It was a warm February evening in Copacabana Beach, as the three Iberian ladies made their way down the sidewalk. They were there not just on holiday, but on the last gasp bachelorette party.
Camilla Leon, recent graduate of the University of Oxford, was mere days from marrying. She and her friends had chosen Rio during Carnival for their party; and she had no problem spending her father's money on airfare, rooms, and shopping.
The beat of the samba still raged in their ears from a recent parade. As Donna pointed out the beauty of the barely clad women on the floats, her friends Luisa and Camilla laughed.
Luisa rolled her eyes.
"Look around you. Every one of those girls will be on a pole somewhere tonight, shaking that same butt for money."
She slapped her own butt and shook it at Donna.
"That's disgusting!" Donna replied.
"Disgusting!" Camilla smiled the smile her friends feared most.
"That's it," she continued. "We need to be as disgusting as we can."
"And what's the prize?"
Paulo was the hot concierge that the girls were planning to triple team before the trip was over. He had recommended a few upscale clubs for them to attend, then joked to them about a place they would never go.
"What's that?" They asked.
"When the place opened up, they did donkey shows. Cops busted them so many times, they gave up. But the name stuck. And so do the floors."
By sheer coincidence, the girls now stood at its entrance.
They watched three stages of pole dancers do their act to a crowd of men frenzied on cheap liquor and loud music. Donna waited until one took a break. She stepped onstage. As the others looked on, she immediately stripped, and didn't so much pole dancing as much as pole straddling and thrusting. As the song ended, a flurry of cash went her way.
Luisa had caught the eye of a few not so bad looking tourist guys. She probably could blow one or two and win handily. But that wasn't exactly disgusting. But that's when she saw the bartender.
He was not just old. His hair was gone from his head, save for tufts near his ears. His skin sagged under his eyes. His tattoos were faded into a goopy black stain on both arms, which she could see all of since he was wearing a "wifebeater" tank.
She motioned for him to come around, and for the tourist guys to have him sit on the bar. Then in front of the assembled crowd, she unzipped him. Drawing a breath, she exhaled air and opened wide.
The old man's eyes lit up, remembering days gone by, and ladies that once made him feel the way he did now. The young woman expertly took him in and out. As his demeanor changed from happy to orgasmic, she stopped to let him come. He collapsed backwards as her tourist friends held him from crashing.
Luisa smiled as she showed her "pearl necklace."
"I believe I am winning the disgusting race."
Camilla spied a raincoat on a hook by the door. She stripped, and handed her clothes and purse to her friend. She donned the raincoat and a pair of heels, and went behind the bar to the back alley.
In her finest Portuguese, she asked the darkness. "Well? Is there a man in this alley, or just vermin?"
Soon, a thief, brandishing a knife, came towards her. He smiled, but he seemed...cautious.
Camilla laughed. "Do you know how to mug somebody, or do you need lessons?"
He lunged. She laughed as she grabbed his knife hand. The thief quickly realized he had slashed his own arm.
He lunged again. Blood splashed on her raincoat and her body from his wound. She again directed the blade towards his body, where it found its mark on his shoulder. He cried out as the blood spurted towards her. She opened the coat and let it hit her.
She saw her would-be attacker for only a moment longer, as a dark clad figure grabbed him from behind.
The new figure was much taller. Much darker, and much, much more muscular.
He stepped forward. The glint in his eye matched the blade in his hand.
"1916 Imperial Prussian Mauser bayonet. Truly a work of art. Would be a shame to pierce that body of yours with it."
Camilla did not back down.
"Then I suggest you return it to its sheath."
He hovered the bayonet over his belt. A small scabbard, as old as the bayonet, hung low.
"Nice sheath," she said.
He took a long look at the woman in front of him. The hair from her head dangled down to the tuft above her sex. She stood confidently in his gaze. She took a wider stance as he glanced down.
"Your sheath ain't bad, either."
"I have no sheath here but my vagina."
He cracked a smile.
"That's what the Romans called it."
"I know Latin," she said. "I'm a doctor."
He took another step forward. His arms went between her thighs. He lifted her to his eye level, as her inner thighs balanced on his biceps.
"And I am a god."
In a moment, she was being carried towards the wall. Her raincoat fluttered as her back felt the bricks behind her. He licked the blood off her tits as he plunged deep inside her. Above her, a gutter drained a dirt and grime slurry off the bar roof onto her body as her nameless lover contorted her in every direction possible. Since she had no name to scream, she just cried out "Meu Deus!" until they came.
She staggered back into the bar, naked, save the heels and the savage cocktail of grime, sweat, blood, and sex.
Luisa ran over to her.
"Are you OK?"
She smiled at her friend.
"Of course I am. I have seen God."
But first, Paolo.
Winthorp Archibald Keir III was not the type to spend time in a delivery room. He was perfectly content to hear whether his offspring was a boy or a girl. Like his forefathers, he had the male child's name picked long ago. A female child could be picked from many of the fine grandmothers and great grand mamas of years past.
When Camilla delivered, the doctor looked around.
"Is the father here to cut the cord?"
"He's not up to it," the new mother replied.
The child took a moment to adjust to the light. He saw the scalpel in the doctor's hand. Without warning, the newborn grabbed for the handle.
The doctor let go in astonishment.
The child frowned at the attached cord. In a sweeping motion, the baby's arm reached down and severed the cord in one stroke.
His mother laughed, as she realized her newborn's heritage. She cuddled him close to her breast and whispered.
"Hear me, little one. You may need a name in the outside world. But to me, you will be a nameless god. Just like your father."
The nurse asked in a hush, "So, no name?"
Camilla looked to the nurse.
"Put my husband's name as his last name. Someday, my boy will choose his own."