Breaking Up is Hard to Do

After much maneuvering and Avila playing the dying, reluctant swan, they got into the position the matador wanted—rising on their knees on the bed, Richard behind and embracing Avila, one hand jacking Avila off, while Avila posed for the mirror at the side of the bed. As Richard got himself in position and mounted and was penetrating the lithe, writhing, sighing matador from behind, Avila dramatically called out, "Um touro. Você é um touro!—A bull. You're a bull!" and the fuck settled down to Avila, ever the dancer and performer, panting and moaning and performing the surrender of his virginity for the cameras and the mirror.

This time the bull ultimately won.

The cameramen had the most difficulty and exercise. They continually had to find good angles to film the fuck from without themselves being reflected in the mirrors that Avila was making love to.

Garca invited Richard back for the next day at the bullring, watching Avila dance with the bull, and later in bed with Avila, without the cameramen, but Richard demurred, saying he had other activities he wanted to check out.

"No, the interview went great," he said. "I'm sure ESPN will run it. And the other film was fun too. But once with Roque was enough, I think."

Garca understood. He had to live and contend with Roque Avila's worship of himself. "Do you really have other activities you want to engage in alone for the two more days you'll be here, or would you like me to show you what men like you and I like to do to unwind—perhaps with rougher, more manly, trade than Roque."

"I'd like that," Richard answered. Rough sex would be a novelty for him. And he did like it better than the sex with Avila, which had not been anything like what he'd hoped and imagined it would be, albeit it would be interesting to be able to say he'd laid a matador. It wasn't nearly as satisfying, he decided, as his romp in the bed with David had been in Puerto de Sanxenxo. That thought depressed him. He'd broken up with David. That was in the past. What he was looking for was something that was as good as sex—and life—with David, or better.

The rest of the Portugal trip was OK, though. Garca took him across the causeway over the Rio Tejo waterway to the naval port area at Almada. There were brothels there, including ones featuring male whores, as one option, and where also the young Portuguese sailors came, randy and needy, on shore leave from sea voyages. Some of these were submissive. Here, over two nights, Richard and Garca shared a succession of four young, willing Portuguese whores and sailors in double penetration sessions that had already been established as a pleasure for them in the New York bathhouse.

This, this sharing of a young sailor, is what Garca should be filming for some fan club, Richard thought. But he didn't mention it. He wasn't really interested in becoming a porn star, even if he was built for it. He wanted something athletic and inventive, yes, but neither the Portuguese male whores, the submissive sailors, nor Garca were as experienced in what could be done and were totally satisfying as he got in the States—like he'd once been getting with David.

* * * *

David had just come back from a morning at the beach in Puerto de Sanxenxo, where he'd made "interested" eye contact with beautiful Spanish men a few times but hadn't pursued anything, when the expected call from Richard came through.

"I think I'll just drive on to Barcelona," Richard said. "There's a cute figure skater at the Pista de Gel Skating Club there I'd like to interview."

The "cute" was enough for David to know what Richard's interest in this interview was. "I thought maybe you'd come back here and we could do Santiago de Compostela together," he said, trying to keep the disappointment frustration he felt out of his voice. He had turned down opportunities on the beach with the hope that Richard would be back soon. What they'd done before Richard went to the bullfights had given David hope of rekindling their relationship.

The Santiago visit had become one of the sticking points between them. They both wanted to see the city itself. Boasting several medieval period architecture wonders, especially the cathedral, the area was also famous for religious pilgrimage trails to Santiago, the Camino de Santiago, and David was hoping to do a segment of one of these. Richard hadn't expressed an interest in that. David had held off from visiting there himself because he hoped Richard would come back from Portugal and they could go together. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen.

"I'd been looking forward to the two of us doing some activities together, based from here, between our own activities," David added.

Richard didn't try to suppress the heavy sigh from the Lisbon end. This breaking up was so much easier for him than for David. David was being clingy even though, intellectually, he'd accepted that it was over. Richard was thinking that he should never have gone back to him even for a few days when it didn't work out with Craig Lundsford. And they should just have come to Europe separately. They might have if it hadn't meant losing some deposits for shared lodging and the hassle of rescheduling flights.

