No, not that Brazil, but the city in Indiana
[Author's note: all conversations are presented as English so I don't have to deal with translation issues. Assume the native language is spoken where appropriate.]
Back in grade school, my grandmother encouraged me to have a pen pal. She even had the name of someone back in the old country. The kid's name was Peggy, and she was my age. But the old country wasn't in Europe, it was Brazil. I could already speak some Portuguese, because my grandparents' English was poor. My name is Jenny, but everyone called me 'Junebug', since I tried to catch them every summer.
As the years went by, my mother tried to get me into ballet, and I went along, but more because I wanted to please her. I thought the tutu was ridiculous, but I wore it because it was expected. I secretly wanted to dance something more dramatic and wild, and ballet was just too stylized and boring. Also, my long black hair always had to be secured when I was in costume. Somewhere during this time, people had shortened my nickname from 'Junebug' to 'June'.
The town had a lot of immigrants from Brazil. Some came here because they thought it was settled by ex-Brazilians. The surprise was on them. The town was named after a local farm that took the name because the news was full of stories about Brazil at that time. Yet over time, because some stayed, we grew the neighborhood of Little Brazil.
In high school, things got more interesting. You see, I met someone from Little Brazil in one of my classes, and learned we actually had some Brazilian culture in town. In checking it out, I learned they had a little carnival celebration every year, three restaurants, and a dance studio that taught samba. I pestered mom to transfer me from ballet to samba. I even once watched a session at the studio, and thought it looked like so much more fun to do.
My junior year, I entered vo-tech to become a mechanic, as repairing farm machinery was a well-paying part-time job. Being a girl was uncommon, but there was enough need in town, that I was welcomed. I started work on the weekends, doing the boring stuff like anyone learning, but my boss found I had an eye for detail, and the finesse for careful adjustment. I didn't have the muscle for some of the major repairs, but a tune-up was right up my alley. And the local farmers knew that keeping their machinery tuned up was a good way to keep them working longer.
Later in the school year, puberty hit. My emotions went everywhere, and I became rebellious.
My senior year, I finally enrolled in a class at the studio in Little Brazil, and so began to learn the samba. I think becoming top heavy, might have been the final straw for ballet. When I wrote to my pen pal to inform her of my new classes, she told me her family ran their own dance studio, and she would be working there soon enough. I asked if she could send pictures, and if I might someday visit. She sent some, and boy, was I surprised. It seemed they wore almost nothing, compared to here, where, I thought, showing off my belly button was provocative. Right then, I decided I would go there, and learn how it was really done. But first, I had to graduate, save money, and get a passport.
After I graduated, I worked full-time at the shop, but my boss knew that I would be heading out when I could afford a trip to Brazil. By this time, I had upgraded from letters to my pen-pal, to email and video chat. We spoke at least once a week, she in English, and I spoke Portuguese. We wrote short emails several times each week. We made so many mistakes, but that, in turn, made us better at the other's language.
As I saved money, I let Peggy know how I was faring. She said I could stay with her family. I wanted to have enough for everything, including airfare, traveler's insurance, class fees, and money for emergencies. It seemed to take forever, but I finally hit my mark when I was nineteen. If I had to pay rent as well, it might have taken another year or two, to save enough.
As I neared my mark, I got a passport, and the folks gifted me a suitcase of my own. I also had a laptop, a camera, and other tech toys, as I also used them for work. Finally, the day came for me to leave. My folks dropped me off at the local airport, where I headed to Miami, before getting on a plane to Rio de Janeiro. There, I met Peggy, and her older brother, Sam. He chauffeured, and handled my suitcase and backpack. We had already met by video, so we recognized each other.
I wound up sharing a room with Peggy, under the theory we were already friends, and so could help each other with any language and cultural issues. One of the biggest adjustments I had to make, was to the tropical climate. While they had air conditioning, they didn't use it, unless it got really hot. I was not prepared for that, so Peggy suggested I stop wearing my underwear, and sleep in the nude like her. I would be cooler, but more exposed than I was used to. Looking at the other women in the area, I realized the only ones that wore bras were women with very large breasts, and I did not see any panty lines. With only a 'C' cup, I was top heavy, but not so much that I required a bra all of the time. After a few days, the lack of underwear stopped bothering me.
The next session for dance classes wasn't for a month. They let me watch and practice, but didn't give me much attention. I, in turn, trying to be a nice guest, did my best to not make waves, and watched more than practiced. When I did practice, I focused on doing the moves slowly, so I could perfect them. For much of my time in class, I tried to pick up more Portuguese, as locally spoken. I did that all day, actually, but the class was where I focused the most on the dialect.
Peggy suggested I join in the Carnival festivities, since I would be able to join in the dance as a member of the school. Technically, the schools were more like neighborhood clubs, but some, actually, did teach dancing, and that was what I was waiting for. Peggy also suggested I make a costume. I would have to work quickly on it, since the school's theme was already decided. To help pay for stuff, I made off-the-books cash doing mechanical work on cars and such. By the time I started classes, I had assembled a small toolbox and tools for doing tuneups.
I was leaning over the engine of the family car, when I first realized I had been flashing Sam, who stood behind me. I had forgotten that I wasn't wearing any panties under my short skirt. As he had been there for over half an hour, and done nothing to bring it to my attention, I figured I could pretend I didn't know. That night, I spoke with Peggy.
"Peggy, something odd happened today."
"What happened?"
"I was working on the car, while Sam watched, and talked with me."
"So? You've done that before."
"Yeah. But today, I realized that when I leaned over the engine, that Sam was looking up my skirt."
"Hey, he's a guy. If opportunity occurs, any guy'll look."
"True. But I had nothing on underneath. I think he may have seen my slit."
"Oh, he saw it."
"You seem positive about that."
"I am. I've seen it also, when you work on the car. I think that's half the reason he spends time talking with you, while you work on the car."
"Oh." I had to stop and think about that. I'd been here only a few weeks, and already I forgot about not wearing underwear. So much so, that I was uninhibited with Sam, and let him see me.
