Monday, 12 December 2016


Hi guys, sorry for being away for so long. I was in an amazing trip in South East Asia, including Thailand, Cambodia, Malaysia, Laos, Singapore, Indonesia....I will write more about it soon! In the meanwhile enjoy this video I found on Youtube! Really funny
The steam room stories guys.
Is it really eggnog on the sock? Find out more!
The video of these gorgeous sexy guys is here!

Sunday, 30 October 2016


On the SweetandSexyguy Youtube page there is a great video on the hottest gay kisses of the sexiest gay male couples. Sweet, romantic and passional moments shared by handsome guys in a 6 minute and 26 seconds video. Do not miss it, watch it here

Sunday, 11 September 2016


Hi guys, I haven't forgotten you, I was just in Prague for a few days and impressed by the beauty of the local guys. Here a couple of pictures of Prague. A sexy Czech posing naked on his bike, just an ad in the Prague underground and two male statues pissing... Cool fountain isn't it.
Below some pictures and a video, plus another chapter of the gay stories.

One day Carla and I had the same shift and after work she was so kind to drive me home. When we arrived at my place, we noticed that the front door was opened and Edoardo and Abdul were smoking a cigarette in the patio. They came towards us, they smiled and Abdul pointed out that my neighbour was a weirdo. An hour before Edoardo had tried to talk to him but the strange man had covered his face with his hands and had run away.
As soon as Carla, Abdul and Edoardo went inside, I heard my neighbour calling and I went to the fence to see what he wanted. “How many rooms do you have upstairs?” He asked without saying hello. “Two” I replied and “Sorry, I have to go” I concluded, as I did not feel too comfortable with him. I quickly reached my friends inside, we had a beer and chatted till 1am, then everyone left, I locked the door and I went upstairs to get ready for bed.

Once in the bathroom, I took off my clothes, I turned on the water in the bathtub and I sat waiting on the closed toilet seat. Suddenly I heard a noise coming from the loft. I looked above and the hatch was open, I was trying to figure out how that could have happened, when I heard a second noise. My loft was huge, dark and full of trusses, it had neither light nor a ladder and I did not trust myself on a chair, to look inside with the help of a torch. “What if my crazy neighbour is in there and chop my head off?” I thought. I wore quickly my bathrobe, I grabbed one of the four cordless, I run out the house and I locked the door, ready to call the police. Once in the garden, half naked, in the middle of the night, I realized that having watched the DVD “Scream” the day before could have driven my fantasy a little. I did not feel like calling the police, so I tried to reach Edoardo on the phone and check if he had left the hatch open. My colleague’s mobile phone was off, so I decided to call his Egyptian friend. “Hi Abdul, sorry to bother you, did you leave the hatch open?”
“What? Mattia? I cannot hear you…” He said. “I want to know, if you were in my loft…” I repeated with an even more scared and trembling voice.

Eventually Abdul broke into a laugh and confirmed that they had been in the loft, to check out the boiler and they had forgotten to close the hatch. The mystery was solved and I could go inside again. The day after I bought myself a ladder to explore my loft properly and within a week Edoardo had made me the fool of the office, telling the whole story to everyone.

