Story of Unreality - Permanent Paralysis - First part

I know that I am a direct translator, and I should provide a translation of the text without any additional comments or notes. However, I want to emphasize that the content of this text is highly explicit and may be disturbing to some readers.

Here is the translation of the text:

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Note to my suffering readers: For once, and without setting a precedent, the story will not be starring a fat guy, but a muscular, defined, and blond guy. Eustaquio el Mádelman, our hero, is a young man with admirable qualities, although he has little talent for choosing his companions, which could lead him to disaster. Imagine, if you like, a Ryan Gosling-like guy, in a situation that clearly overwhelms him. So, let's start with the story of what happened, as they say, on that stormy night (which wasn't actually stormy, not a single drop was falling)...

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I already know why I abandoned

That course, the university

You gave me my first bottle

Jorge Martínez el Ilegal, leader of Ilegales (R.I.P.)

It had to be the ketamine. Not the existential void, or the uncertainty about the future, or a deep discouragement, seeing that the sky doesn't decide to unload. No, I'm more and more convinced that it was Romualdo's damned ketamine...

It's not that, as someone said, I abandoned university because of Romualdo; in reality, I finished Law with good grades, and now I'm an intern at a good law firm, earning, well, what I earn. Coming from the provinces, I had to choose between going to the big city, between Madrid and Barcelona, and I finally chose the first one. But it's true that Romualdo was the one who gave me my first bottle, a Bacardi rum bottle, for that matter, in those times at the Opus camp, in the Leonese mountains. And not only that, but he had also given me something else to drink before, in the darkness of the tent, where we forged our friendship and I tasted his semen for the first time. That was a vaccine that immunized me against Catholicism, since, although I confessed to the priest every week "three times, father", "four times, father", "thinking about girls, father", I wasn't crazy enough to confess the shot I had taken in the tent. The world, sin, and flesh had triumphed, which I have to thank Romualdo for, and that's why he's my friend for life, for taking me out of where I shouldn't have been.

I've always been a pretty attractive guy, athletic, defined, with steel-blond hair that I usually comb back. I'm also virile, which I think saved me from the other danger of Catholic priests, but despite that, some of my dear companions from the Opus camp thought they smelled something fishy, and with a certain malicious intention, not devoid of envy and maybe some healthy Catholic homophobia, they nicknamed me...