dizer o nome “Falo o milagre, mas não conto o nome do santo” – onde ia treinando as técnicas de cuidar das unhas. Das mãos e dos pés. Sempre quando chegava, tinha alguém diferente para lhe servir de cobaia. Em pouco tempo suas habilidades já eram conhecidas, reconhecidas e já se podia dizer que era uma

profissional. Em uma maleta guardava todo o material que utilizava para o seu trabalho e logo espalhou-se pela cidade a notícia de que fazia unhas a domicilio. A maleta, havia sido trazida de São Paulo pela Dolores, esposa da pessoa, que lhe disse, quando ela quis saber como faria para pagar “É um presente para você começar a sua carreira. Presente meu e do meu marido” e concluiu “Só quero que venha fazer as minhas unhas todo sábado”. Assim ficaram combinadas. E assim era feito todos os sábados.

Quando perguntei a Fê como ela sabia dessa história, ela me disse que a própria Mirtes lhe havia contado. Mas que a maior parte da história só ela sabia. E que muito se falava sobre a Mirtes, mas pouco havia de verdade no que os outros diziam. “Maledicências, você sabe como é”, disse sorrindo.

Mirtes não tardou muito para ter um grande número de mulheres que se tornaram suas clientes, para fazer unhas em suas casas, durante toda a semana. Sempre a domicílio. E outro tanto de homens. Uns, para manterem limpas e bem cuidadas as unhas, numa demonstração de vaidade masculina que estava começando a se fazer comum em todo o mundo. Outros, pelo simples fato de terem suas mãos e pés sendo “cuidados e acariciados” como diziam, pela Mirtes, a quem se referiam como “A Gostosa”.

Mirtes passava os dias percorrendo a cidade, de um lado para o outro, trabalhando. Montava os seus roteiros conforme o agendamento que fazia. Estava começando a ganhar um dinheirinho que já a fizera recuperar a confiança em seu futuro. Sonhava em ajudar a mãe e dar uma arrumada na casa onde moravam e que haviam comprado quando vieram para a cidade, logo após o assassinato do seu pai, com o dinheiro que tinham obtido com a venda  da terrinha onde viviam.

Tinha dezesseis anos quando, numa tarde de sábado, estava na casa daquela pessoa, quando começou a cair um temporal daqueles que parecia capaz de arrasar o mundo. As duas, ela e a Dolores, esposa da pessoa, estavam sentadas na varanda interna da casa, fazendo as unhas e conversando animadamente. Na televisão que ficava na sala passava um filme que as duas acompanhavam sem dar muita atenção, pela janela que dava da varanda para a sala. Em determinado momento, no filme, dois personagens se beijaram de forma acalorada, com paixão. Duas mulheres. Fez-se um estranho silêncio na varanda. As duas, Mirtes e Dolores,a esposa da pessoa, olharam-se meio sem jeito.

 Dolores, a esposa da pessoa, então, forçou um sorriso e disse a Mirtes que aquela não era a hora apropriada para um beijo daqueles.

Mirtes, na sua inocência, respondeu que não via nada demais. Que achava que não precisava ter hora certa para duas pessoas se beijarem. Então Dolores, a esposa da pessoa, perguntou se ela achava normal duas mulheres se beijarem e Mirtes lhe disse que sim, que achava que não tinha nada demais, que até achava bonito. E quando Dolores, a esposa da pessoa, lhe perguntou se teria coragem de beijar outra mulher, Mirtes simplesmente levantou-se do banquinho em que estava sentada, caminhou até onde Dolores, a esposa da pessoa estava, curvou-se e a beijou na boca, de leve. Foi um beijo rápido, que nem deixou sabor. Depois voltou para o seu banco e continuou a cuidar das unhas da esposa da pessoa.

Segundo a Fê, aquele beijo foi apenas o começo de uma série de beijos que se seguiram ainda naquele dia, na varanda, na sala e, finalmente, no quarto do casal, onde Dolores, a esposa da pessoa, iniciou Mirtes nas coisas de sexo.

Aos dezesseis anos ela era virgem. Já tinha corpo de mulher, mas nunca tivera namorado. Só havia sido beijada umas poucas vezes, por um rapaz mais audacioso, de uma cidade vizinha, que tinha ido jogar futebol na minha cidade, num domingo. Mas nem tinha sido beijo direito. Agora, soubera o que era beijar de verdade. Com língua na língua, sendo apertada por outra mulher, sentindo o corpo sendo percorrido por uma boca ávida que a beijava todinha, enquanto era apertada por mãos que lhe pareciam elétricas ao tocá-la, lhe dando choques e mais choques que lhe faziam sacudir todo o corpo, da cabeça aos pés. Ficou sabendo o que é ter tesão, ficar com o meio das pernas pegando fogo, sentir um langor gostoso quando a língua da esposa da pessoa percorreu sua nuca. Pela primeira vez foi desnudada por alguém. E para cada peça de roupa que lhe era tirada do corpo, mais beijos, mais abraços, mais apertos, mas língua molhada a deixá-la inebriada.

