Prologue: The awakening in the bar

The series, "The Book of Renditions" will consist of a prologue and 10 chapters, where we will immerse ourselves in various situations and attempt to delve into their psychology. I hope you enjoy it.

Preparatory Chapter: The Awakening in the Bar

My name is Mateo, and until that night, in the "El Sótano" bar in Barcelona, I believed that my sex life was just a dull echo of what it could be. I was 28 years old, had a shared apartment in Gracia with views of an interior patio where the sun barely entered, and a job as a graphic designer that kept me stuck to the screen until late. My ex, Carlos, had left me three months ago with a phrase that still burned me: "You're too passive, Mateo. You don't give anything". Passive. The word stuck to me like a rusty nail. In bed, yes, I was: I liked being fucked hard, having my hair pulled, being told what to do. But in life, I was the opposite: independent, stubborn, always planning. The breakup left me with a void that I didn't know how to fill. I started going out more, downloading apps, flirting with guys in bars. I was looking for something that would take me out of that gray routine, something with risk that would remind me that my cock and ass weren't just for solo jerking off.

That Friday night, the bar was packed: flashing red lights, smell of sweat and beer, techno music pounding against the exposed brick walls. I was wearing a tight pair of jeans that highlighted my package and a black t-shirt that showed off the tattoos on my arms – nothing extravagant, just abstract lines that I had designed myself. I approached the bar, ordered a gin and tonic, and scanned the room. There he was: a guy around 35, tall, with a three-day beard and a t-shirt that clung to his muscular chest. His name was Iván, as he told me later, but at that moment, he was just dark eyes staring at me from the other side of the bar.

We looked at each other for a while, the classic game of "I see you, you see me". Finally, he approached me, put his hand on my waist without asking permission, and whispered in my ear: "I've seen you looking. Do you want something?". His breath smelled of whiskey, and his hand slowly moved down to my ass. The bar was full: guys dancing, laughing, kissing in the corners. No one was paying attention, but the risk was there – anyone could turn around, see how I let myself be touched in public. I nodded, my cock already half-hard. "Yes", I said, my voice trembling. He took me to the bathroom, a narrow cubicle with graffiti on the walls and a smell of piss and disinfectant that turned me on even more.

He closed the door, but not with a lock. "Sit down", he ordered, pointing to the toilet. I sat down, my knees trembling. He pulled out his cock – thick, veiny, with the head already wet – and put it in my face. "Suck it, faggot". The word hit me like a whip, but instead of getting angry, it excited me. I opened my mouth and swallowed it up to the throat, dr...