The past three weeks have been spent in mostly a state of bliss…

…ever since the infamous weekend with Mr. Mahn. For the next two weeks, thereafter, we had met twice more at his condo, for dinner and a movie…and, of course, the sex. I catch myself getting lost in the moment, which is not necessarily a bad predicament; however, it’s the thoughts and feelings and mental re-telling and analyzing of stories that causes problems – more specifically, a growing attachment to someone I presume may drift off within a month. At least, I think that it helps to take that worst-case scenario so that I can deal with it a lot better once this emotionally active summer ends.

Within days of our weekend together, Mr. Mahn and I had grown closer and the feeling of mutual sprungness had intensified. My exclamations of I will still miss every part of you after my trip coupled with his You can HAVE me because I want more of you too do nothing to maintain our emotional barriers. For the three days I was away in Montreal with my family, I was on an emotional high from the feeling of envelopment and longing from him. Artwork I pass by on the cobblestone streets immediately make me think, Oh, that is something he would like, or better yet, A stroll through here would be so much more with you. Every time that happens, I find myself torn between finally channeling my inner-Charlotte and just letting him in, and replacing the bricks of my fortress as an attempt at self-preservation. Undeniably, I want to put down the trowel and just let him in, but there is that perpetual fear of him seeing my raw self and perhaps deciding that it is not enough. Enough affairs have come and gone to make me overly familiar with the feeling, and I find myself scared to find out whether or not Mr. Mahn will be the one to change that particular status-quo.

Nonetheless, our dinner date on the 20th was hopelessly romantic with a beautiful dinner, followed by canoodling time on the sofa as we watched a movie. It was comfortable and enveloping, and I could feel myself falling deeper into his arms, into his stronghold. The thing is that I am far from apprehensive or anxious when I am physically in his arms, but the moment I am away from him and think of his embrace, I get scared. I get scared of falling so deep and losing myself in the moment, because all we really have is THAT moment. The following week, on the 28th, was our second dinner-movie date, which was just three days ago actually. I had been building-up my Montreal present for him, which was in the form of photography, taken by yours truly. The beauty of which was that it ironically represented the recurrent theme of serendipity in our ‘relationship’ thus far. Yes, the R-bombs were dropped, and maybe there was shrapnel flying out as it was casually dropped by both parties – albeit, he did the first drop.

The mutual longing for each other’s company and attention is evident, and everything is decadently sweet. But little things are starting to show signs of a sugar-crash, and maybe he is pulling away a bit. Maybe I am over-analyzing again, because he is getting busier at work. Maybe I am asking too much from both of us, especially when we have agreed to take things slow and just see how things go. So, this is me, taking it slow and seeing it how it goes, and I do not think I am doing such a good job.

We each have our own implementation of an emotional fortress…

… such that if a heartbreaking scenario arises, then we can shrug it off like water off a duck’s back. Nevertheless, in the words of Femme-Fatale (basically, female-me. Querida, you should know who you are :p), “I wonder when we decided that being hopelessly cynical was the best we could do.” Somehow, as singletons we have forgotten to let someone in and truly enjoy the moment, because with every person, there is always the chance that things could very well be lovely. We may have actually forgotten that throwing caution to the wind can sometimes be very liberating, and thereby can result in a grand ol’ time. Even if it is just in the beginning, even if it lasts until a series of dates, or even if it lasts until the very end. The fear of rejection after actually exposing your inner being may very well have something to do with it. But is there a way to fully sense the joy of a new relationship, while keeping your guard up. On one hand, you want your man to really want you and actually tear down your fortress and embrace whoever is truly inside, while on the other, you do not want to keep feigning disinterest because eventually the novelty of mystery passes.

Up until Tuesday, I had altogether assumed that Mr. Mahn was limited to a casual affair, for which there would be no hope of an emotional attachment. Of course, by “no hope” I meant that I had convinced myself that it could be nothing more, because it would hurt less (and I am not naïve enough to hope for a relationship out of Pride weekend). Of course, I was also recalling earlier conversations with him, one in particular wherein he said that he did not have a lot to offer up yet. Of course, there was a tinge of disappointment, but I was able to let it go because Mr. Mahn was a surprise for me. I had assumed that he would be yet another anecdote – albeit, sexy, but an anecdote nonetheless. Anyhow, his diligence and sweetness kept enabling my desire to emotionally attach to him. Every attempt I made to put a guard up, there he was ever so carefully knocking them down – and I would let him. I was waiting, waiting for him to really put up a fight. As much as I disliked waiting on any man, I found myself yearning for that rally of text messages, phone calls and correspondences.