"I've already called the skating club in Barcelona," he said. "It's all arranged. I also want to go to Madrid to interview the pro tennis player, Fernando Lopez, and, once near the Mediterranean coast, it wouldn't make any sense to drive back to the northwest coast only to turn around and go back to Madrid."

"So, this is it for time together on the vacation," David said, trying to keep the dejection out of his voice.

"Seems so, good buddy. I'll see you in New York, I guess, when I get the rest of my stuff out of the Chelsea apartment."

So, that was that, David thought. He was free to do the Santiago pilgrimage trail hike himself. He didn't have to wait on Richard anymore. "Have to." It sounded so definitive—and a little pathetic. He'd just have to bite the bullet and forge ahead. Richard was so much what he'd wanted—except for the lack of commitment. David picked up the brochures on the pilgrimage opportunities. He didn't have time to do much of the trail, but he could do enough to get a flavor of it, he hoped. Then a couple of days in Santiago, soaking up the architecture of that place. It would be good to have a guide for that, but he guessed he'd have to concentrate more on going it alone in life—even though the thought of that scared the hell out of him. It seemed so bleak. He wasn't getting any younger. His sexual fulfilling days seemed to be marching to a conclusion. He didn't know if he was ready for that yet.

Well, he wasn't going to just mope around in the Puerto de Sanxenxo his whole vacation, as nice as it was. It was a great town and he had every reason to believe he could find some companionship on the beach if Richard wasn't going to be there, but they'd come to Galicia to see some sites in an interesting part of Europe. He planned a three-day trip to walk part of the Camino de Santiago into Santiago de Compostela. He'd drive to one of the stops, Arca, on the main pilgrimage trail that was twenty kilometers to the northeast of Santiago, a distance he thought he could handle in a day. He'd make a hotel reservation for two nights in the city to have a full day to explore it, and then hike back to the car.

Three days should be enough to get a flavor of the place. Then he'd take another two-day trip up to the Bay of Biscay, to A Coruña, where there was an ancient tower, the Tower of Hercules, he'd read about and had always wanted to see. Then he could be content with the vacation in Spanish Galicia and he'd go on to Paris, where he would be attending an architecture conference representing the Architecture Record. Richard had initially said he'd go to Paris with him, but he'd already cut that off of his share of the trip.

So, a few days later, he found himself parking the car in Arca and starting off on foot on the final segment of the Camino de Santiago.

More hours later than he'd had any idea it would take, totally foot sore, he stopped at the side of the trail at a place called Monte Gozo, which was on the heights overlooking the city of Santiago de Compostela, the first place from which the city could be viewed from the east, and drank in the city stretched below him. After looking for some twenty minutes, he realized he couldn't go on. He hadn't brought proper hiking boots. He had good athletic shoes, but they just hadn't been up to the requirement. Both the shoes and his feet were shot. There was a café at the side of the trail, with rooms for pilgrims on the second floor, and he just sank to the front steps of that.

"I hope you didn't walk far in those sneakers." The voice was deep, amused. "Bet you're an American."

"Yes, on both counts," David said, looking up to see a mountain of a man—but in great body proportions—standing in the doorway of the two-story rustic building at the side of the trail in Monte Gozo. The man had some aspect of a grizzly bear, but one with a big, friendly grin and, incongruously, wearing an apron. "I hadn't planned to walk very far—just to get a flavor of the pilgrimage trail as it approached Santiago, but I didn't come equipped for a hike—you can't really include hiking boots in luggage for a Trans-Atlantic flight—and the distance was much greater than I'd calculated. And, yes, I'm an American. How could you tell?"

"I don't want to say it's because you came dressed for a stroll in the park and found a rougher trail. It's because I heard you talking with those other hikers passing through. Your American accent pulled me out here. I've been to Chicago."

"I've been to Chicago too," David said. "Great urban architecture."

"Well, you're not in the city now, and I don't think you'll make Santiago before it gets very, very dark. You may not make it at all in those sneakers."

"I realize that. Is this just a café, or does it have rooms too?"

"It has rooms too. But you look like you could use something strong to drink before worrying about finding a room. Come on inside. The first drink is on the house—because we've both been to Chicago."

