Barcelona male bordello report. Was Re: casual sex

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 
these details?]

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 - no, not 
for the casual sex there - I am not THAT kind of guy.
Vadim Temkin (