For two weeks (yep, Pride was two weeks ago), our frequency of communication had grown exponentially, initially due to our burning loins. However, it then opened up to a sincere and mutual desire to see each other again, not just for sex, but also to actually become more familiar with each other. It was a throwback to classic intimacy – a time when ‘intimate’ did not merely evoke a visual of writhing bodies. Then, it became us making concrete plans for a weekend “to get to know each other first.” Most assuredly, I would have my doubts about us actually realizing our plans. Every little detail felt like an eggshell, though not because of Mr. Mahn – rather, because I wanted to give everybody the best time as possible (self-involved much?). As Friday the 11th inched closer, I found myself getting butterflies in my stomach, and awaiting some sort of mishap. Papa Murphy can you hear me? And most assuredly, Murphy did hear me and brought his damn laws with him. Mr. Mahn had to postpone our sexy weekend by a day because work was being quite the little bitch – he was not going to be arriving until Saturday evening at 20:30. Of course, I was disappointed and unable to discriminate between ‘cancel’ and ‘postpone’. Of course, I had to call my girlfriend, Femme-Fatale, to straighten me back into mental and emotional shape. Of course, I had to go and buy a pack of cigarettes to ease my nerves and end the unnecessarily melodramatic crying spells. I wish I could say that my reaction was not nearly as dramatic as it sounds; nevertheless, I fell from grace and became that ‘needy chick,’ for which I blame my indulgence in chick-lit(yeah, we're talking Ms. Weisberger).

Despite the shaky not-so kickoff, Saturday came and the mental countdown finally began. At T-minus 4 hours, the anticipation was certainly billowing on both ends, which meant that foreplay via text messaging was in play – bear in mind that he was not even on his way yet. Once he finally arrived at the Greyhound, that killer smile dissipated any nervousness that I was feeling, and his kiss was the cherry on top – at least, for the time being. A short tour of downtown London consisted of a meandering through a crowd of Latin festival-goers and a sighting of the city’s finest cops ( I can certainly vouch that they were the best two I have seen in my four years in the city). Even during the ride towards my apartment, we were already having trouble keeping our hands off each other – quite the foreshadowing of what was to come (puns intended!). Of course, being the usual instigator, surprising Mr. Mahn with my Speedo-and-necktie ‘outfit’, as he unpacked was enough to fully kickoff the festivities.

After having taken me around-the-world within two hours, we followed our sex-capade with another few hours just cuddling and actually getting to know each other – albeit, in bed and au naturel. After finally peeling ourselves off each other and the bed we had made together, plans for a culinary delight of pasta with savoury meatballs had to be downplayed to simply the savoury meatballs (the highlight of the dish anyway). Sex may make a couple hungry; however, with two gay men, it must be wisely kept to a peckish degree. As such, an après-minuit snack was partaken on the sofa, followed by his present of boxed gourmet chocolates. (My dears, chocolates do not count as calories when ingested après-copulation. It is just the way to live) Of course, what kind of evening is complete without a sexy candle-lit, effervescent, hot bath? It was the cherry on top of an already indulgent sundae – ironically, the bath salts smelled like black cherries. Yet, we realized how truly insatiable we were as we delved into another round of sexy kisses and sexy sex (another trip around-the-world, baby).

Sunday morning came with a pleasurably sore ass, and my mind was taken elsewhere as I watched him sleep ever so peacefully, then greet me with those piercing hazel eyes and that killer smile. After another hour of simply admiring each other in bed (yeah, we really are just that cheesy), it was time to get our pancakes with caramelized apples in order. Of course, I had to mix the batter in nothing but my boxers and an apron. Of course, he had to reach for the can of whipped cream and spray some into each of our mouths right before we kissed. Of course, we were “on the job” in the kitchen, right before he carried me back into the bedroom as I kissed his soft lips. Of course, we went around-the-world yet again, only this time around I actually climaxed twice and both orgasms were equally intense. This was a bit of a bitter-sweet moment because physically it felt good, but I also realized that I have only ever had such orgasms when I am actually falling for the other guy. With my apprehension, I think that my sub-conscious was putting up my guards and Mr. Mahn could sense me pulling away, when he held me closer, enveloped me and said, “ I like you here.” Somehow, he has a way with me and keeps knocking down my barriers with the smallest of gestures. Only time will tell if he accomplishes that either as a smooth talker out to break my heart or as a genuinely good man – I am banking on the latter. Why should I make him suffer for the mistakes of past affairs?