"Oh, I look more liquor cabinet than bedroom?" David asked. He was being cheeky, but the guy was giving him "that look" and the guy was a god of man.

The man laughed. "You look quite bedroom, since you mention it, but let's have a drink before talking possibilities." So, with that, the guy was being cheeky back and, just perhaps, the dance that certain men do had started.

"Is this your place?" David asked.

"It certainly is."

"Well, I can't turn down a free drink—and a rest for my sore feet. I guess I'll have to look for someplace to stay the night. I think you're right. I won't make Santiago tonight. I have reservations in the city, but I have no idea even where the hotel is."

"I have city maps inside. When I have a few minutes from the other customers, I'll help you locate your hotel. I'm Hugo. Hugo Castro."

"David Danforth," David said. "From New York."

"City?"

"Yes."

"I've been there too. Some impressive architecture there."

"I know. That's what I do. I write about architecture."

"Then you should love Santiago de Compostela," Hugo said.

"So I've heard. That's why I'm here."

"To see the city and go on religious pilgrimage—in Nike sneakers?"

"To see the city and to walk a trail I've heard a lot about."

"You have come alone or with someone else who didn't have Nike sneakers to take in the hike?"

"I thought I'd be with someone, but he split up with me. He wasn't interested in the hike."

"Ah, he."

"Yes, he," David said. There, that should be enough information for the big, beautiful man to decide whether he wanted to go deeper with this.

"You're taking the pilgrimage trail because it's religious?" Hugo asked.

"Not particularly," David said.

"Ah, a fellow who is not deeply religious," Hugo said. "Perhaps a man open to liberal thought and activity, and who likes to have pleasure. I agree that the hike is worth it because this is a lovely part of Spain. I have found the deeply religious men who take the trail aren't that much fun to be with."

"Or that liberal in what they find to be fun?" David asked, with a smile.

"Precisely. Do come in and tell me your choice . . . of drink."

Was the pause querying whether David was a bottom or a top, David wondered. But first the drinks. He opted for beer and patiently waited at his table for Hugo to be free and to join him—for whatever. It had been some time since David had danced around the possibility of a casual hookup. He'd thought his casual hookup days were over. After his most recent unsatisfactory telephone conversation with Richard, though, he was feeling particularly available. He found it a bit exciting to be flirting like this—and with a beefy hunk of a man.

At Hugo's summons, a waiter came out of the back of the café and took over the service of the other patrons, and after looking around to see that everyone was settled, Hugo took off his apron and came over and sat down at David's table. He towered over both David and the table, a handsome, gregarious, bearded man, who looked like a wrestler or a rugby player, complete with a slightly offset nose. David thought the prospects were quite good that the man was a top. He brought a city map with him. "Now, what hotel are you staying in in Santiago?" he asked.

"The Hotel Praza Quintana."

"Ah, a very good choice. Very close to the cathedral, which you'll want to see. And not far from other sights too if you are interested in architecture. There's the Palacio de Raxoi and the Monastery of San Martiño Pinario. And you can't miss the Praza de Quintana—very near your hotel. All classical Spanish Renaissance buildings. None of it to be missed. You said you are traveling alone? You don't have anyone to share the experience with?"

"I didn't mean to be traveling alone to see it," David said.

"But?"

"But, as I indicated, the man I was traveling with has left me—he's gone to Portugal and then on to Barcelona."

"You did say man," Hugo said. "I just wish to be sure. I don't want to embarrass myself in showing an interest."

"Yes," David said, simply. "We had been living together in New York. But it had gotten rocky." He was finding this handsome bear of a man arousing. He saw no reason not to declare himself explicitly. There wasn't anything to lose. The man had opened the discussion with him and seemed to have signaled. Either it would work out or it wouldn't. He'd never see the man again after this, one way or the other. "But I don't want to embarrass you if you don't like to hear about men being with other men."

"I very much like hearing about men being with other men," Hugo said, with a grin. "You can't go to Santiago in those sneakers, I think," he added, not reacting further at that point to David's admission that he was gay. "I may have a pair of hiking boots you can borrow."

"I can't hardly see how that can happen," David said. "But thanks for the offer."

