I was outside Arena, smoking a cigarette. My friends I was travelling with were nearby talking to some Spanish boys. One of them introduced himself to me, S., and I have been dreaming about him even since.
There are some men that are just magic, that just have a presence, a confidence in their own skin, a smile and eyes that show that, declare it to the world, to anyone that encounters the , that they are sexy as fuck. This was one of those men.
My friends wandered off. His friends wandered off. It was just the two of us and a massive crowd of people at Arena on Saturday night. I had no idea where my friends were, didn’t care. He seemed to have the same lack of concern about the whereabouts of his friends. We talked, we smiled a lot each other, we had a lot of sex with our eyes on the dance floor. This person is one of the most beautiful people I have ever met, that I have ever had the lucky, lucky pleasure to spend a night with. I haven’t documented things in this diary in quite a while but this I wanted to document, needing to memorialize these details because my memory gets worse and worse as I get older and older, and this is something I want to hold on.
I left Barcelona early yesterday morning and am now back in NYC, dreaming of this night, of this person, wishing I lived in the same city as him so I could see his face again. Not even to sleep with. That’d be great, but just to look on this person’s face does something else to me. I have been looking at his Instagram non-stop. I found a Youtube channel of his where he posts beautiful covers he sings of pop songs. I am, to put it simply, obsessed.
This is a person with so much swagger and who deploys it so beautifully, so effortlessly. We danced to reggaeton, Maluma I believe, him taking the lead. We talked about Latin music, pop music, New York, drag queens, and I am not sure what else. He said he wanted to see the drag queens in New York. I told him to come, to stay with me, for however long he wanted, a month even, that it’d be fine, that I’d love to show this beautiful man around New York.
My friend had his phone stolen in the club and various friends came up to me to tell me he needed help. I waved them off, not wanting to lose these moments with this beautiful, gorgeous man. Eventually my friend found me on the dancefloor as I was grinding against this man to various Latin beats. My friend told me we needed to go, wanted the address of our AirBNB. I knew he had no way of finding it, so I went outside with him, S. coming with us outside.
I told S. that my friend and I had to head home. He said he hoped I was also taking him with me. Of course, I said, or something like that, trying to act more suave than I actually was, while inside I was doing cartwheels that the most beautiful man I had ever seen wanted to come home with me.
We took a taxi back to Poble-Sec, the sun starting to rise through the front window of the taxi down the horizon of a beautiful Barcelona street. I kept remarking on how beautiful it was. S. told me to take a picture of it. I did. He got it. He understood the beauty. Not in a patronizing or drunk way that most would, but in a way where we were both vibing on its gorgeousness together.
We went up to our 5th floor apartment. My friend went in his room to sleep and my night continued with S. He said he wanted to take a shower because he smelled and wanted me to brush my teeth because they smelled like cigarettes.
And this - this right here - is the one moment that I want to be burned in my memory forever: It was a tight, tiny bathroom. I stood at the sink right across the shower, brushing my teeth as he stood naked in the shower, shower door open, and staring at me with his intense eyes. His dick was perfect, his body tight, and he knew this. He knew what power he held over me, how much I enjoyed what I was looking at. This was the slightest bit of a cocky smile in the corner of his lips as we started each other down, him knowing what beautiful a sight I was experiencing. He told me to join him. I did.
From the shower, we went to my bed. I sucked his dick, complementing it, telling him how nice it was. He said something along the line of: Good, ‘cause you’re going to suck it in the morning as soon as you wake up. I encouraged him to spit on me, to slap me, to make noise. It was so, so insanely hot. I sucked on his beautiful feet and toes for a quite a while, this person literally perfect from head to toes.
We came. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, cuddling. I told him he had to come stay with me in New York. He told me I was drunk, that I didn’t mean that, that I wouldn’t say that in the morning, that he would seriously come but he knew I wasn’t serious. I told him I was serious and would tell him so again sober in the morning.
We woke up late, around 11:30. And two things happened that we said would. I was forced to suck his dick as soon he woke up. It was beautiful. He sucked mine. He came all over my face, me catching some to eat, wanting some part of this man in me, some of his magic to take with me. And then after we came again, the other thing promised occurred. I told him to come stay with me, that I was 1000% serious.
And maybe he will. Maybe he won’t. Maybe I’ll never see this man again. But right now, I have these memories. I am trying my best to hold on to them, writing them down to preserve them against time’s fading qualities on memory. Each hour, the details become less sharp, but this is an attempt here to hold the line against time, to keep these memories preserved, this beauty, forever.
