Lost in Translation (Part #1)

A gifted linguist with a huge libido lands a job as a translator for a company in Ecuador. He quickly learns the local brothels are cheap, fun and satisfying!

Part One

Even before I began attending school, it was patently obvious that I had a natural gift for languages. My name is Charles Ranford. Born in a midsize Canadian city near the Ontario-Quebec border in 1938, I was from a totally anglophone family, but I was naturally able to pick up French just by hearing in spoken far better than any of my relatives. It can only be described as a God-given talent.

Without any formal training, by the age of five I could converse fluently in French with anyone who favored that language. I was something of a curiosity to my family and others. My friends, relatives and neighbors often tested me with verbal challenges. “Charles,” my aunt Dorothy might ask me, “how do you say ‘the bird has bright blue feathers’ in French?” With no hesitation, I would confidently tell her, “L’oiseau a des plumes bleu vif.” Of course, my aunt had no idea if what I had just said was or wasn’t an accurate translation, but it always was.

I also quickly developed excellent reading skills. This allowed me to go beyond just improving my French. At the local public library, I began borrowing books on how to learn Spanish, Italian, German and Dutch. After my city’s daily newspaper published a very flattering feature story about me in which I was described as an “eight-year-old language prodigy,” I became a minor celebrity. From that fame, I occasionally picked up odd jobs whenever an individual or company needed some translation work done. Usually, it was simply translating documents from one language to another. For example, one elderly woman paid me to translate her German-speaking great-grandmother’s 19th century diary into English. That was a fun assignment! To her horror, the woman discovered her long-dead relative was an unabashed “bedswerver”—an antiquated term for a female who sleeps around with numerous men simply for the sheer pleasure of it. One sentence in this woman’s personal journal translated to, “My neighbor Richard Mann has a sizable phallus, but it does not measure up to his son’s tremendous equipment. Father and son both fucked me very vigorously yesterday night after the picnic ended.” I was ten years old when I did that steamy translating job.

Perhaps it was that sex-filled diary that stirred a secondary interest of mine. That interest was girls. I adored them! I unusually preferred their company over that of boys. For a time, my parents both feared that I might grow to become an effeminate male, but I was actually the complete opposite. I liked girls because I had a high sex drive—especially for a preteen boy. There were plenty of attractive females in my neighborhood who were my age or younger. For many years I eagerly befriended them for more than simple youthful companionship. I had the knack of being able to sweettalk quite a few of them into skinny-dipping with me in the shallow river that ran alongside my house, engaging in sexual show-and-tell games, and even taking romantic baths with me. I tried to keep this naughty hobby of mine a secret. For a time, I did. Eventually, though, I was caught by my father who spotted me in the river having an absolutely lovely time with the pretty and hopelessly naïve Jennifer McKell one humid summer afternoon. Dad kept hidden until Jennifer went home. When he confronted me, literally with my pants down, I thought I was in major trouble. Nope. Dad cheerfully patted me on the back and said, “Thank heavens! This is a big relief for me, Charles. I was afraid you might be a queer!”

Despite my gift for languages, I did not make a career of it—at least not originally. As a young adult, I was quite content doing clerical and bookkeeping work for a few local companies, only occasionally employing my translating skills. This changed abruptly one night when I was 25 years old. An acquaintance from high school, Gregory Fleming, tracked me down and telephoned me out of the blue. He offered me a long-term job to be a translator for his company that had recently acquired sizable mining rights in Ecuador. This was in 1963. Ecuador was rich in deposits of gold, silver, copper, zinc, and uranium. The Canadian company he owned had just bought the rights to operate three large mining projects. Each one had been previously owned by European interests. All their documents were primarily written in French, Italian, German, and, of course, Spanish. They all needed to be converted to English by someone who knew all those languages well.