Sunday, 26 June 2016


Dear British friends,
I am really sorry you chose to leave the EU. On the other side I am happy that you know your way and I respect the decision you took. I had the luck to live in London for 7 years and I have been traveling to the UK almost every year since 1993, so I believe I have a good understanding of your culture, they way you see yourself in Europe and the way you see Europe. When I lived in London I had the feeling that local people were not proud to be in the EU. I remember the headlines of most (if not all) British newspapers saying how bad the EU was, how bananas should be straight and so on and I was surprised, this is not the EU I knew. When my English got better I decided to talk with some of you, my British friends, on how I saw the EU. I was born in 1978 and I saw the EC evolving into what it is now the EU. As a child I was proud to be born in one of the founding members that are part of this incredible project that unifies one continent full of history under the name of peace. I suffered the bad decisions (monetary union before political union) and I enjoyed the good ones (freedom to live anywhere in the EU, the EU pressure to Italy to get the same sex couples right, the possibilities to travel without restrictions, low cost flights from any two EU cities…)
Often it is argued that the EU is all about banks and money. The Euro was a bad choice because it was not well planned. All right. The EU is not perfect. It is far from perfection but it is a good project that had improved our lives and gave us freedoms they would have dreamed of in the 50s or earlier.
UK brexiters used the argument that the EU is about money and not about people. It is a dictatorship some say. The same Brexiters voted to leave in the name of saving money for the NHS. A promise that was broken minutes after the Brexit outcome by the same party leader who made it. The issue is now about the city and the possibility it loses part of the European firms moving to the Eurozone. The issue is about money for your politicians too, in fact you chose, but they are waiting until October to let us know what we already know. In the meanwhile other millions Europeans are waiting for you to decide. Out is out. If you wish to stay in, well then you should show a little more interest on the real meaning of this project rather then the expenses of the NHS, or those Europeans stealing your jobs, forgetting that there are almost as many British people abroad, which make use of European health system about 4 times as much as Europeans use it in the UK.
I am deeply sorry for those of you, my friends, who wanted to stay in, and I hope some day you can convince the rest of your people, that it was a bad choice to leave, but I think the UK politicians should respect their European partners after all this and take the step. After all, they complained the EURO was not well planned, but they could have better planned the Brexit possibility before launching the referendum in the first place. A final note. I do not think Scotland should veto the Brexit. I think Scotland should have the right to choose if the want to stay in the UK or join the EU instead. It would not be fair if the Scottish people could force the English to stay in, as much as it would not be fair for the English to take the Scottish out if they want to stay in. That is, if this referendum was about democracy. UK people I wish you the best of luck and I am sure that those of you who want to keep a EU passport will find the way, after all the EU did not close its borders

Sunday, 29 May 2016

gay guy in Japan

Sjors left the office a couple of hours earlier to come to pick me up at the airport. It was a wonderful sunny day in Barcelona and as agreed I stood waiting next to the entrance of terminal B.  I was looking at a green parakeet, which had flown by to go to its nest under the leaves of a palm tree, when Sjors arrived, we kissed for about five minutes and he helped me with the luggage to the bus. Our new life in Barcelona had finally started.


Sjors works Monday to Friday in an office in Selva de Mar, he really enjoys the new environment and he is happy with his new colleagues. I spend the day on the beach writing this book to an end and at home I make sure that the flat is clean, the laundry is done and the dinner is ready. On the weekends we drive to my parent’s summerhouse in Rosas. We are even thinking to buy a bigger one with a swimming pool.


Yesterday I was shopping in the Ramblas and I found 無印良品 - MUJI. I did not know they had one in Barcelona and I was so happy that I bought a couple of albums for my World pictures. I paid with two hands and I thanked the Japanese shop assistant with a “どもありがとございます - domo arigato gozaimasu”. As she wondered where I did learn Japanese, I explained her that I had taken some classes in London and Berlin and I had traveled to Japan back in 2005.

Tokyo and Honshu, Japan March 2005

Olaf came to pick me up at Narita International airport, where I arrived in the early morning. After my usual post flight cigarette, we took the airport express train to 東京駅 Tokyo central station, we changed there for the Marunouchi Line, then for the Namboku Line and we got off in 六本木1丁目駅 Roppongi-itchōme Eki. Olaf’s apartment was just two minutes walk from the underground station, at the 25th floor of a modern glassy tower in the famous district called Roppongi. The porter stepped in front of the door, which opened automatically before we reached the entrance. “ はようございます - ohayo gozaimasu, Good morning!” welcomed us the Japanese man bending before us. “What’s the point to have a porter that opens an automatic door?” I asked my friend. “I don’t know, it must be extra politeness… Apropos don’t forget you have to give the banknotes with both hands when you pay a Japanese person!” Olaf apartment had a dramatic view on the never-ending megalopolis. I was in Tokyo, the city I had fantasized as a child, during those long hot summers on the Italian Alps with my cousin Marta. Suddenly I lost my balance. “Do you feel the ground moving? Is this an earthquake?” I asked Olaf. “No, you must be just tired. You should get some sleep!” He answered. I went to the bathroom and when I sat on the water closet I noticed that there were some buttons next to it. “Olaf, how does the loo work here?” I asked worried. “See those two buttons with plus and minus signs? Those are for the temperature. Do not press the button with the woman sign on it, or you would get your balls wet. The dryer button is on the left side, you need to operate that only when you are clean…” At first I was scared of the computerized bowl but eventually I got the hang of it and I started enjoying it. After urinating or defecating there is nothing more pleasant for an Italian citizen, than sitting on a bidet and wash anus and genitals. In fact every bathroom in Italy is equipped with a bidet with cold and warm water. In Japan I did not even have to move away from the toilet, I just had to remain seated and a tiny tube would have come out from the back and sprayed clean water where it was needed. After the cleaning operation was over, I enjoyed the best part: warm air to dry the buttocks.