"You'll have to come back through here. I heard you tell those other hikers that you'd come from Arca and had left your car there."

"That's true. But you're a big man. I think I'd be able to swim in your boots."

"Do big men scare you?"

"No, they dazzle me."

Hugo laughed. "They wouldn't be my boots. They'd be Estavo's."

"Estavo?"

"Yes, he's my guy. About your size. He's off doing military duty."

"Your guy?"

"I think you know what I mean. He goes under me. Here, I'll go get the boots." When he came back, they fit David. He was gone long enough for David to recall and figure out the "he goes under me" reference.

"They fit," David said. And we'd fit, he thought to himself. "I could leave you some sort of surety that I'd bring them back."

"I have a better idea," Hugo said. "I'll go with you to Santiago to keep an eye on them. You'll see more of the city if I'm there. I know where everything is. I could guide you."

"But where would you stay?"

"You said you have a hotel room. You could wear Estavo's boots, if you gave me what Estavo gives me. If you will go under me. I have missed it. I pick him up in a couple of days. I could drive you back to Arca on my way to picking Estavo up at the military base."

"And I could take Estavo's boots off then?"

"I would hope you would take everything off for me. You are a sexy man and I have my needs. Or do you not want to talk about the bedroom? I said we would see to a drink before talking about the bedroom. You've had your drink. We talk about the bedroom now?"

"It's getting dark," David said. "You say you have rooms here. Do you have one for me?"

"The rooms are all taken, but there is my bed. I will let you in my bed, if you let me put my cock in you."

That certainly gave David pause. The first bald word on the subject they'd both been dancing around. "You want to fuck me?"

"I want to put my cock in you—fuck you, yes. If you are agreeable to that, you will be my Estavo tonight—and tomorrow night in Santiago too, if tonight goes well. You can say no now, if you wish, and I will help find you another room for tonight."

David didn't say no.

That night went well, as did the next one in Santiago after they'd had a full day of walking the city and admiring the architecture. Hugo's cock matched his size and his technique was both inventive and forceful. The coup de grâce—when Hugo fired off after various positions and edging out of them, giving David two ejaculations before Hugo gave his up—came with David kneeling on the bed, facing the headboard, and Hugo behind him, standing on the carpet, grasping David's wrists, and pulling back on David's arms as he power fucked David from behind. Hugo had been polite enough to ask how rough David would like it and David had answered that he wasn't made of glass.

David enjoyed the two nights with Hugo, but he didn't think he could take anything that forceful—or a cock that big—on a steady basis. It was just as well that he also got the distinct impression that Hugo and Estavo were a permanent couple and that, beyond that, Hugo wasn't interested in anything more than a one- or two-night stand. David wasn't getting any younger. He wanted something more than a one-night stand.

After Hugo and before leaving for Paris, though, all he got was a couple of one-night stands. And, although he was still hoping that Richard would come back to Puerto de Sanxenxo for a day or two, Richard didn't.

In the Santiago hotel room, after an athletic fuck and Hugo complimenting David for how well he took it, Hugo said, "There are other parts of Galicia with architecture I'm sure you would enjoy seeing. You should go to—"

"I'm going to A Coruña," David said. "I want to see the Tower of Hercules." The tower, a lighthouse on the Bay of Biscay, was built by the Romans, which made it quite old, but the Galicians had a legend that it was even older than that—that it had been built by Celts, who, having been able to see Ireland from there, of course an impossible feat, had sent an expedition off from there to bring the Celtic culture to the Emerald Isle.

"I have a friend there who I think you might enjoy," said Hugo. "I'm sure he would enjoy you. He will do it rough. He's a guide at the tower. You'll find something unusual about the guides."

The guide indeed was happy to see David. He was nearly as big as Hugo was—in every way. And the surprise Hugo was referring to was that the guides at the Tower of Hercules wore kilts, claiming that they too were native to Galicia. And the man David was guided to kept to the tradition of wearing nothing under the kilt, which made it convenient when the two met, as the guide, having heard from Hugo that David was an easy and enjoyable lay, found a private spot in the park surrounding the tower to bang David in the bushes, requiring no more than a flip up of his kilt to be in fucking form—and then again that night in David's hotel room and again the next morning.