“Charles, you are the ideal person we need here,” I was told very flatteringly. Gregory offered me a very generous contract that basically covered all my living expenses—including food and housing. “I figure you’ll have enough work here translating mining records and other documents to keep you occupied for a decade at least.” I was young and unmarried and really had no strong ties to keep me bound to Canada. My present jobs were not exactly thrilling nor challenging. Within an hour, Gregory had me convinced I should board the next flight heading to Quito, the Ecuadorian capital city.

Part Two

About a week after receiving Gregory’s life-altering phone call, I was indeed on my way to South America. I had taken it upon myself to learn as much about mining as possible, so that I would be somewhat familiar with the industry—especially its terminologies and jargon. When I showed Gregory what I had been reading and the volume of notes I had already jotted down, he was pleased about my enthusiastic preparations. I knew I was going to like my boss!

Gregory was making it easy for me to adjust to a new country and new surroundings. The company’s head office was located in Quito. I was given office space and living quarters there. It was more than adequate. I was just a single male, but it could have easily housed a family of four. Since the company operated three large mines scattered across the small nation, I also had an office at each venue. For the first couple of days in Ecuador, I spent a lot of time travelling to the various company sites and touring them with Gregory. I had plenty of questions, but Gregory had all the answers. It was all very educational and exciting. I knew I’d like this job and I was eager to begin.

Gregory and I were about to depart from one of the three large mining centers when I noticed a group of employees heading towards a building located about 200 meters from the mine’s personnel office.

“Is that some sort of recreation hall for the men?” I asked Gregory.

“That’s one way of describing it, ” he joked. “It’s a brothel.”

“Oh, really!” I said with more enthusiasm than he likely expected.

“Yes,” Gregory explained. “In this country, visiting a brothel is as common for a man to do as visiting a coffee shop is for a man in Canada. It’s part of the macho culture here. The men are well paid and often separated from their families for long periods of time. They work hard at their jobs. Of course, they have biological needs and urges. While we don’t actively promote brothels, we don’t really discourage the men from being patrons there.”

When I asked if the company had any ownership of this particular brothel, Gregory shook his head. “No, that’s someone else’s private enterprise. It’s one of several located nearby the mine. Some are classier than others. They naturally spring up because there are plenty of men here with disposable income who want to relax and have a good time. Of course, a good time for a typical male in Ecuador often consists of fucking a whore.”

“I think that applies pretty much to typical males everywhere in the world,” I suggested.

Gregory paused for a moment and then said to me, “We don’t have to fly back to Quito this moment. How about we pay a visit to that den of sin? It will be my treat.”

“Aren’t you married?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said. “I have a wife and a baby back in Winnipeg. Since I bought these Ecuadorian mines eight months ago, I’ve only been back to Canada twice for a few days. My wife is very liberal in her understanding about the sexual needs of healthy adult males. The last thing she said to me as I headed for the airport was, ‘Hey, remember, you have a wife in Canada. Just don’t father any kids in Ecuador.’”

“Wow!” I said, somewhat shocked. “That is very open-minded of her.”

“I suppose it is,” he replied, “but I think she was subtly telling me that promiscuity is not just a male trait. So be it. Charles, let’s go have some manly fun on my expense account.”

The brothel nearest to us was one of the better ones, Gregory explained. It had about 20 rooms and a manager dressed in a business suit. He recognized Gregory and greeted him warmly. Gregory had already learned enough Spanish to converse with him. Of course, I could understand every word being spoken between them. Gregory explained I was a new employee from Canada and we were at his establishment for a “sexual treat to conclude our busy day.”

We were led into a room that had one-way glass. We could see a bevy of young prostitutes seated in another room who could not see us. Sexily attired, they all wore tags with numbers pinned to the small amount of clothing they had on. The manager attempted to speak to me in English, but he was pleased when I told him that I understood Spanish quite well. He said, “Select a girl by her number. She will come out here and lead you to one of our vacant rooms for an hour of fun.” Gregory wasted no time in selecting #11, a tall and voluptuous female. I favored #24, a compactly built girl with a pretty face. I suspected she was about 18 years old.