Sunday, 24 April 2016


It was 1:00pm when I arrived at the town hall, which also happened to be the castle of the village and my accommodation. mayor Bassi, a middle-aged unfriendly looking man, came to welcome me and to introduce me to the city council member who was supposed to be my other boss. “Graziella is going to supervise your job for the next 10 months, any problem you might have, you can talk to her”. She was a nice woman, not very talkative but if one had shown her respect, she would have been very understanding and caring. I insisted on the fact that although I had a driving license, I was not used to driving a car, neither in the city nor (and especially) on the mountains. Nevertheless she grabbed an old agenda, she tore off a page and she started drawing something. “This is the river. That is the first bridge. Here you must turn on the right. There you have to turn on the left…” She kept on murmuring and drawing for at least 10 minutes, eventually she looked at me again and she said: “there you go!” I guess she had not even paid attention to what I had told her. I was assigned the task to deliver some boxes of medicine to 3 old ladies, whose houses had also been drawn on that page dated 31st-of-August-1997. “That’s the day when Lady Diana died!” I remembered. I was given a Fiat Panda, I placed the map on the right seat and I started the engine. It was 3pm when I left the castle, there were no people around and in the sky some not very promising greyish clouds were pushed closer by the wind. As I was driving over the bridge, I decided to stop for a few moments, to take a look at the map again and to admire the pure water flowing in the river. Suddenly some drops of rain started falling over my head so I went back into the car and I followed the road. As soon as I turned on the right, I realized that the road was not paved and its surface was getting muddy. As the road became very curvy and steep, I started having the feeling that the map was not right after all. Suddenly the car stopped, the rear wheels were stuck in the mud and I had no choice, but getting out in the rain and try to figure out what to do next. The weather did not seem to get any better and my clothes were soaking wet. I was between the rocky wall of the mountain and a steep slope, which did not make any U-turn possible. Furthermore I had always had a terrible phobia of heights and I had spent hours of psychotherapy sessions as a kid to get rid of my vertigo problems. It was the time to act. I went looking for the branch of a tree and placed it under the right rear wheel. After a few hysterical attempts, I finally managed to get the wheel out of the mud and to drive the car away from that nightmare. It was 6pm already and I still had not delivered the medicines. In fact I decided to give up, I was too nervous, furious against the world and shivering in my wet clothes. I drove all the way back to the castle, I handed the key over to Graziella and I said. “This is the last time I am driving here!” 


I had two bedrooms: one was in the tower of the castle, the other one in the hospice of the village. The first one was my night heaven, the second my daily nightmare. On the evening of my first day in Curò, I was told to go to the hospice and to meet my soon-to-be ex-colleague Franchino. I knocked the door and he opened with a hilarious smile stamped on his face. There were three men in the living room. One was sitting on a wheelchair watching a turned-off television. The second one was walking around the room carrying his oxygen bottle on a 3-wheel trolley. The last was behind Franchino and he seemed very curious to get to know me: the new social service worker. I never learnt the real name of those old men: in fact each one of them had a nickname. The one on the wheelchair was “the Wolf”, because he had the habit to howl and he had some long hairs coming out from his ears. The man with the oxygen bottle was called “Little Tube”. The last one was “The Punk” because of his funny hair. The Punk came close to me and he gave me his hand. The poor man suffered from Parkinson’s disease and he was holding my hand tight and shaking it unstoppably up and down and towards him. As I noticed he was pulling my hand very close to the intimate parts of his body, Franchino gave me his first advice: “Never give him the hand: he’ll always try to make you jerking him off”. I took my hand back and I dropped the subject.

