Yet more heat rises to add to the already sweltering heat and humidity of my September Spanish night, the air so still it is almost frozen in a moment of time, from the pale yellow glow of the Citronella candle (my warrior against the mosquitos) that glows quietly in the hammered aluminium bowl that sits of my very heavily tiled coffee table in my little two bedroom Spanish piso. I’m tempted to put on the fan, a ten euro bargain I found last winter at the local rastro (flea market), but I’m trying to keep the electric bill down. You’d think I’d be used to the heat by now, having arrived here 13 months ago, and yet this time of night… 23:35 by the clock on my laptop, feels the hottest. It’s a strange heat at night, a kind of dampness that seems to cling to one’s skin and permeate every pore, every inch of you. It is relentless, only to be escaped from temporarily by a night time walk along the promenade.
I love evening walks here. Back in London as a cyclist I used to love watching men as they cycled past, their legs powerful, beautiful… How I longed to run my tongue up the inside of their calves, their thighs to that place, to that scent of sweat and cock… Man smells… My nostrils pressed deep against that place between their balls and their ass. Lost in them. Here I watch the men as they wander up and down the promenade to escape the heat, their faces usually with bored expressions, their wives or girlfriends walking just a step ahead pushing smiling children in expensive prams, they have what they want.. Offspring, a grandchild to show off at the next family gathering.. But he… He is still so full of lust and energy, his legs brown and lean and long, his feet.. perfection in his trendy sandals, a far cry from the sad dark sock covered feet of the sandal wearing English man on holiday in Margate or Southend-on-Sea.
So Yes… I have a leg and foot fetish.. But only particular feet you see. The soft, smoothness of Spanish skin is just so beautiful, so sensual… But I’m getting away from the point of my story tonight.. 13 Months in Spain… What is it really like??
Well… it’s a fucking blast at first. To go from a damp, over-priced studio over a car wash in London Bridge where the only source of comfort is the moderately priced bottle of Tempranillo and the marked down Cottage Pie from the Sainsbury’s local and the occasional hand job from Grindr to distract one’s attention from the fact that one is never going to be able to afford one’s own flat but instead has to deal with the dodgy Cypriot landlord who hasn’t renovated or painted the flat since 1975 and insists on telling you his entire family history each and every time you meet.. all for the modest price of just £870 per month (cockroaches,mould and temperamental electrics included in the cost!) to a paradise of swimming pools, sunshine, palm trees, big Spanish cocks and very willing assholes, bars with glory holes, cheap booze, cheap fags, cheap rent (in comparison – 350 euros a month for a two bed flat) and a much more relaxed and less draconian way of life.
However, the downside of arriving in Spain to start a new life in July is that one must then go through the first winter in Spain. And oh boy is that different! I never realised I’d need a scarf! Yep it gets cold! And without heating a Spanish flat can get pretty chilly.
The promenade clears of people and you find yourself along, having your coffee in the morning in your jumper and shorts waiting for the sun’s rays to warm up the street.
It’s pretty lonely at times, and despite the Facebook posts wishing you well and the word of encouragement from people, it’s hard. I felt like an alien for the longest time. And I started learning Spanish years ago so when I arrived here I could at least have basic conversations. But yes it is tough going at times.
But then the Spring arrived and the people started to come again. At first the older Norwegians doing their tours past my building as the pebbled street leads up to the church square that sits high above Altea and looks down upon the vast expanse of blue that is the Med. And then the fiestas, the endless church bells ringing and the fireworks and the playing of horns and singing and chanting (only some of which I understand). I must say at first I found the fiestas a pain in the ass as I just couldn’t sleep through the noise but now I love the passion and intensity of the celebration. These guys sure know how to party. However I haven’t really slept properly in about 4 months I must say!
And the Summer.. The heat. The sex… I’ve never sweated so much in my life.. I’m mostly top these days and I do love fucking but my god 38 degrees almost killed me! Especially as I take ages to cum, great for the bottom but not so great for me, we are talking rivers of sweat and near cardiac arrest! I was bottom for years before and at times I am jealous of you guys! Being a top in this heat is hard work, fun, but hard work! It reminds me of the one session of hot Bikram yoga I did once while living in Hampstead.. I’m looking forward to fucking in 20 degrees!!
So where are we…? I must admit this is one of those slightly drunken blogs.. Sometimes it’s interesting just to write after a few glasses of wine and see what comes out. So what is the moral of this story.. Well… Yes living in Spain is fun, it’s is incredibly challenging. I had 3 days of plumbers a few weeks ago (and not in a good way) none of whom spoke any english and I am proud to say I have now learnt that ‘grifo’ means ‘tap’ but my toilet still leaks!!!
Perhaps in a way this is my admission that I am a real person. Amongst all the perfectly photoshopped torsos on that glowing Grindr grid some of us are just regular human beings. I don’t spend every second of every hour at the gym, in fact due to 4 years working as a life model in London and a now quite dodgy knee I rarely go to the gym favouring instead a quick swim in the sea most evenings. I drink alcohol, I make mistakes, I forget people’s names (one of my worst habits), I forget to buy cat food and have to dash to the supermarket to buy some for my rather pissed off and impatient Bengal Oscar. He always forgives me though and I hope you will too.. You see I think we should embrace our imperfections and indeed the imperfections of life in general. So if you’re planning on moving to Spain and changing your life just remember that plumbing breaks here too! But your ‘Grifo’ can always be fixed and back to perfect working order… 😉