As a joke, I told her that—if she were nice to me—I would buy her “one of those Brazilian thongs.” It was really just a silly comment at the end of my email as I rushed out the door to meet the driver who was taking me to the airport. A day later, finally in my hotel just off Copacabana Beach in Rio, I was surprised when I got an email from her.
“I thought a Brazil Bikini was a waxing method. 
– But yeah, sure! – If they exist, by all means. Size 6 in U.S. sizes. =) LOL! – But then you have to go to the beach with me and we’ll hang out.”
I’d expected, at most, a “LMAO” from her, the typical response to one of my jokes. But she’d met my challenge head on and returned with a suggestive response…if you buy me one, I’ll wear it for you…and next time you go to Rio, I’ll go with you…!
The gauntlet had been thrown down and I wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. But how? How would I go about buying a thong for a girl who I hadn’t seen in months and even then only had a vague idea of her body type. My driver, Eustaquio, held the answer.
“Eustaquio,” I said, “I want to buy one of the famous, skimpy Brazilian thong bikinis for a friend. Can you help me find a store where I can buy one?”
“Of course,” he answered with a grin, looking at me in his rear view mirror. “The best place is a store called BumBum for the bikinis. What size does she wear?”
“Size 6 American.”
“Then buy her a size 4; or better, buy her a size 2.”
He grinned and told me that “Bum bum” is the common term in Brazil to refer to a woman’s behind. It refers, he told me, to the lovely shape and shake of a Brazilian woman’s hind quarters. It is considered a more respectful way to talk about, in a complementary way, her ass. He promised to take me to the store that evening after my meetings.
…
That evening, when I walked out of the offices where I’d been interviewing people for my assignment, I looked and saw that Eustaquio was not my driver. It was Raoul. A great guy and a great driver—6 ft 6 in and driving a car too small even for my 5 ft 10 in frame—but he spoke little, if any English. And the best Portuguese I could muster was a weak “obrigado,” which means “thank you.” I knew then that buying the Brazilian bikini was going to be … interesting.
At least, I figured, the girl at the BumBum shop would speak English. Afterall, they get a lot of American and English customers here…
Raoul grinned as he opened the car door for me.
“BumBum, yes?” he queried making the curvaceous shape of a woman’s figure.
Eustaquio had at least briefed him on my plans.
“Yes,” I replied, a little nervous about my upcoming adventure into the world of women’s micro thong bikinis.
…
We found the BumBum shop in the mall and entered. Two young women smiled and asked, in Portuguese, how they could help us. At least I assume that’s what they asked. Raoul explained what I was looking for and that I spoke no Portuguese.
The taller of the two, a beautiful brunette with long hair reaching to her shapely bum bum and wearing a tight black t-shirt and tighter black spandex pants, showed me to the racks of bikinis, everything from a modest style that would cover 3/4 of her bum bum to the micro thongs that were little more than a single strand of thread.
“What size?” she asked.
“Size 6, American.” I tried to sound confident, like I knew what I was doing, like I bought skimpy bikinis for women all the time. I hoped, from her query in English that she did indeed speak my language.
The puzzled look on her face and the tilt of her head told me that she had no idea what “size 6, American” meant. Her English was only slightly more advanced than my Portuguese. In my English-trying-to-be-Portuguese, I tried again, holding up six fingers.
“Six…uh…seis (does Spanish work here?) … Americano.”
She shook her head. American sizes didn’t translate here in Rio.
“Like me?” she asked, cupping her breast in her hands. “Bigger?”
She turned slightly, angling her hips and showing off her shapely backside so I could size her up and judge how my friend’s body compared.
I tried to recall my friends figure but all I could see was the brunette’s breasts as she gingerly held them. I looked at them, then guiltily glanced upward to her face. She smiled, not offended in the least that I’d been staring at her hands and what they held.
“Um,” I stammered. “Like you.”
“Like this?”
“Um, yeah.”
I’m sure my face was as red as the crimson thong hanging on the rack behind her.
She gave me a gentle smile that said I know you’re looking at my body and I know what you’re thinking…and I don’t mind…
Then she turned and took several bikini’s off the rack behind her. She spread them out on the counter and took the top off one of the hangers. She put it on over her t-shirt and adjusted it over her breasts.
“You like?”
Oh, yes! I thought. And the bikini is nice, too.
I smiled and nodded. She smiled back. She knew she’d made the sale. Now it was a matter of deciding which one to buy.
With the bikini top still around her neck, she showed me the bottoms. Different sizes, shapes and colors. I’d imagined a simple red bikini would look sensational on my friend. But the myriad of colors and patterns was clouding my mind as I tried to picture her in each.
What would she like? Which would I like?
I knew I wanted something small, but not micro. I’d been challenged to buy her one and I wanted to get something exciting, something that would make her blush but still be willing to model for me.
We continued our pantomime, the beautiful brunette and I. She showed me the micro thongs and how they accented a woman’s bum bum. She showed me a green one, with white elephants on it that tied on one side. The material bunched or stretched, depending on how much the wearer decided to show off.
Another was a simple white thong, with splashes of red, yellow, green and blue. It looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. It was small, sexy and definitely my favorite.
The sales girl modeled several other tops, each threatening to show more or less of what she hid behind her tight, black t-shirt. I realized that this lovely young woman was actually quite similar to my friend. That, at least, made the entire operation a little easier. If the bikini looked good on her, I knew it would look good on my friend.
And I kept Eustaquio’s advice in mind.
“Size six? Then buy her a size 4 or a size 2.”
I finally made my choice.
A moment later at the cash register, I watched as the sales girl gently folded the bikini and placed it into a small cloth bag.
Once more, she gave me that smile that said so much.
“Your friend will like,” she said as I took the bag.
“Yes, she will love it! Obrigado…thank you.” I answered hoping that, indeed, she would.
As I walked out of the store, basking in the glow of my successful adventure, I felt a new tinge of anxiety.
Would she like it? Would she be pleased with my choice? Would she join me on my next trip to Rio and wear it on Copacabana Beach as we strolled along?
Revised on December 31, 2010