My bedroom in the hospice was very spooky. It was a rather simple room with some old piece of furniture, some black-and-white old family portraits hanging at the wall and a window facing a steep slope. The bed sheets were marked with a large cross, freshly painted with red ink. Franchino told me that the old man who used to sleep there, had died a couple of weeks before, so that I was the lucky new tenant of that bed-sit. There were times when I was supposed to sleep there, but I always managed to sneak out and spend the night in the castle. I would have never been able to sleep on someone’s deathbed.  Franchino’s permanence in Curò was coming to an end. In fact he still had just over one week to complete his 10-month social service duty. Before leaving, he made sure I had learnt some basic points to survive during my long stay there. I was told that if I wanted to go home at least two weekends per month, I needed to make sure that Mayor Bassi liked me. The best way to make him happy was to be always ready to help him and to avoid damaging the only car of the town hall that was still intact: the Panda. Franchino told me also that he had to dig the grave of the man who had died in my bed a couple weeks before. “If you make them unhappy, they’ll make you dig the graves too!” He added. When Franchino left to go back to his Venetian hometown, I started feeling lonely and lost in that tiny village on the Alps.


My tasks were various. Twice a week I had to axe some woods for Mrs Lombardi, a very demanding lady who was never too keen to thank me for my efforts. On a Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays afternoon I had to go with Romano for a walk. He had the “Down Syndrome” and suffered from severe articulation dysfunctions. Sporadically I had to take a few old ladies to the cemetery, to visit the graves of their beloved, who had left them behind for a hopefully more intriguing afterlife, than the life they had in the village. Those ladies were always very kind to me and they used to give me 10000-lire tips. Eventually Graziella noticed that I needed to get some friends of my own age, as the people I was spending my time with, were normally over 80. She came to me and she told me that she would have closed one eye and let me go out on that Saturday night with Tamara and Pamela. The two local girls wanted to drive to Bergamo, to go clubbing. Both of them used to work for the local post office and for this reason, trusted by the Mayor and Graziella. This trust brought the latter to extend my curfew from 11:30pm to 8am if I had spent my time with the two innocent-looking girls. It was about 11:00pm and I was waiting in front of the castle for Pamela and Tamara. As in Curò one could not get any signal from the “Telecom Italia Mobile” transmitters, I decided to take my mobile phone with me, so that I would have been able to receive all the undelivered text messages that had been sent to me in the two previous weeks. The moon was shining bright and the village was dead silent, a spooky silence interrupted only by a loud dog’s howling. Finally the car arrived in the Piazza Roma. Tamara and Pamela were inside the car and another girl named Carla was at the wheel. As soon as we left Curò Tamara took out some tiny bottles of highly alcoholic drinks from her bag. They started drinking and hysterically laughing and they gave me a bottle too. I could not believe my eyes: those girls were not innocent at all. Pamela had some joints and she gave one to each one of us. It was fun at first, but then I felt that what we were doing was not particularly safe. In fact Carla was driving stoned and drunk at a pretty high speed on a rather curvy public road. From time to time, when the space allowed, Carla pulled the parking break and make the car spinning around like a whirligig. Eventually we reached Bergamo and we stopped over to eat one of those delicious “Piadina al Prosciutto Crudo e Formaggio”. Once there Tamara and Pamela kissed each other intensively and wet. This was my first encounter with the gay hidden society of the small village on the Alps. We smoked some other grass and I started getting the same uncomfortable feeling I had experienced a few months before in Spain. When I realized that I was feeling sick and my paranoia started to dominate my brain. “I will get expelled from the Social Service department. They’ll take me to prison”. The night was long and scary, when we arrived at the castle again I was dead tired and I went straight to bed. Once again I had survived my bad experience and for the first time I realised that my brain could not accept the intake of any drugs anymore.


Curò was a village full of eccentric people trying to hide their most intimate malicious secrets. I had always been considered the guy from Milan, the city of fashion and the Londoner, a status that gave the locals the trust to reveal some of their secrets to me. In fact at their eyes I looked discreet enough and even better I did not know anyone so well, with whom I could have shared their indiscretions. Soon Tamara and Pamela did not have any issue kissing each other when I was around and the other women of the town decided to disclose their most intimate homosexual experiences to me.

It was not only the local girls to give some colour to my life in the countryside. I happened to get lots of excitement from the older inhabitants as well. Once I found the Punk covered in blood and lying on the floor. I kept on shouting for five minutes and when he woke up, he said: “Why am I here?” This was a question that still remains unanswered. The pick of the third week was the attempted suicide of Mrs Mariuccia. She tried to jump from her balcony facing a steep slope and as one of the maids rescued her before the jump, Mariuccia beated her up with her pine stick. The maid was taken to the hospital to take care of her broken right arm and some bruises all over the body.

