As if being a major player in Eastern Bloc filmmaking were not enough, Studio 2000 has now widened its horizons further and in its latest release has tapped into an almost hitherto unexplored part of Europe for the American viewing public - Spain. The production is entitled Barcelona Bound , and for anyone with a taste for salsa, it will prove to be a fucking fiesta.  

The sunny, simmering production, handsomely filmed by Charles Stevens, is the easygoing tale of two lovers (Rafael Carreras and Lucas Foz) who have saved up enough money to escape from their provincial childhood homes (and closets) and head for a new life in Barcelona, where they can finally "have sex in a bed."

The film covers their first day in the big city as they wander its magical streets, taking photos of each other and of the various big city types who interest them. Each of the photos becomes a sex scene as they fantasize the various snapshots coming to life, sometimes including themselves in the fantasy, sometimes not. And although the film maintains a high level of quality throughout, two of the five scenes stand head and shoulders above the others. This is, no doubt, due to the presence of the first-billed star, Rafael Carreras, who proves to be one of the most sexual animals this reviewer has seen in more than a quarter century of film reviewing.

With shimmering, pitch-black hair, a tall, sinewy physique, lanky legs that seem to start in his armpits, a tight, high-rise butt and a lengthy cock with a plum of a knob, Carreras is blessed with all the attributes needed to be an adult skin star, and in repose, he is quite a sight - simply oozing testosterone. But that is not the secret of his success.

When he moves to into action, his sexual intensity is almost overwhelming. His smoldering sensuality is clearly based deep within his eyes, which are perpetually focused on the sex object of the moment (which may be a part of his own body or that of his partner), but they also burn with sexual madness, a lust that seems to know no bounds. Happily, the promise aflame in those eyes is fulfilled again and again in his actions. He is a passionate kisser, a consummate cocksucker (more of that later), a voracious ass-eater and a powerhouse fucker who can be both tender and violent. What's more, the camera loves him, and he loves the camera. In short, it is virtually impossible to watch anyone else who has the misfortune to be in the same frame with him.

In the first of his two scenes, he and Foz take a photo of a pair of delivery men (topman Antonio Marquez and bottom boy Dino), and Carreras soon fantasizes himself into a three-way with them in a picturesque wine cellar. Although both Marquez and Dino are handsome specimens and enthusiastic sexualists, the scene belongs to the star, who is first seen in the middle of an oral sandwich in which he is sucking Marquez while Dino devours him. Carreras' thick, full lips seem to have a mind of their own as they work over Marquez' cockhead, and his hands are everywhere, always exploring the flesh at hand. And when he gets around to fucking Dino over one of the wine casks, his undulating pelvis seems like some sort of infernal machine, and his long, veined cock skewers his partner with veteran skill. This is a man who seems to know intuitively everything one needs to know about sex, who plunges into sexplay with total self-confidence and surety and who is constantly delighted by the shattering pleasures of the flesh. His orgasm, a veritable shower of spooge, sprays all over the place, the result of what appears to be a trance in which he loses himself to reach his apex of sexual pleasure.

In the second of his scenes, however - the finale, in which he and Foz finally abandon tourism for each other - he even outdoes the dazzling performance of the first. Foz, a swarthy, compact stud with an equally impressive endowment and energy, is a first-rate performer who at any other time would no doubt garner the praise here being lavished upon Carreras. But as hot as he is, all attention remains focused on his partner.

Carreras wastes no time in attacking Foz with a bravura display of deepthroating that is simply unparalleled in screen history. Effortlessly, he swallows Foz' huge shaft again and again (we lost count), and one can almost feel that snake sliding halfway to the bottom of his throat every time he swallows it. From time to time, for a bit of variety, his slab of a tongue teases and slathers Foz' erection, and his salivary glands work overtime is his oral ministrations. In addition, Carreras remains rockhard throughout, rims as if his tongue were an electric screwdriver and approaches the anal portion of the scene with a gentle consideration for his partner that gradually accelerates into an unbridled ride that could leave Foz unable to walk for a week. Then he fires off a money shot that puts his first one to shame. One can hardly imagine what he could possibly do to top himself in his next time on screen - except perhaps get fucked. (We'd pay to see that.)

The other three scenes in the film - Beto Campos as a priest and Vardelli Gardozo as a hard hat who get it on in candelabra-lit chapel, Andres Bandera as a matador who bottoms for the versatile Foz and Mario Perez as a sailor who picks up a street mime (Nicholas Quint) and eagerly bottoms for him - are strong, and if there is no space left to discuss them at length, be aware that all three are eminently worth watching.

Produced and directed by the old master himself, John Travis, Barcelona Bound finds him at the top of his form, obviously invigorated by the foreign climes and the men he has assembled - especially Rafael Carreras, who is the treasure of the production.  

- Jerry Douglas