I was awake. I wondered how early it was.
Last night, I'd arrived in Rio de Janeiro on a Lufthansa flight touching down at half past seven in the evening; seeing as I'd been here dozens of times before, I had the arrival routine pretty much sorted, and checked into my hotel in Niterói on the opposite side of the Guanabara bay at just after nine o'clock - or 1AM if you bothered to ask my biological clock, currently set to western European time.
I didn't mind all that much - a long day when I arrived, then going to bed early and waking up earlier still next morning, going to bed at the 'normal time' and then, on my 2nd full day in Brazil, being in tune with the local time.
Except, of course, that waking up at... Yawning, I raised my wrist to focus on the watch. 04:15. OK. Could've been worse.
I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, though, so I got up and went to the bathroom. Hm, didn't this room have a coffee machine, I wondered? Sure enough, on the desk, a tiny Nespresso machine. Just what I needed. Not that the coffee was great, but it would do until Niterói - more precisely, the Icaraí neighbourhood, which I preferred to stay in - woke up and I could head out to see if Gustavo, my favourite barista, manned the chrome wonder which was the finest espresso machine in Niterói, a couple of blocks from my hotel.
But first, a couple of hours of... Something. Perhaps reading a book.
The coffee machine noisily did its thing, and on a whim I decided to take my coffee out on the tiny balcony - one of my favourite pastimes when I woke up early was to simply listen to the town waking up - gradually picking up the pace, until a new day was born.
Easing open the sliding door, I found the balcony could -just- accomodate a chair. Sitting down, I enjoyed the slightly earthy smell of the air - we'd had some rain while I was asleep, apparently. Good. Glancing to my left, I could make out a tiny section of the beach. Poising my ears, I could hear a gentle surf breaking. The occasional rumble of a trash car, the muted shouts of the renovators to each other or to passers-by, of which there were few at this ungodly hour.
I sipped my coffee. Finally. I loved Brazil in general and Niterói in particular, and was quite happy that my employer saw fit to send me here 3-4 times a year to fix various subsea equipment which, alas, had a habit of breaking down after years of neglect.
Not that I complained. I'd spent a year and a half or so, combined, of my life here, and I wouldn't be surprised if I tried to spend my retirement years here - the climate was pleasant, people were nice, and I spoke pretty decent Portuguese, so all in all - the Guanabara had become a home away from home.
Glancing across the street at the residential building towering above me, I smiled as I wondered who lived in all those tiny flats - each balcony to an extent, I thought, reflected the owner's personality. Some were loaded to the gunwales with flowers; others dominated by a huge satellite dish. Yet others served as storage for anything and everything not deemed worthy of what limited room was inside.
The facade was rather dark-ish, only lit by reflected street lights from below. As if on cue - I had just pondered if anyone at all was awake across the street - a lamp came on in a flat a couple of floors below me. OK. At least one other soul awake, then, at this ungodly hour. I glanced back towards the beach. In a couple of hours, at twilight, I'd head down there for a little jog before returning to my room, a shower and breakfast.
A muted creak, and a slide door on the opposite side of the street opened. Ah, my fellow night owl, it was the apartment where the light had just come on. I stared. As the door slid open, I looked at a woman around my age, probably a bit younger - stark naked, her long, black hair flowing over her shoulders and partially covering what appeared to be an ample chest, a thick, black fur triangle between her legs, and with hips worth killing for. I swallowed. Hard. Damn, was she beautiful. Casually glancing out into the darkness - and, apparently, not noticing me - she unrolled a yoga mat, partially inside, partially out on the tiny balcony, and got into a pose.
This was my lucky day, I thought - as she slowly, gracefully raised both arms over her head, joining her hands, stretching, throwing her head back, making her boobs proudly jut in my face, or so it seemed, her hair drifting aside, exposing her wonderful, full, round breasts. I sighed in awe, and felt myself becoming hard in no time at all.
I was in two minds about ogling her - she was obviously unaware of my presence, yet... If you go naked in public, you had better not take offense if someone sees you. Hm. Besides, letting her know I was here now would be all kinds of awkward.
