Jordi’s Day

A Gay Tale of Intrigue, Fantasy and Love in Barcelona

by Patrick Doyle

Jordi's Day - Patrick Doyle
Editions:Kindle - First: $ 4.99 USD
Pages: 137

It's 1995 and Barcelona is a dream come true. Franco is long dead and the new dictator, mass tourism, not yet in place. Bill Jones falls in love with the city and with one of its hunky citizens. But things turn sour when his past catches up with him. Family, duty, everything works to bring him down. Then there's a murder and he's the prime suspect. What follows is a story of mystery, history, seduction, and a lot of manipulation and lies. Along the way Bill will be confronted with some hard truths - about family, about love, and about himself. But Barcelona has seen it all before and knows how to take care of those it loves.

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Vinga, Bill! Come on!” Andreu had dared him to leave the stairs and, edging through a maze of corridors and stairwells, had quickly disappeared into the belly of the temple. Bill’s last glimpse of him was the flash of a challenging smile. 

They'd met only a few weeks before and he was still intoxicated by the Catalan's exotic charm, which here was only magnified by the fantasy that oozed from every detail of this pagan place. He could see no purpose to the complex architecture except to disorient and maybe to hide. If this was a religious structure, he thought, it was a religion he didn’t know. Anything could happen in the Sagrada Familia, anything at all. So with a dry mouth and a pounding heart, Bill had eagerly followed Andreu. 


Once inside, he’d immediately lost his bearings. Since his eyes had not yet adjusted to the semi-darkness, he couldn’t see. The distant comings and goings of other tourists resonated through the stone, and muted voices seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was like a house of spirits and he began to feel dismally alone when a hand reached out and grabbed him by his pants.

“Bill, Bill,” the voice entreated him.

The flat familiar syllable of his name was unrecognizable in the thick, deep voice that rumbled from in front of him. It was like he was someone else when, responding to the pressure between his legs, he let himself be dragged forward until he found the waiting mouth. The space was too confining to do much and they had to stay upright, careful to avoid brushing against the rough stones around them, which only added to their excitement. 

He remembered the sight of Andreu’s torso as he pulled his shirt up over his head. The deep navel, the gently undulating stomach muscles visible through the near translucent skin, the dark nipples peering out from nests of fine black hair. Eagerly caressing the expanse of skin, he cupped the fleshy pectorals in both hands and, marveling at the exotic landscape, he let his eyes wander over its luscious hills and valleys, drunk and out of his mind. 

Andreu had Bill’s pants to the floor, along with his own. They’d rubbed their cocks together as they explored each other’s back and ass. Mouths locked together, they’d pushed hard, grabbing and grinding. Sweat ran between them. Andreu had then arched his back, forcing Bill against the wall. Just as Bill had started to come the tower bells roared above them. They’d laughed, but he’d kept coming. The more he laughed, the more he came. The ringing stopped before he did. 

Bill could hardly remember their descent that day. He must have barely touched the hundreds of steps it took to reach the bottom. After having found the toilets and done their best to clean up, they’d passed through the lobby for a look at the original drawings of the still-uncompleted monument.

Still dumb with afterglow, Bill had been mesmerized by the plans and maquettes. Gaudi’s visions were beyond anything Disney had dared to dream. Sensing Andreu’s impatience, Bill joined him at the exit and, as they'd started down the outside stairs, had turned and looked up. The towers looked more like the result of some natural phenomenon — an earthquake, a volcanic eruption — than something conceived on a drawing board.

Anywhere else they’d call it kitsch and perhaps anywhere else it would be. But rising flush from the sidewalk in a busy residential neighborhood and encircled by the cacophony of speeding cars, this fusion of hallucinogenic imagination and engineering prowess transcended idiosyncratic fetish by its mere scale. It could be ridiculed, even detested, but it could never be dismissed.

Bill thought about Antoni Gaudi, the self-effacing Catholic virgin, and laughed out loud. In Catalan, the word Gaudi meant enjoy as in the imperative: Enjoy! Well, he had. “Queer as a three dollar bill," he’d announced as they walked out onto the sun drenched street. It would take several days before the scratches on his ass would heal.


About the Author

I came to reading books about gay men's lives when I was very young. I started with Jean Genet, Yukio Mishima, EM Forster, all the greats and the greatly depressing. I was reading way above my pay grade and didn't understand much, but I knew I was onto something. Books about gay lives would always be my window on the world.

Later in life I ended up working in a gay bookstore and then owning one. Now I was a queer bookseller. It was like a dream come true. Suddenly I was inundated with stories about gay lives and they were not depressing - they were uplifting, exciting, moving, hilarious.  And I was part of the world that brought these fabulous books into being.

Now I'm a queer writer. Two books done and another on the way. After all my so-called serious reading I found myself writing in the much maligned Mystery/Romance genre. It was another kind of coming out. But mysteries can do a lot more than tell tales of blunt instruments and hot dicks. Mysteries have it all: passion, jealousy, ambition, loyalty, despair, hope and love. And while I do believe in happy endings, happiness isn't the same for everyone. HEA can come in many forms, being happy with your love life, or just being happy with your life.

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