Fragment 4 - Spanish 101

I had just celebrated my eighteenth Birthday when I first arrived in Barcelona. I have written previously of how I fell in love with this wonderful city and its people, but I made little mention of my sexual adventures there. A very good reason exists for that omission; the main event was my love affair with Spain itself - my sex life was almost incidental.

Having finally escaped an abusive childhood, I had spent a year or so in England where I discovered girls with a vengeance. I did not always behave very well - I became a "fuck 'em and leave 'em" sort of guy and was usually juggling two or three affairs at any one time. That said, my many girlfriends were hardly vestal virgins either!

And, having finally tasted the joys of straight and uncomplicated sex after so many years of virtual enslavement by abusive men, it is surprising to me that I nonetheless also had my first consensual sex with a guy shortly before leaving for Spain. It was this guy - Robert - who encouraged me to do as he did and move to Barcelona - hopefully to find work and to improve my language skills, but also to expand my horizons and embrace a different culture.

And, though I came close to starvation in the early months, I certainly did take this wonderful city to heart and stayed there for two and one-half years.

In the early months, the allowance my father paid me just never seemed to break through the red tape and lob into my bank account in Barcelona. So I stayed in one of the lowest dives in existence. It was a pension in the Gothic Quarter - cheap, filthy and redolent with the smells of sweat, garlic and unwashed socks. It was home but I spent little time there - I was too busy exploring every street, plaza and alleyway and engaging with the locals. It was on one of these walks of discovery that I first met Miguel.

Miguel was about three years older than me. He was of medium height, slim and spoke no English. It is fair to assume that he noticed me because there were precious few tall, blond teenage boys to be found in the meaner streets of Barcelona. He was also a compulsive crotch-watcher and his interest in what was in my jeans was blatant even to unsophisticated little me. For my part, I was instantly attracted to someone prepared to tolerate my attempts to converse in Spanish. He was also very good-looking - almost pretty perhaps - with lustrous brown eyes that seemed to speak to me. He lived with an older but quite brutal lover but occasionally got away to spend time with me, generally just wandering around the city, chatting happily and pooling our limited resources to buy bread rolls and cheese.

Occasionally we found a quiet place - a dark passageway, a secluded doorway, a leafy overhang of trees in a park - and then we would embrace, kiss and fool around a little. Miguel was the first person to tell me I had a good-sized dick. I had not realised this before. In the city, there were no opportunities to fully consummate our relationship, and maybe that suited me best - I was incredibly ambivalent about fucking with a guy; blow-jobs and jerk-offs were fine, but the whole enchilada seemed a fearful thing.

Compounding my sexual ambivalence at this period was the fact that the "nice" young ladies who lived in Barcelona were nothing like the young girls whose favours I had enjoyed in swinging London. They did not live alone in apartments. They generally stayed at home with their families until granted permission to be courted by a young man who had been carefully vetted by Papa. This might lead to an engagement and then to a wedding. In the interim, I'm sure young couples did find ways to do what young couples inevitably do, but no young girls were on street-corners waiting to walk unchaperoned with a foreign Protestant boy.

Once I began to earn more money as an English tutor at the university and once my allowance started to roll in regularly, there were sufficient funds for Miguel and me to occasionally escape by train to the small seaside town of Sitges, with its ancient ruined castle and quaint little pensions where it was quite normal to rent out rooms to guys even though there was only a double bed to sleep in.

I think Miguel and I spent three weekends in Sitges during my first summer in Spain. We swam or baked in hired deckchairs during the day and we ate sparingly each evening in the cheapest restaurants in town. On our very first afternoon there - having obtained the key to our room and dumped our meagre luggage on the floor - I can recall looking at the double bed, a shabby affair but the place where Miguel and I would rest alongside each other that night. It seemed to dominate the room and I watched as Miguel lowered himself onto it and gazed up at me with languorous bedroom eyes. With no word spoken, we each stripped off our clothes and immediately gave rein to all the unreleased passion of recent weeks.

