Summer in Barcelona, my chapter in The Pretty City. I had always loved the feminine energy of the Catalan capital, the sensual curves of Gaudi’s architecture, the exuberant Art Nouveau floral fantasies, her streets paved with petals, her shores cradled by The Big Blue.
I had high hopes for the men of Barcelona, imagining an abundance of dark-eyed, long-lashed, olive-skinned beauties roaming the streets. In reality, the Catalan men I met were not so tall and quite brusque looking; plenty of beautiful gay men around but not as free-flowing in the straight camp.
After a fairly uneventful date with a Catalan guy, I lost enthusiasm. Imagine my delight when I came across the online profile of a ludicrously beautiful model called Jésus. He was exactly the fantasy man I’d had in mind. He could have been the lovechild of Marcus Schenkenberg and Cindy Crawford! Speaking on the phone, I felt his energy as very sweet, smooth and easygoing. Slight logistical issue – he lived 3 hours away in Zaragoza.
Jésus invited me to visit him that weekend. It was tricky for me to have nocturnal visitors in my shared flat. I took the questionable decision to travel to Zaragoza, lying to my anti-internet dating flatmate, disguising my risqué romantic dalliance as a trip to visit friends.
Mildly inebriated on Friday night, I booked my ticket for the following day. On the bus to Zaragoza, terror and excitement pulsed through me in equal measure; the thrill of doing something I had never done before, the coach hurtling along the motorway, the snaking arid landscapes new and expectant. If I didn’t feel a good vibe with Jésus, I could always just spend the weekend in Zaragoza, but if I didn’t try I would never know….
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