Mirtes disse para a Fé que simplesmente, naquele dia, enlouqueceu de prazer, de amor e de paixão. Como a pessoa estava viajando e Dolores, sua esposa, tinha ficado sozinha em casa, Mirtes resolveu ficar para dormir na casa da pessoa, mesmo sem avisar sua mãe. Sabia que ela não se importaria porque ia imaginar que Mirtes estava se abrigando da tempestade na casa de alguma de suas clientes. Afinal das contas, Mirtes era pura e inocente. Não faria nada que fosse errado. nenhuma loucura.

Nessa noite fizeram amor, ela e Dolores, a esposa da pessoa, até se exaurirem. Mirtes nunca mais se esqueceu de tudo o que aconteceu naquele sábado.

Fé me disse que foi a pessoa o primeiro homem a possuir Mirtes. E que acontecera no sábado seguinte àquele em que ela fora iniciada pela sua esposa. Sem nenhum trauma, sem nenhuma traição sem nenhum problema.

Fê me disse que a Mirtes lhe disse que passou toda a semana seguinte esperando e torcendo apenas para que o sábado chegasse depressa. Imaginando o quanto seria bom estar novamente com Dolores, a esposa da pessoa, em seus braços, tendo o seu corpo coberto de beijos e cobrindo também de beijos aquele outro corpo,como nunca tinha imaginado que fosse capaz de beijar. Mirtes, segundo me disse a Fê, parecia gozar de prazer só em estar falando o que as duas, ela e Dolores, a esposa da pessoa, fariam no sábado. Ela, Fê, podia garantir que aquela Mirtes que estava lhe contando tudo aquilo não era a mesma Mirtes que ela conhecia, por tantos anos. Havia passado, sem alguma dúvida, por uma mudança marcante.

Depois de ficar um tempo calada a Fê me disse que qualquer coisa que eu ouvisse ser falado da Mirtes era, na verdade, invenção. Principalmente quando a chamavam de sapatão. Ela não era sapatão. Nem era puta. Nunca tinha feito amor com outra mulher além da Dolores, esposa da pessoa. E só tinha dado para um único homem. Qualquer

outra coisa que eu ouvisse além disso, era a mais pura e deslavada mentira. Para comprovar, deu-me para que lesse  umas folhas de caderno onde estava escrito, pela própria Mirtes, o relato que fizera em seu diário,do  que acontecera. Mirtes, segundo ela, lhe dera aquelas folhas porque não tivera, ela mesma,coragem de rasgá-las. Então,  pediu a Fê que o fizesse, assim que tivesse lido. Mas a Fê, como ela mesma dizia, preferiu guardar, prometendo em seu íntimo manter o mais rigoroso segredo.

Eis o que escreveu Mirtes em seu diário.