We kissed deeply and yearningly and then I took Miguel's slim and compact cock into my mouth while he did the same thing with mine. Perhaps this would have been sufficient for me if Miguel had not rolled onto his back and given me a longing gaze, drawing his legs upwards as if to rest them on my shoulders, thus revealing the small pucker of his arse-hole. I moved into the required position, applied saliva to my already weeping cock, found his entrance with my fingers, and then entered him slowly while his eyes beckoned me to move deeper and deeper inside him.

It was a tight fit but a glorious one. His eyes betrayed some slight pain once I was finally buried to the hilt, but this was a transient thing - I was fucking a guy for the first time in my life and that fuck soon outgrew tenderness; it became a pounding and relentless invasion of Miguel's tight arse - my balls slapped noisily against him with each thrust, the bed creaked alarmingly, and my loins began their surge towards climax. When at last I blew, my entire body quivered ecstatically as spurt after spurt of cum was unleashed deep inside my friend. Miguel shot his load soon afterwards, his sphincter clenching hard on my cock as his hand persuaded a load of cum to fly into the air and fall all over his chest and face.

I paused slightly until the tight contractions around my dick had ended and then, in the delectable and silky slipperiness of my own cum, I fucked my friend again. This time there was less urgency on my part but Miguel began an insistent upward thrust with his hips and buttocks, so - once again - there was a relentless pounding, and once again I shot a load deep within him.

Each time we went to Sitges, it was much the same story. I fucked Miguel morning, noon and night, and in between-times we swam and sunbathed. By now my Spanish was sufficiently proficient to know that there was little chance of any intellectual companionship between us - Miguel was poorly educated and both unaware of and uninterested in anything outside his own odd little world. His lover. Iganacio, inflicted frequent beatings on his younger protege and yet Miguel always went back to him. Over time I became aware that some of Ignacio's rages may have been justified - Miguel was addicted to being fucked and I discovered that I was but one of many guys he went with, sometimes in return for money. This did not particularly upset me as I was far from being in love. In any case, at least Miguel never asked me to pay for the pleasure of fucking him. All it ever cost me was the price of a cheap room and a few train tickets. Once I became aware of Miguel's true vocation in life, and as my circle of friends expanded,we saw less and less of each other. My last sighting of him was in a seedy backstreet near the docks and he was, yet again, sporting a black eye.

Hindsight is always perfect. Today I know there are such things as rent boys. I did not know this when I was eighteen. I was a bit shocked when I discovered that Miguel was "on the game". Now, looking back, I realise that I was once a rent-boy's charity fuck; but I think he enjoyed being on the receiving end of my cock and I have opted to believe that receiving free samples from a working boy is really quite a compliment!

Around this time my friend Robert inaugurated another change in my life - now that my Spanish was reasonably fluent, now that I had a tan that screamed "idle rich", and now that I could almost afford to dress well, he began to introduce me to some of Barcelona's "glitterati". Sex was to be a component of this new world but - for most of the people I met - art, music, beauty, history, fine dining and conversation were considered every bit as sensual as writhing naked on a bed.

Comments

comically has done it yet again. I wonder if it will eventually be possible to bring all these blogs together into a coffee table book- then again- maybe comically can think of many coffee tables where perhaps he may NOT want to see his book lol again a superb human interest story.
 
It's nice to return to Barcelona with you and review the story of Robert a bit more fully. He did extend you a complement as a working man to you, a pleasure companion on the side. But you may have earned the complement. Indeed you were interested in him, sought him out, even if only to learn Spanish better, and you were accepting of his circumstances and his activities. You were a much younger man then, but the pattern of accepting others and benefiting from being so accepting had already begun. Maybe it began with your father. In any case is makes for engaging reading and has provided you an fascinating life. Nice that all this occurred before HIV-AIDS.
 
I'm all out of clever comments - I love hearing about your adventure tho. Compared to you, my world has been quite small - I envy your travel around the world and all the sexual experiences you have had. Good job, my friend!
 
I am struck by the free thinking, acceptance of others as you find them, and the objective view of events -- perhaps this was not always the case, but considering the number of years ago it is refreshing to read.

No sense of really being used, or of unfairly using others, but instead an atmosphere where young men and women were able to find all manner of expression in an era before modern dangers complicated our lives.

Somehow it all seems so innocent, so natural, so easy. I wonder -- was it really so? It makes me long for the good old days!
 

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