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I think it dawned on me that I'd met more than
some cutie that I might exchange a few dirty words with. But I think I
also wanted to be honest about who I was. That I was kind of a serious,
hypercritical person, etc. And I had a fierce argumentative streak.
Although he didn't get much of a taste of that. I knew I risked losing his
interest by revealing that I wasn't always as playful as I had seemed. But
it was more important that I be honest. And I sent him my writing to think
about. He seemed complex enough to work out the contradictions of a varied
sensibility. I communicated with all parts engaged and fully operational:
thinker, pornographer, artist, politico, animal, observer. Shove and
retreat. Steel and wobble (as one guy put it). Then this: he was coming to
Toronto, in February, for a conference on computer gaming. 
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aturally, t
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discussion about a possible meeting.
hings we
getting busy in my life then. And when I received a couple erotic stories
he'd wrote, I was fast with my response. I didn't have time to think about
anybody's writing but my own. A pitfall in relationships between writers.
I thought the stories had a lot of problems as erotica and gave them a
straightforward critique. Too much blow by blow sex. Good erotica is
seduction that leaps off the page and makes you beg for it. A long chase
with a small, but sweet, reward. Desire is desire of desire. A Lacanian
economy. I felt there was more challenge in him so I got theoretical. I
wanted to see what fired up his synapses. Try dancing to another kind of
music. But he retreated. Then I didn't hear back from him. I was a bit
dissapointed because I figured he had a few curve balls to wing back at
me. Perhaps he'd been upset by my criticism or the theoretical interests I
disclosed. Ah well, you win some you lose some, I thought. But he returned
to my thoughts as February neared, and I had a feeling I'd hear from him
when his engagement got closer.
And I did. He sent a brief email to tell me of his visit and give a brief
but illuminating explanation of his dissapearance. It turned out he had
met a strange woman who proved a bad match. The strange woman was either
followed or preceded by some other, equally, convoluted romantic situation
involving an unresolved relationship with his ex a mutual friend (I
think). The explanation made sense and felt a bit familiar. My own
romantic world had been just as unusual as his and for many of the same
reasons: both of us had just come out of 3 and 4 year relationships and
were in the process of rediscovering ourselves and other people. The
timing of his visit couldn't have been any better in terms of exploring
our feelings about meeting new people ('new' meaning post-ex). His
message: did I still want to meet? My response: Damn straight. Well, not
quite. It was damn straight followed by a paragraph of my schedule.
Things were very busy for me that week. Yoga, school and social
engagements had me booked to the tits. And then, the talk show! My first,
and hopefully not my last, time doing so. But it looked like there was a
small window of opportunity for he and I to meet on Wednesday night. One
thing I knew for sure: I wasn't going to miss meeting him. There was just
this feeling. Something.
In truth: the TV show was pretty much the only thing on my mind days
before our meeting. It shot the night before. So although I was excited
about seeing him, I was still trying to process the experience of being on
the show. Additionally, I would be meeting him after my weekly injection
of intellectual adrenaline administered by a professor I'd been gaga over
for the past year. A brilliant man with one of the most formidable minds
I've ever encountered. And cute! This matters, because said Prof. and his
mind-blowing lectures would be pretty hard to top. And I'd missed yoga.
Stress and thinking predominated my being. And it would be hard for
anybody, no matter how special, to grab my attention so forcefully as
television shows and genius minds. Until the collision of our energies.
Interstellar metaphors. PMS?
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A foreign city is like someone you're attracted to at a party. You might mill about, wondering what the right angle is. If you spend enough time, you might find a way to get close to them, to appreciate them. Those early moments can be the living soul of lonliness and alienation, but if you reach out to someone and they respond well, it can be the glowing heart of personal electricity.
I was having a tough time of Toronto. I was there for a video games talk; I didn't know anyone. I searched the Salon/Nerve personals for Toronto and found "hitachi_girl." As her name suggests, her profile exuded independent womanhood - auto-eroticism. Her slightly standoffish attitude attracted me - we corresponded, sharing some erotica writings and criticism. Actually, after she emailed me some critiques of my erotic writing, I didn't write back until just before I was leaving.
Our correspondence was solid - it wasn't too horny or too difficult, just some chatting. I mentioned where I was headed and she let on some bias against the priviledged school; she called it Marxism. Later she sent me a story about going to Hollywood and meeting some stars - I was curious about the intersection of LA celebrity watching and Karl Marx. For a change, I didn't share my URL, so unlike some of the women I meet, she had no chance to investigate my personal history - only my emailed erotica samples.
Surprisingly she took up communication readily after the lapse. We arranged to meet at my hotel, the Yorkville Howard Johnson, my last night at 8.30pm.
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I arrived at the HoJo, as those American's lovingly call Howard Johnson's,
a bit before he did and looked over tourist propaganda. Snow howled
outside the hotel and the temperature dropped. A chilly night to be giving
somebody 'the tour.' I figured we'd go grab a bite to eat and that would
be it. Little did we know it would be another 17 and a half hours before
we parted company.
Like I said before, I thought Justin was pretty cute in his personal
picture so that coloured things somewhat. And I honestly didn't care, I
wasn't looking to get lucky. Just a good conversation and some food. But
when all 6ft of him walked into the hotel lobby, it wasn't a matter of not
caring. He had the kind of face I might enjoy looking at for a long while.
His eyes and his smile mostly. So open. The main thing I no
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