One grey rainy day I took the Panda and went to pick up some ladies to take them to the graves of their loved ones. On my way back to the castle some workers had placed some temporary barriers so that very little space was left for me to turn the car and follow the road up to the castle. I slowed down and I went up very carefully, turning gradually the wheel towards left. Suddenly I heard the voice of one of the workers: “Stop! Stoooooop, basta!!!’’ It was too late. The Panda was too close to the wall that limited the left side of the road and the boom followed. I managed to screech the whole left side of the car and the rear left lamp bursted in tens of pieces. In that moment I knew the Mayor would have made my life impossible, unless I could repay in some way the damage I provoked.

When “the Wolf” died I was very sad. In fact except for his howling and that he did not like to be taken out of bed and put onto the wheelchair, he was the one of the three men who gave me the least of the troubles. I also started thinking time had come for me to dig the grave. Luckily the mayor decided to use my intellectual skills and to let some other guy doing the heavy work. It was the beginning of the summer and the local elections were getting close. My boss made it clear, he wanted to win and to keep his seat, or better his throne. On a lucky day mayor Bassi came to talk to me and gave me a few days off to go to visit my family in Milan. I did not have to wonder too long about what the catch was. Every evening at around 11:30pm, when the summer night was dark and there were no indiscreet people wandering in the streets, the mayor would come and knock at my door and ask me to follow him. We had to walk down the wooden stairs that led to his office in the medieval castle and the lights were always off to keep nosey eyes away.

The first day, he turned the PC on and he showed me the file. It was a hundred-page long pre-electoral program that had to be corrected and stylistically improved. That was my secret job. I had given up my ideals to be able to have a more bearable life in that remote place. The deal was not limited to editing, the mayor asked me to advise the older people I had to pay visit to, on where they had to put their cross on the electoral sheets. That was a part of the deal that I broke, I still had to keep some dignity!


It was the first week of June when my lawyer called me from Milan and gave me a tip to get rid of my social duties in Curò. Mr. Spreafico called me on the mainline of the town hall as my mobile phone did not get any signal and we had a very interesting conversation on the new privacy law. Basically I came to know that if I had disclosed my homosexuality to the military hospital in Milan I would have been able to skip my service and they would have not been able to keep record of it. I did not like the principle of being considered different for my sexual preferences but I did like the outcome. So once again I gave up my ideals and morals to spare a few months of cutting woods and writing the mayor political programs. I moved back to Milan in August but I still had to wait until the 9th of September 1999 to find out if I was released by my social tasks.

MILAN, ITALY August 1999 – June 2000

There I was: back home again. Due to the military hospital restrictions, I could neither move back to London nor I could look for a job, but I could enjoy my free time and I started going out in the scene. Lars, a Danish guy, gift of an intensive week of chatting in the cyber World, was the guy who took me first to the “After Line”, one of the most popular gay bars in Milan. That night I managed to meet one of my former middle school classmate, who also happened to be gay, to get drunk and to develop a stupid crash on Lars. Lars, who was interested in older guys, introduced me to his handsome friend Renzo, who the week later became my boyfriend.

As Renzo still lived with his family, he used to take me around the city with his car. He was totally in love with me, but soon I felt out that the feeling wasn’t reciprocal and our relationship did not last a month. At the end of October I was released from my social duties and I decided it was the time to look for a job. In fact, I had promised my parents that I would spend a few months in Milan before returning to London. The job offer came pretty fast and soon I became a part-time call centre agent for a private television company in the city. The people in the office were very friendly and the environment was kind of fun, however not only the money was crap, but also I missed the spice in my life. It was time to act, I thought. In a matter of a few days I managed to find two ways to get some extra cash and have fun as well. At that time, my mobile phone provider had one of those tricky offers, namely: free top-ups. As my telephone bills were a big burden for my finances, getting free credit for my outbound calls, would have spared me quite some money. The way the whole thing worked was pretty easy: for every one-hour of incoming phone calls, my phone would have been credited of 7000 Liras. The only problem was, the incoming volume of my calls was just too low and I had to find the way to push it up. "Why don't I publish my mobile phone number in a gay thread?" I thought.  The silly side of me, the urge of money and my bad conscience, won over the good proposals of me being a nice guy. So I wrote an advert including my contact number, I scanned my pictures, I posted them onto the Internet and I waited for responses. Well, I did not have to wait that long, as the advert appeared on line my phone started ringing and it kept on ringing for quite some time every day after 7pm. Naples, Palermo, Rome and Bologna, were the cities from where most of the guys called. Within a few days I became a professional in the erotic line business. I still recall that day when I was on the tram and I had to tell a guy who had called me that it was neither the place nor the time to dirty-talk with him… “No, I can’t give you a blow job right now, I am on the tram! People are looking…”