Ah, como Deus parece estar me compensando pelo que tirou de mim ao levar o meu pai. Tenho certeza que tudo daqui para a frente será muito melhor do que foi até hoje. Só tem me acontecido coisas boas. Estou muito feliz. Acho até que aqueles que me conhecem devem estar estranhando o quanto pareço feliz. É que não sabem que eu não só pareço feliz. Eu estou e sou feliz mesmo, de verdade. Ah, como é bom estar cheia de amor. Eu nunca sequer tinha imaginado, nem por um segundo como o amor é bom, como amar é bom e como fazer amor pode ser tão gostoso.Eu não acreditei quando a Dolores me falou que ia me comer de uma forma tão gostosa que eu ia ficar doidinha. Mas quando ela começou a me beijar, foi ficando tudo tão gostoso que eu fui perdendo o medo e cada vez mais eu queria que ela me apertasse mais, me beijasse mais, que me abraçasse mais e que não afastasse mais o seu corpo do meu.Na medida em que ela ia me tocando, me fazendo carinhos, deslizando as suas mãos pelo meu corpo eu ia perdendo cada vez mais o medo e me deixando dominar por uma vontade enorme de não deixar aquilo terminar nunca mais.Como estava ficando excitada, meu Deus. Achei que ia morrer quando ela colocou a mão de levinho na minha buceta e foi me alisando, alisando, alisando e quando eu percebi, estava me enfiando um dedo que mexia para os lados, tirava e enfiava, para cima , para baixo, para os lados, enquanto eu ia mexendo o corpo como se ele estivesse sendo comandado por aquele dedo, me dirigindo, me guiando, o dedo enfiando,me fazendo mexer, mexer, mexer, entrando e saindo de um jeito gostoso, ai, aí, que só de lembrar agora estou quase gozando e meu corpo está se mexendo gostoso como aquele dedo me fez mexer.Eu nunca tinha gozado de verdade e nem tinha idéia de como que era gozar de verdade. Então, sem nem saber porquê eu disse isso a ela e ela me disse que ia me fazer explodir num gozo maravilhoso, que eu nem ia entender direito o que aconteceu quando gozasse. Me colocou de quatro na cama, entrou debaixo de mim e começou a lamber minha buceta, apertando com os lábios o meu grelinho, enquanto ia passando a mão na minha bunda. Fui ficando molinha e quase nem senti quando ela, ainda me chupando o grelinho, lambendo minha buceta por dentro e por fora, foi enfiando o dedo no meu cuzinho. Eu não estava entendendo mais nada e só queria que aquele dedo entrasse cada vez mais fundo, mais fundo, mais fundo. O meu corpo se negava a ficar parado, a ficar quieto e mais apenas se mexia, como antes. O meu corpo corcoveava e rebolava buscando acompanhar os movimentos e o ritmo daquela língua me chupando e mordiscando a buceta e daquele dedo enfiado e enfiando cada vez mais fundo no meu cu. Não dei conta de quanto tempo já tinha passado quando ela me puxou pra coima dela e me disse que também queria gozar gostoso e que ia deixar por minha conta. Enfiei minha cabeça no meio de suas pernas e olhei sua buceta rosadinha, toda raspadinha. Deu uma tremidinha quando a toquei com a minha língua e apertando os meus lábios contra ela, comecei a chupar. Tinha um gostinho de erva-doce e um cheiro adocicado de perfume, suave. Enquanto ia chupando, passava uma mão pelos seu ventre, subindo até os seus peitinhos, que ia apertando no ritmo da minha língua na sua buceta. A outra mão eu tinha colocado escorando a sua bunda enquanto ia enfiando um dedo no seu cu, que estava quentinho, com um uma veia pulsando como se acompanhasse as batidas do seu coração. Eu confesso que não sabia como era chupar nem como chupar uma buceta. Mas fui achando cada vez mais gostoso e só parei quando ela afastou com as sua mãos a minha cabeça e me fez abraçar o seu corpo. Então, posicionamos os nossos corpo de forma que minha buceta ficou acima da sua boca e a sua acima da minha. Um perfeito 69. Assim ficamos nos chupando deliciosamente até nos esgotarmos de tanto gozar. Nem percebemos que a chuva havia cessado e já era alta noite. Nosso primeiro dia de amor terminou quando dormimos, abraçadinhas, satisfeitas e felizes. Nem vou dizer como foi a minha semana porquê, de verdade, eu só pensava em como seria o nosso próximo sábado. Eu mal conseguia esperar.

Agora, neste momento, só de pensar no que vou escrever estou sentindo um tesão tão grande que estou que nem me aguento mais.  Eu vou contar tudo, colocar tudo nesta folha porquê quero sentir de novo o que senti. E quero que quem que seja que leia o que estou escrevendo, fique sabendo que esse foi o melhor dia que já tive em toda a minha vida. Eu acho até que nunca mais vou ter um dia melhor do que esse que tive naquele sábado.