I decided to take my chances, staring directly at her, wonderfully aroused by her lithe frame as she took soon one position, soon the other, gracefully holding them for a short while before moving on to the next. I found that I loved yoga. At least this flavour of yoga.
The level of control she had over her own body was incredible; even if I'd been physically able to move my limbs to the positions she did - which I certainly wasn't - I'd have no chance to maintain my balance at the same time; I almost forgot her naked beauty for a moment as I watched in awe, one leg firmly planted on her mat, the same side arm, too - then raising herself off the mat, gracefully stretching the other leg, pointing towards the night sky, grabbing her lower ankle with the free hand... Wow. A vertical split. Straight line from the foot on the mat to the heel of the foot way up in the air. Just watching her made my groin hurt. I'd tear every muscle and tendon I had trying to do that. She even made it look easy.
Letting go of that pose, she soon was on her feet again, turning her back towards me, then bending forward, palms of her hands soon resting on the mat - her ass proudly jutting in the air, muscles clearly visible under her skin. She was gorgeous. All sorts of vivid images appeared to my inner eye.
I was so hard it hurt. Slowly, without taking my eyes off her, I lowered a hand to my groin and squeezed the throbbing shaft through my gown, considering to do the obvious thing and start masturbating. Then again, the glass railing on the balcony would make that obvious to anyone throwing a glance in my direction. I had better wait until I got back inside.
My muse got on her feet again. I swallowed - hard - as I stared at her wonderful curves, the full, round breasts, crowned by a pair of tiny nipples, seemingly being thrust in my face as they appeared to defy gravity. Stretching, she suddenly froze, staring at me.
Oops.
She then covered herself, which looked rather comical - covering her breasts, she stood there, staring at me, then suddenly remembered that her sex was fully exposed - lowering a hand to cover her dark triangle, only to leave her breast exposed. She shook her head, then appeared to see the humour of it all and started laughing before giving up any attempt at modesty.
I had been frozen still the entire time, but relaxed a little now that she appeared to be OK with - well, at least, not taking immediate affront at - me looking at her.
Putting on a mock -I hoped- stern look, she shook her finger at me, before breaking up in a giggle. Relief.
Waving, she started doing large, exaggerated hand movements. Uh, wait, what - ah, numbers! I held up my hand to indicate I understood, then brought out my cell phone, unlocked it and held it up for her to see. She gave me a thumbs up and slowly, deliberately drew big numbers in the air. 9. 8. 1...
I soon had her full number taken down, then at the last instant remembered to add +55 for Brazil to the front of it, then, looking over at her, pressed 'Dial.'
I hoped she wasn't pulling my leg, it would hardly do to wake up some random Brazilian, then apologise that I had got the wrong number.
I needn't have worried. Triumphantly, she lifted her phone, screen glaring into the darkness, before answering.
"Bom dia, estou Barbara."
Pulse throbbing, throat parchment dry, I croaked out a greeting. She giggled, asking me where I was from.
"Norway. Arrived last night, hence woke up early, and..."
I was interrupted by a laugh. "I didn't notice you at first, sitting there in the darkness - tell me, did you do it on purpose? To see if anyone came out for you to spy on?"
My turn to laugh. "Oh, believe me or not, but the thought of anyone - least of all an attractive woman, naked - appearing didn't occur to me, I was just enjoying a quiet start to my day, when you opened the sliding doors and, uh, grabbed my attention."
Cupping a breast with her free hand, she caressed it softly, lifted it towards me, before giggling again and letting go of it. "I like grabbing attention. But, don't be shy, Norwegian - there's noone around, show me!"
I paused. Really? Then again - even if anyone - anyone but my new friend Barbara, that is - were to see me, who cared? Maybe someone glanced out their window at this early hour, only to see a naked man on the balcony across the street. Surely they'd just shrug and go back to sleep, rather than calling the hotel, expecting them to find out who the offender was and give him a good dressing down?