On a very lucky evening, a private message popped up onto my busy computer screen. Berardo, a 60-something professional photographer, proposed me to pose before him for 200,000 liras per hour. Considering that my wage was about 1,000,000 liras per month, I did not waste too much time to think about it and I accepted his appetising proposal. His studio was just a few meters away from the Sforza Castle, onto which he had a great view from his terrace. The property had two floors, some ten rooms, a winter garden and a creepy spiral staircase, whose rusty metal was likely once fully painted in a greenish tint. When the artist asked me to follow him on that curving spooky stairs, I was quite reticent, however I took some courage and I managed to reach the upper floor with him.

The room was antique decorated, cream-coloured wallpaper and a red carved sofa covered with silk cushions, gave a pretty warm look to the spacious room. He asked me to take off my clothes and to sit. As agreed I would have posed in my underwear, in fact, I did not feel very comfortable in letting someone taking picture of my body totally naked. Berardo guided me through my first day of posing, he asked me to smile, to alternate positions, or to smoke a cigarette and within two hours, he took hundreds of black and white pictures and some colour ones. At the end of the photographic session he gave me a 400,000-Lira cheque and I left. I went there other three or four times, until one day he asked me if I felt like posing totally naked. Since my mind had not changed, I told him I would have not done that and our “contract” ended. I had managed to feel special and to earn quite some money at the same time. My mother, who was informed, was quite upset about the whole story and she kept on telling me that I had be cautious with this kind of things. “You never know, one day you might find your pictures on a porn magazine” she warned me.


In November I met Adriana for the first time. She was the best friend of Valeria, a former class friend of mine. Adriana studied at the University of Milan, she was really friendly and we got along quite well straight away. We started going out with our common friends and getting to know each other more and more. She was attractive, she had long black hair, a very sweet smile and we both liked going to the Alcatraz Disco club on a Friday. Through her I got to know Fabrizio, a 25-year-old 2-meter tall guy from Monza who soon became my boyfriend. I fell in love with him pretty quickly and we had always a great time in his car, at least until the police caught us in underwear and we had to find alternative locations for our dates.


Just before Christmas my mother found out about my homosexuality. One night she read a kind of diary of my personal experiences that I used to keep. At first she was upset, but a few days later she became very understanding. During one of her room inspections, she was pleased to find out I had condoms and she decided she wanted to meet my boyfriend. When I spoke to Fabrizio about that, he freaked out and we broke up. From that time I started having a very special friendship with my mum and I was not nervous about her questions anymore. The new millennium came and Adriana moved to New Haven in the United States. Before she left, she invited me to go there for the summer and to spend some time with her.

Tuesday, 8 March 2016

A great gay thriller with handsome male actors

Have you seen this movie?
A great gay thriller with handsome male actors: The Dark Place.
Keegan Dark returns home to California to make peace with his family, instead he finds a mystery that endanger the life of his loved ones and his. Plenty of cool gay scenes. Official trailer in English with German subtitles is available on the youtube page of queer cinema here 

Tuesday, 2 February 2016

MY BFF SEAN - Ich habe eine Latte! German double meanings...



I sat on a stool at the window of the usual café in Old Compton Street and started sipping my cinnamon latte, whilst enjoying London most famous gay street scene.

Tens of good-looking guys were walking in each direction, holding their late afternoon shopping bags, most likely just filled with design underwear and healthy food. A couple of them stood kissing, in front of the window of the shop, at the opposite side of the road.  “This latte is delicious! “ I thought. Then I started laughing on my own, and felt like a schizoid, when Sean entered the café, and reached me. He pinched my shoulders and, whilst he was taking a stool to sit next to me, he asked me what I was laughing about. “ Just my Berlin Latte!” I replied. And he knew already what I was talking about.

