Barcelona male bordello report. Was Re: casual sex
Subject: Barcelona male bordello report. Was Re: casual sex
From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Vadim Temkin)
Date: 28 Sep 1995 18:23:11 -0700
References: <email@example.com> <firstname.lastname@example.org>
I have a terrible shameful confession to make about my trip to
Barcelona... But I'll leave it for later.
Anyway, so I am here in Barcelona, I have seen almost all the
museums and things to see acording guidebooks, but there is one
thing recommended by this particular guidebook that I am not
sure about - whether I want to do it or not...
Well, the thing is male bordello (actually they call it "House
with Boys" or "Chicos de Compan~ia"), and the guidebook is, of
course, Spartacus. I have to explain that I am not into the
"casual sex" too much - I can count all my casual encounters
on fingers of my hands so far (sure, I came out not so long
So, I have this attraction in my book. The prices look
affordable. The chance I can visit something like that back
home is quite slim (there were some talks about opening male
bordello in Nevada last year, but they seems to calm down).
Not that I am terribly horny, rather I am very curious about
this bordello thing. The only encounter with male prostitute
was my first sex encounter, and I felt quite ashamed about
the whole thing. (It was in Tbilisi, then Soviet Georgia, and
I sucked him off on top of the tomb in the old nice cemetery.
He was pimping the girls - and I was bold enough to tell him
that I am rather interested in boys - he offered himself. I
didn't like him, I didn't like myself; and I paid much more
than I expected, and little more than I could afford at that
First, I checked the address - it was like the regular
apartment in the apartment building right off Placa Catalunia.
I didn't get nerve to buzz myself in, and walked pass the
place trying to find some cold cocktail to drink to make
myself more agreeable. No such luck - 3 or 4 bars nearby
didn't do any cold mixed drinks and I didn't want anything
else. What the hell, I told to myself - you have to give
yourself to the science' sake. I briskly walked back to the
building, pressed the correct button, wasn't asked anything
and was buzzed into the building.
The elevator for some reason didn't come down, and I decided
to walk up stairs to the third floor. When I was on the third
floor I didn't see anything which would look for me as a
bordello entrance, but nevertheless I pushed the button.
Eldery gentleman opened the door; what I saw behind him
looked like the living room of nice big apartment. He looked
a little puzzled. How should I asked him about his supposed
business? Well, I didn't find anything better than to ask in
English (it could've been in Russian as well) "is it 3-2-B?"
He answered "No" in the universal language without being
seemingly upset and closed the door.
"Well, - I thought with relief, - I did my part, my effort was
unsuccessful, and I can go home..." - and then I noticed the
big bronze sign "Secundo", which meant I miscalculated the
floor, and I had to go one flight up. I did that, and there
I saw the open door with sign "American Boys" on it - with
small hall and long corridor behind it and with beefcake
posters on the walls.
Cheerful Madame.. pimp.. let's call him manager.. welcomed me
in. He was a little upset that I didn't speak Catala nor
Castilliano. He offered me a suit (which was a room with a
TV, showing some Spanish game show, and the bathroom with a
tacky copy of Michelangelo's David on pseudo-marble column).
From the guidebook, I knew the suit would costs 20% more, and
I decided that I could save on it - I asked for regular room.
He asked me to wait there a little while he prepare the room.
He came back, asked me if I wanted an hour or half-hour, I
said I wanted an hour. (Don't forget, he didn't speak any
English, so it was a mix of Spanish and sign language.) He
wrote down the price, I said OK. The very last moment he
decided to check with me if I knew where I was. He asked me
"Chicos?" - like I had to know difference between "Chicos"
and "Chicas" - I resolved his confusion by confident "Si".
He showed me to a little bit smaller room with a queen-size
bed, the shower stall in the corner, and two chairs, told me
to wait and closed the door. "What? - I wondered, - I wouldn't
have a choice? It's not fair, the book said 8-10 Spanish and
international men! I want my choice!"
The guy came in, blue jeans, no shirt, on the skinny side,
long hair. I didn't know the protocol, so I introduced myself,
he told me what his name was, "Glad to meet you" - I said, and
we shook hands. He left. "Well, after all, may be, I will
have a choice," - cheered I myself. Than the second guy came
in, I shook his hand and asked his name - it was Bruno. The
third guy came in - I started to panic - I am very bad with
names, and I am very, very bad with multiple choice - how
would I remember all this guys, and how would I choose from
Anyway, next was the manager again, he started to tell me
excuses, as I understood - he said that 3 chicos were off
duty, and 2 were with other clients, so that was all he could
to offer. [Now I wonder how did I manage to understand all
I said it was OK, and that I liked the second one, Bruno. The
manager asked what I wanted to drink, brought requested Coke,
and left again.
Here comes Bruno... Well, if you were expecting details - you
won't get them here. We started and ended showering together.
The sex was very vanilla, very safe (nothing even remotely
unsafe - BTW rubbers, big dispenser of lubricant, kleenex,
and towels were all on the bed-side tables). Was it the
greatest sex I ever had? Not nearly - sex with the man I
loved was much better. Was it the worst sex I had? Not at
all! Much better than anything I had for quite long time.
Very sweet, very clean, very satisfying. I enjoyed beautiful
Bruno's body, the tan, smooth, soft skin of this Brazilian
guy - especially great looking against the sheets brightly
lit by fluorescent light. I liked his responsiveness, and
that I didn't have to be self-conscious at all. In few words -
it was one very enjoyable hour.
He said that he had to leave the room first, and I had to
wait for a boss (BTW, his English was much better than his
manager's, and we did exchange some information in bed,
before, and after it - not that we were very talkative - but
I am never talkative during the sex - and he felt these kind
of things really well).
I thanked him for the good time - he thanked me for choosing
him. We exchanged good-night kisses and good-bye handshakes,
and that was it.
I paid to the manager by Visa card (interesting, in which
category it will appear in the yearly credit card report? and
would it be tax-deductible?)
Feeling clean and relaxed I walked down Rambla to the very
nice, almost empty Catalan/French restaurant Agut d'Avignon
[aside to Ken and Arne - all your other recommendations were
just excellent!] and had very nice, light, satisfying dinner.
So, what is the moral of the story? There is no one! It was
very nice experience for me. I didn't feel dirty or ashamed.
I didn't feel bad for myself. I didn't feel bad for the Bruno
- even with great deal of what I paid going to the pimp - he
was paid nicely for his services. I didn't fell that money
were spent wrongly - I paid more for one less than great
dinner a week ago, and about the same for hair-cut plus good
dinner the very same day - and if I start to count what it
costs per night my last... - never mind, I don't even want
to think about it.
That's my report on Barcelona male bordello.
Wait a minute, I promised terrible shameful confession. Here
it goes - I didn't like Gaudi. I expected I would like him, I
had to like him - but I didn't. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Vadim in Barcelona, looking forward for motss.com - no, not
for the casual sex there - I am not THAT kind of guy.
Vadim Temkin (email@example.com)