I had moved to a central neighborhood of the capital of Turia just a month ago, a privileged area that, although renovated, mixes the last remnants of a traditional neighborhood with new alternative shops and bars, all surrounded by a decadent beauty.

In reality, I was looking to change my surroundings, not depend so much on my car, prioritize my quality of life, and have everything within walking distance, without worrying about where to park, and this last point also included casual relationships, which can become complicated when you live more than 5 km from the city.

With all the changes, and having been accustomed to the proximity of large peripheral supermarkets, I had great difficulties doing my weekly shopping, or simply going to get a haircut, and of course, I wasn't looking for just any hairdresser, I hated the atmosphere of a modern, trendy hair salon frequented by young guys, but I also didn't want to go to a dive bar frequented by straight men at a traditional barbershop.

One Thursday afternoon, wandering aimlessly, I saw a small shop that, although old, was decent, "Barbería Vicente". Due to the size of the shop, at the entrance, there was a small counter, followed by a 3-seat sofa in front of a muted TV, and at the back was the work area, with a sink to wash hair, but I would swear that it was rarely used.

Vicente was a man of almost 50 years, sturdy, hairy, with thick arms, rough hands, and a graying beard, wearing a t-shirt that, without being tight, accentuated his chest and belly. In short, he was an attractive guy, without trying to be, with a defiant and imposing gaze.

Just then, he had a canceled appointment, and while waiting for the next client, he agreed to attend to me, so he directly had me sit down and started cutting my hair. At first, the conversation was very superficial, the typical kind you have with a neighbor in an elevator, but everything changed when he mentioned that he was divorced and had no intention of getting married again.

It must have been the confidence he exuded, or the smell of a man after a day's work that he gave off, but I confessed that after 6 years with my ex-boyfriend, my wedding plans had disappeared.

"There are a lot of loose gays around here, don't worry," he said, without malice.

I laughed, feeling uncomfortable, and wanted to abort the conversation when his next client arrived.

"I don't care," he added. "What I don't tolerate are those who pretend to be macho and then go looking for cock desperately, without their family knowing... it's becoming less common, but there are still some, especially in this neighborhood."

Suddenly, his hand grabbed my head firmly to avoid cutting me with the clippers, a small mole. He looked at me in the mirror, out of the corner of his eye... and I, without wanting to, noticed how my penis was getting lubricated.

"Relax, man," he said with sarcasm. "It was jus...