A couple of years earlier, I was in the German capital to meet Jürgen, a straight local friend of mine. We were in a café in Prenzlauerberg and I had just expressed my preference to order a latte macchiato, when Jürgen tried to explain me the meaning of the word latte in German. His English was not very fluent and my German was at scholastic level, which made it harder for him to explain the meaning of Latte to me. He was so much into the subject that he did not realize his voice was loud, and could be heard in the whole room. The waitress came at the table to take our orders, at the exact point in which Jürgen shouted: “ Ich habe eine Latte! Ich habe eine Latte! Ich habe eine Latte! “ Pointing at his dick, with his right hand. The waitress decided that we still needed some extra time, to choose our drinks, and I understood that Jürgen meant Latte is translated from German with hard-on. “Now she thinks I am gay!” concluded Jürgen…

Sean and I had been friends for almost 5 years, and I knew I could count on him, at all times, as much as he could lean on me, when he needed anything. A couple of years ago, we even exchanged our home keys in case of need. It is vital, in a huge city like London, to maintain close relationships with good friend. Boyfriends for long term faithful relationships are hard to find, affairs come and go, but BFF stays, and you can always lean on them. Especially when you find out that your new boyfriend, is sleeping with your ex fuck buddy. Sean must have been just about the same size of the MM taller guy, and he was at least as good looking as him, but unlike him, Sean had a rather Mediterranean look, black hair, green eyes and a dark-olive-toned skin, which made of him a good catch in the London scene. I proposed to have dinner at Brittany and then head to the G-A-Y club in Charing Cross Road for a dance. Sean agreed.

Thursday, 21 January 2016


Berlin, April 2005, July 2005.

Adriana came to pick me up at the Zoologischer Garten Station and we traveled by underground to Südstern, where our new home was located. It was a two-bedroom furnished flat and as my room was much smaller than Adriana’s, I only had to pay 230 Euro of the 500-Euro monthly rents. The kitchen was yellow and fully equipped. There were yellow dishes in the yellow cupboards and the yellow blinds hid the yellow windows. The owner, who had moved to Smyrna in a rush, had forgotten a rabbit made of chocolate on a cream-painted shelf. A week after my arrival in Berlin, I started taking German classes at the Volkshochschule in Schöneberg, the district famous for his gay nightlife. My teachers, two professional and yet funny women on their forties, had to handle a class of 20 foreign students from various countries. Most of my new class-friends were Russians and Poles, but there were quite some Turks, a Japanese girl from Kyoto, a Ukrainian couple from Kiev and an Indonesian man. After school I used to have lunch with Adriana and once every second day I went jogging in the Hasenheide, the 50-hectare large public park between Kreuzberg and Neukölln. I cannot count the times I was interrupted from my run by some likely illegal immigrants, who asked me if I wanted Hashish or Marijuana. Didn’t they see that I was running? The fun part was to see how those drug pushers run away and hid in the woods when the police drove through the park. On the first week of May, when I felt I adapted to my new environment, I called my 6th ex-boyfriend Ernesto, who had been living in Berlin for half a year. That Saturday my Spanish ex invited me to go with him and his friends to the Berghain club. The meeting point was at Warschauerstrasse station at 11pm, my ex, his Indian friend Deependra, his American friend Samuel and a Taiwanese guy arrived five minutes after me. Samuel and I got along quite well from the start, he was a smart guy on his late twenties born in Arizona, he worked as an English teacher, he had lived in Japan and he could speak several languages. Deependra was not my favourite person, in fact I did not really like him and I think he did not enjoy my presence either. I remembered how he kept on saying that he hated the sound of the Spanish language, in which Ernesto, Samuel and I, used to communicate from time to time. The Taiwanese guy came out with us only that one time, so I did not have the chance to get to know him better. “Hey guys, I gotta go to an A.T.M., I only have 30 Euro with me!” I said. “Are you mad? With that money you can go out the whole weekend!” They replied all together. “Sorry, I am still used to London prices” I said smiling.


One morning I was on the telephone with my mother when I saw it. A tiny grey mouse was devouring the stomach and the legs of the chocolate rabbit. I hang up the phone and I tried unsuccessfully to chase the monstrous little creature out of the kitchen window. The day after, I bought a mousetrap and some cheese and I placed the trap in a corner near the amputated chocolate rabbit. The smart mouse, which had managed to eat the cheese without falling in the trap, provoked the terror in our home, so that Adriana and me decided to move to a safer flat, on the 15th floor of a tower facing Alexanderplatz. “We will be safe from the dirty rats up here!” We agreed the day we moved in the new home.