This is my story.
My name is Alexander,and I am a gigolo.

Origins

I was born in Italy in 1989 and grew up to the unhurried rhythm of small-town life: home, school, afternoons spent playing in the garden and faces that everybody, more or less, knew. I had a happy childhood, with parents who were always there, seaside holidays and camping trips, and the carefree days of a child whose only real challenge was deciding what to build with Lego.

As I grew up, my sensitive, outgoing side began to show, alongside a love of music and reading, first crushes and the inevitable heartbreaks.

Instead of playing football in the courtyard, which I was, admittedly, hopeless at, I preferred spending time with my female friends, playing volleyball and talking for hours. Being with them let me quite naturally absorb subtleties and ways of seeing things that the boys my age who stayed behind chasing a ball would pick up, at best, years later.

Like every teenager, I began exploring sex in the most selfish and predictable way possible: I thought about myself and what I wanted, and ignored everything that seemed unimportant to me at the time.

After finishing secondary school, I entered my twenties with a more defined personality, what I then thought was a settled career path, and the freedom to spend my time as I pleased. I started out as an IT technician before moving into an analyst role. Over those years, I put aside some childhood hobbies such as video games and music, while other passions grew stronger and have stayed with me ever since. Looking at the trekking poles leaning here in the hallway, I recognise the very same things I needed back then: nature, sport and the sea.

My relationship with women changed too, partly thanks to Turin's lively nightlife at the time. If I had to pinpoint my real turning point, I wouldn't hesitate: it was then, when I left that selfish outlook behind and discovered how rewarding it could be to put a woman and her pleasure first. Perhaps that was when my attraction to older women began. And yet, come to think of it, I smile when I remember my nursery school teacher, who was already making my heart race when I was five.

36 missed calls and a one-way ticket

At twenty-six, one spring when I was eager to prove myself, I made one of the most significant decisions of my life: I left Italy. It was one of those Sliding Doors moments, the kind that divides a life into a before and an after and opens up a completely different existence.

A few days before leaving, with my suitcase almost packed and my straw hat still wrapped in plastic, there were 36 missed calls on my old Nokia. One tiny detail that led to an unforgettable, euphoric afternoon: what with one thing and another, I hadn't yet said a word to my parents.

The years that followed were a whirlwind of experiences, many of which I still carry with me and treasure. Working for a prestigious Italian tour operator, I lived and travelled in extraordinary places, from the shores of the Aegean Sea to the white dunes of Cape Verde, through the ancient lands of Egypt, always getting to know people and cultures very different from those I had grown up with. Living and working with people of all ages, nationalities and faiths has given me a level of empathy I could never have developed sitting on my sofa at home. And then there was the sight of a Christmas tree set up beside a swimming pool in thirty-degree sunshine, something I won't easily forget.

Gran Canaria: sun, beaches and freedom

I arrived in Gran Canaria just as I had at every destination before it, ready to throw myself into my job and explore the island. Eight months later, though, I decided not to move on to the next adventure and booked yet another flight to LPA: same route, a much bigger suitcase, and the decision to stay. For an Italian who grew up amid the fog of the Po Valley, the Canary Islands are not just another destination, but the sort of paradise people dream of at least once in their lives.

I left my job with the tour operator with a heavy heart and settled in the south of the island: a mild climate all year round, views of the Maspalomas dunes and the excitement of starting a new life. My first job there was at a small resort, far removed from the corporate world and surrounded by people looking to switch off and live a little more lightly. For the first time, I was no longer simply a foreigner passing through, but someone who had to fit in: I was studying Spanish, discovering the flavours of the local cuisine and learning to slow down.

In short, everything was going well, but every good story needs a dramatic climax before the catharsis: just how uncomfortable were those damned masks?

Post-Covid-19 euphoria and an unexpected joke

Like the sun and the moon, day and night, Dorada and Tropical (sorry, only the locals will get this one), the damage left by lockdown and the urge to live again were two opposing forces competing for the same space. For every 'Closed' sign, there was a new group of hikers ready to lose themselves in nature, and for every neighbour forced to leave the island, ten others were coming together in small communities.

People seemed determined to make up for lost time. They were seeking open spaces, new encounters and reasons to celebrate, rediscovering life, freedom and physical contact.

The sexually liberal scene that defines the south of the island was coming back to life too, at a time when people made sure to leave modesty and inhibitions at home before going out.

On one of those evenings, over good wine, risqué stories and the kind of bravado that brings a table full of friends together, someone suddenly said: “...but have you ever thought about doing it for a living?”

A throwaway joke, hanging in the air, that might easily have faded into the night.

It could have. But it didn't.

“...what if?” kept running through my mind as the laughter gradually faded and the evening came to an end. Alone with my thoughts in the silence of a Maspalomas dawn, I watched that joke lose its playful edge and leave me facing a crossroads: on one side, the security of who I had always been; on the other, the curiosity to venture into the unknown. By the time I had opened the door and laid my keys on the hall table, the question no longer frightened me. In the quiet of home, it had become a decision.

I can still feel the tension of those first conversations in the autumn of 2020, my heart racing in the minutes before that first meeting, right up to the jolt of pure adrenaline as I crossed the threshold, when the decision became a direction.

Fast forward to today

That joke became an idea, the idea became a project, and the project became a reality that continues to this day. Today, all of it sits alongside my everyday life, made up of friends, sport, a corporate career (yes, I fell back into it, damned computers) and an orange cat who has claimed half the sofa. You'll find me reading on a beach in Gran Canaria, hiking in the mountains, camping in the woods or sitting in a restaurant with a good plate of pasta in front of me, the one thing an Italian living abroad will never give up.

Looking back on the journey so far, I have learnt the most from becoming too familiar too quickly, mishandling conversations and finding myself in uncomfortable situations because I hadn't set firm, clear boundaries.

Meanwhile, the way I relate to women has kept evolving too, to the point where no trace of the selfishness of my twenties remains.

Today, I find the meaning of an encounter in the smallest, often unseen details, and in the attention I give them. It is a kind of maturity that isn't driven by expectations, but lets go of pretence to make room for respect and connection, where each gesture simply follows its own rhythm.

Shoulders relaxing, breathing slowing: the gestures I used to overlook are now the first ones I look for.