Ainda era cedo, umas oito horas da manhã quando cheguei na casa da pessoa e a Dolores, esposa da pessoa, abriu a porta e me mandou entrar. Assim que entrei, ela fechou a porta e me abraçou me dando um beijo demorado, enfiando sua língua na minha boca com toda a vontade.Ela pegou minha mão e me levou até o seu quarto e foi tirando a minha roupa enquanto ia me beijando. Eu só queria sentir tudo o que eu tinha sentido no sábado anterior, Fui deixando ela ir fazendo o que queria fazer. Ela me deitou e se deitou por cima de mim. Ainda me beijando, foi entrelaçando as  suas pernas entre as minhas pernas, até que nossas bucetas ficaram encostadas uma na outra, bem coladinhas. Assim, ela começou a se mexer, a mover o seu corpo sobre o meu corpo, para cima e para baixo, para um lado e para o outro, me apertando nela cada vez mais, nossas bucetas coladas como se uma quisesse penetrar na outra, molhadas, espremidas, enganchadas. Eu estava tão entregue que só queria que ela continuasse, que não parasse. Gemia e gemia e gemia. Não conseguia manter os meus olhos abertos e não queria abri-los com medo de que tudo aquilo acabasse como numa sonho acaba quando a gente abre os olhos. Foi quando ouvi um ruído e percebi que havia mais alguém no quarto. Ela afastou-se de mim e me deixou ver a pessoa, parada junto da cama onde estávamos, nua, sorrindo. Eu não me assustei nem tive medo, nem tive nenhuma reação. Apenas fiquei lá, olhando para a pessoa, enquanto Dolores se erguia da cama, estendia a sua mão e puxava a pessoa para a cama. Para a nossa cama. Foi quando me dei conta de que a pessoa estava de pau duro que apontava para cima. Foi quando Dolores apanhou a minha mão e me fez pegar naquele pau, quente, macio, incrivelmente duro. Eu já tinha sentido o que era um pau duro durante as trocas de beijos que já tivera com meus namoricos. Mas nunca tinha visto nem pegado em um. Agora, segurei aquele caralho e tive imediata certeza de que queria que ele entrasse em mim. Que me rasgasse. Que me comesse. Que me fudesse. Quando Dolores me afastou, me abraçou e me deitou sobre ela eu já sabia o que ia acontecer. Mas não me importei. Estava louca para que acontecesse. Enquanto nós nos beijávamos, abraçadas, fui sentindo as mãos da pessoa apertando a minha bunda, o seu dedo procurando entrar no meu cu. Depois de um tempo enfiando e tirando o dedo no meu cu, ele me segurou pelo ombro com uma das mãos enquanto com a outra forçava para abrir as minhas pernas. Abraçada com Dolores eu senti quando o pau da pessoa foi apertando a minha buceta e forçando a sua cabeça até entrar. Não doeu como eu achava que fosse doer. Apenas uma ardidura e logo senti que estava enfiando tudo. Eu tinha medo de mexer mas queria que ele enfiasse tudo de uma vez. Então, joguei a minha bunda para cima e deixei aquele pau ficar guardado na minha buceta até sentir o seu saco batendo na minha bunda, cada vez que ele enfiava. Foi como deixei de ser virgem. A pessoa ficou enfiando o pau em minha buceta e eu fui ficando cada vez mais exitada, a buceta já estava ardendo mas era um ardume gostoso. Debaixo de mim, Dolores chupava e mordia os meus peitinhos, o que me deixava  ainda com mais tesão. Nem sei quantas vezes gozei até que a pessoa estremecesse entre gemidos e eu sentisse sua porra escorrendo para dentro de mim, um líquido quente como se fosse a lava de um vulcão. Ah, como foi gostoso dar pela primeira vez. Ah, com toda a certeza Deus está me compensando pela dor e pela tristeza de ter levado o meu pai. Estou muito feliz.”

Quando terminei de ler o relato feito pela Mirtes em seu diário, entendi o que a Fê queria que eu entendesse.

A Mirtes não era sapatão, nem era puta. Era  simplesmente uma mulher feliz que tinha naquela pessoa e na Dolores, a esposa da pessoa, a razão da sua felicidade. Eles simplesmente se amavam. Os três se amavam. Qualquer coisa que eu ouvisse além disso, seria e era a mais pura e deslavada mentira.

Fernanda, a Fê.

        O Bar do Paulo, ficava bem no meio da praça principal da minha pequenina cidade, situada no centro oeste de Minas Gerais. Era lá que, enquanto a turma de amigos tomava cerveja, eu, que não bebia nada que tivesse teor alcoólico, tomava suco e refrigerante enquanto conversávamos sobre assuntos variados. Pura filosofia de botequim. Sabedoria de mesa de bar. Conversa jogada fora. Fofocas, muitas fofocas.

        Dessas, as mais interessantes, eu tomei conhecimento através da boca da minha amiga Fê, que estava sempre muito bem informada. E que fazia parte do nosso grupo pela importância que lhe dávamos por nos manter informados sobre tudo e sobre todos da cidade ou, quem sabe, pelo temor que tínhamos lá no fundo do nosso íntimo, de virar notícia, um dia, em sua boca, se não a tratássemos muito bem.       Antes, porém, de relatá-las, é preciso que conheçam, como eu conheço, a Fê. Para que possam acreditar ou não acreditar nela. Afinal de contas, fofocas são frutos de conversas apenas entre amigos.
        Os pais da Fernanda, Fê para os amigos, como gostava de dizer, tinham mudado da minha cidade para Goiânia quando ela ainda era criancinha, com dois anos.
        O pai, Seu Horácio, tinha sido aprovado em concurso para o INPS e nomeado para a Capital do Estado de Goiás.
        A mãe, Dona Carlinha, que na minha cidade era professora primária, acompanhou o marido como simples dona de casa. Mas, chegando em Goiânia, um tempo depois, conseguiu um lugar como professora municipal.         Moraram em Goiás por dezessete anos, até que Seu Horácio conseguiu uma transferência para o Posto do INPS em uma cidade vizinha da minha. Mas, como a distância entre as duas cidades, a minha e a que ia trabalhar era só de doze quilômetros, preferiram morar na minha cidade, onde já moravam todos os seus parentes.