It was obvious that the girls were not new to this specialized line of work. Both were well trained employees. They entered our room smiling broadly and walking in a way to best showcase their wares. Gregory’s girl wore a shimmering red dress and matching high-heeled shoes. Mine was clad in a yellow t-shirt, white shorts, and sandals. We sorted out whose girl was whose, after which they became immediately affectionate. They pawed and groped us as they escorted us down a long hallway to individual private rooms. I was quite aroused.

There was an average-sized bed in the middle of the room. My bedmate didn’t bother to introduce herself. Neither did I. “I will fuck you well,” was the first thing she said to me in Spanish.

“That is good!” I replied in that same language. I have a strong penis. I will try my best to please you with it.”

She smiled and responded, “Most customers here don’t often care about pleasing us. We are the ones who are supposed to do the pleasing!” Then #24 asked me, “Do you want to use a condom?”

I said, “Only if you insist. I’d rather experience the terrific sensation of coming inside your pussy.”

She nodded her head politely and told me, “Yes, we can fuck without a condom, if you like, but the price is more.”

“My friend is paying for me to have this fuck,” I informed her. “It will go on his bill, so the extra cost is irrelevant to me.”

Girl #24 promptly peeled off her clothing. She had an enchanting body with pokey breasts. They were the center of my attention. I disrobed in a matter of seconds. With us both sitting at the end of the bed, she went right to work and began sucking on my already stiff dick. I played with her tits and kissed the back of her neck—a friendly gesture that both surprised and pleased her.

“Oh, you are the romantic type of man!” she exclaimed between licks on my erection. “I like that very much! You will get an extra special fucking from me.”

I permitted #24 to take charge of our coitus. She quickly assumed the top position, inserted my dick where nature intended it to go, and began fucking me with a passion. It was absolutely wonderful! I pulled her torso close enough to me so I could suck on her tasty and tempting boobs while she merrily rode me. About 10 minutes after I entered her pussy, I delivered a strong jolt of semen inside it. I felt three or four ropes ejaculate from my very pleased organ.

Still conjoined, I embraced her and used my size advantage to roll her over onto her back. Without pulling out even for a second, I continued thrusting my dick inside her. It was remarkably not getting soft—a new experience for me. Even going back to my days of fun in the river with little Jennifer McKell, my rod always got soft not long after I came. Accordingly, I determined that Girl #24 must possess mysterious and marvelous sexual powers. A few minutes later I ejaculated again. It wasn’t as substantial as my tremendous first shot, but it was more than an adequate display of male virility. I was quite pleased with myself—and I loved having intercourse with this super, sexual Ecuadorian bedmate. To that point in my life, it ranked among my best experiences. I would definitely be seeking her wonderful services whenever I was next in this neighborhood.

I spent the final half hour or so with #24 trying to launch another semen spurt from my penis, but I had been reduced to a dry well thanks to this sexy female’s bedroom talents. Still, we had fun experimenting with various sexual positions and personal fetishes. She liked sucking on my male nipples; I enjoyed caressing and fucking her tits even though a third cum shot was beyond my dick’s physical capabilities that glorious afternoon.

After my 60 minutes of carnal bliss had expired, I met Gregory in the establishment’s lobby shortly thereafter. It was easy to recognize that we were both satisfied and happy gentlemen. He had already taken care of our bill.

“Gregory,” I began, “I know you said this was your treat, and It’s probably rude for me to inquire, but how much did this excursion cost?”

“With the usual tip, exactly $12.”

I was startled by the cheapness. “Are you telling me this fantastic fuck I just enjoyed immensely only cost $12.”

“No,” he corrected me. “Our grand total here was $12. That’s $6 for me and $6 for you, my friend. Like you, I opted for the added expense of not wearing a condom. You can’t beat the feeling of launching a big load of cum into a beautiful young girl’s inviting pussy, can you? It’s simply heavenly!”

I just laughed and smiled. I didn’t say it aloud, but I knew I’d be spending a lot of time at Ecuadorian brothels if this was typical of the service I could expect at such ridiculously low prices. I also knew I'd be content to spend the next decade here.