A few years back I won a sales contest at work. The prize was a trip to Spain. It was technically a business trip as one of our vendors manufactured the product in Spain and we would be touring the plant. I have always had a fascination with Europe and had never been and, unfortunately, to date have not returned. It began with a little research. There is a club in Barcelona called Bagdad. At this club there is a live sex show where the audience is invited to participate. Not really an exhibitionist, I still found this to be terribly interesting and we would be in Barcelona for two of the six days of this trip. Sweet.
At the airport in New Jersey I walk up to the window to exchange my paltry wad of US currency to Euros. Apparently, the guy fucks up and hands me as many Euro as I handed him US Dollars. Maybe he thought he was conning me, either way, I have 500 Euro in my pocket and walk away. Nine hours later and no sleep we land in Barcelona and wait another five hours for the rest of our party while sipping on much better than Starbucks espressos, or as the locals would say, cafe con leche.
Two short factory tours later and still no sleep and we are in a pub chatting with locals who speak better English than most of us on this side of the Atlantic, smoke like chimneys, and wonder what the Hell we are doing in their small town. A pretty Spanish girl makes googly eyes at me and we go to our hotel to finally sleep. Apparently, I snore when I've had no sleep for 36 hours and I'm hammered drunk. No more roommate for this trip.
I almost score with one of the other contest winners at the prettiest hotel on La Costa Brava. The next morning out South African hosts don't allow any of the male contest winners to sit next to the female contest winners or have adjoining hotel rooms for the duration of the trip. Weird.
Barcelona night life is phenomenal. "Street walkers" stand on the side of highways in plain clothes and do nothing to attract their clientele. Cab drivers entice you with business cards to beautiful escorts at brothels which are illegal, but completely tolerated. I walk in and see two beautiful, busty ladies sitting at the bar. I am already tipsy from wine and not at Bagdad, my original destination, because I have no idea what the cab fare would be from wherever the Hell I am. I think I am getting the finest Spanish ass, but am oddly excited when I find out she is actually Colobmian. She thinks Brazilian women are ugly whores, for the time being I must agree. We get fresh linens from a lady in the back and I hand the same woman a wad of unspent Euros. The South Africans may be weird about women, but are loose with picking up tabs.
We head to a nearby room and I find out the true meaning of the bidet. Washing your junk. How did I miss that after all those years of washing my dick in the sink. I am jealous of something new in Europe...plumbing. Sad.
I don't know her name, but I know she speaks no English. I think she has a kid, but she might have meant Volkswagen Bug for all I know. Next thing, my dick is in her mouth and my tongue is in her ass. The doorman says I can get a cab on my own. I trust him because I am in cloud nine as I leave. He was right and in no time I am at Port Olympico at a bar where the bartenders wear g-strings and bikini tops, the casinos require a passport to get in, and the English drug dealers speak unintelligible "English."
I am told to stop asking questions by y travelling mate lest I get roughed up by the English pot dealer who is convinced Hollywood is brainwashing the world via movies. Stumbling back toward the hotel where the rest of the travelling party is sleeping we are stopped by a guy with a flyer who says he has a good time awaiting. Piece of shit car ride (what were we thinking...oh yeah, drunk) and we end up at yet another brothel. We were assured this would be a strip club. There was a strip club of sorts, but no one was nude, just getting head on a couch in the corner. I am encouraged by my travelling mate to go off with a black princes with a huge ass and a nice smile. Halfway there I am stopped in my tracks by a uber-curvey blonde. I can't pass that up and I ditch the Nubian princess. She is pissed. I don't feel bad as I look back to cellulite.
I am told to wash up with the bidet. Luckily, I know how at this point. I don't remember how I came to be inside her (alcohol and lack of sleep), but I do remember being quite disappointed by all the bad surgical scars (lipo?). She says I am too big, which sounds like a cop out and she opens the door. My dick is seen in public. Of course, I had wanted to go to Bagdad where that was the point, but somehow it seems in bad taste now. She closes the door and finishes me with her mouth or hands or something, I really don't remember. I shoulda stopped with the first.
I stumble back to the hotel alone. I was ditched by my mate. There is no crime in Barcelona, I think. On the way to the airport two hours later, the cab driver hits the car in front of him. The driver of the other car waves. That's it. God Bless Europa!!