Apparently, all it takes is making-eyes with a boy…

… to finally get over my obsessive thoughts over a certain, not-yet-significant other. Not that Transformer and my affairs with him are insignificant, but they certainly do not necessitate obsessive thoughts and a fixation on making a relationship out of him. At this point, you must be thinking to yourself, Who…what…where…huh? Well, sit yourself down for a rather extended entry – at least compared to the latest posts. I apologize for my extended hiatus, but I am back ladies and gents.

Pride celebrations in Toronto (i.e. NYC-Lite) passed this weekend, and to kick things off, Lofty Ex hosted a purist-party (as in, one must wear all-white) at his condominium. Yes, the ex with whom I had been admittedly bitter, the ex from whom I felt the need to receive vindication, and the ex with whom I can finally be amicable – albeit after a six-month hiatus from him. I figured that you could use the refresher – but I digress. Of course, reappearance after said hiatus requires one to look stunning and hot in all-white, regardless of the amicability; let’s be honest here, it is a party… nay, a gay party… nay, a gay party during Pride and bound to be teeming with other eye-candy. As well, my reappearance would be incomplete if it was not with the accompaniment of my Straight Girlfriends Entourage.

Armed with a hot outfit, for which I had spent the last five days shopping for the right tone of white to match my white jeans, and my entourage, who have also spent days searching for that all-white outfit, the festivities were off to a good start. I knew that I was finally mentally and emotionally in the right frame of mind when I saw Lofty Ex and had nothing but smiles. With the sincerity of our smiles, I finally found the closure I needed for our epic novel, which clearly meant that the party could finally start. Even more relieving is finding that my friends got along well with Lofty Ex and his friends. Furthermore, realizing that even the friends that I had met through him had also missed me was refreshing, because one always wonders if you can maintain friendships with people you met through a former relationship.

Ironically, the first affair of the weekend was serendipitously catalyzed by a conversation with Veggie and Lewey, with Lewey being Lofty Ex’s ex-boyfriend, prior to me. Anyhow, a catch-up conversation with Veggie and Lewey had required a refill of our drinks; thus, we lead up to the initiation. A glance back at the bar, to determine if anyone was mixing drinks, resulted in so much more than jus a new drink. Actually, it resulted in a guaranteed hot affair for Friday night – quite the way to kick off Pride weekend, indeed. It was already three hours into the party, and at least 40 individuals, half of which had been previous affairs and could be tracked within six degrees of separation, had filled up the condominium. As a result, greetings with these individuals had been quite the entertaining and oh-so-obvious greetings of, Hey, I know you, followed by mutual laughter that only happens with two people that have clearly slept together.

Mr. Mahn and I had been trying to arrange a sexy meeting for months to no avail, because either I was in the city and he was out of the province or I was unavailable for the weekends he was free. Consequently, I had abandoned any real hope of meeting him anytime soon. However, when the room can be connected within six degrees of separation, I should not have been stupefied upon seeing Mr. Mahn pouring drinks at the kitchen, just as I had offered to refresh some drinks for Veggie and Lewey and me. Unbeknownst to me was the facial expression that accompanied my overwhelming feeling of serendipity combined with near-mortification, which was also apparently visible to Veggie and Lewey. And with that, the evening truly began.

So over to the kitchen I went, with the go-ahead not to refresh the drinks for Veggie and Lewey, and the dance of the peacocks was on full-throttle. There we were, complimenting each other (really if smiles could kill), regaling each other of how nearly impossible this meeting should have been, and how serendipitous it truly was to have common social circles. In reality, however, it was truly by chance that he had attended the party because he had not been directly invited – albeit we were well within six degrees of separation. So naturally, the dance moved from the kitchen, to the living room, then to the balcony. It was simply a healthy combination of wit, literally hands in pants and sensual kisses on a balcony overlooking a beautiful city. Thus, I shamefully exclaim that within an hour of meeting each other and heavy flirtation, we found ourselves running from the party and into his place.

We had not even reached the ground floor from Lofty Ex’s condominium and we were practically ravaging each other in the elevator, followed by running from the subway station and up to his own condominium. With the shut of the door, the dance had turned into one of the hottest sexual experiences in my books thus far. There we were, ravaging and stripping each other in his foyer, it was as if with our clothes went the slick veneer of human sophistication - we had, figuratively, just crawled right out of a cave. The overwhelming feeling of actually losing yourself in that sexual moment, and my dears, this was just the foreplay. Never mind the pinning against the wall and smothering of hot kisses, or the queen-size bed that still felt modest in size, or the sensual shower that followed. Usually, one would expect the evening to end there; however, it is a festive weekend, and what better way to celebrate by returning to the party crowd after a two-hour session.

The realist in me would have thought that walking out of his place would be the end of our interaction. However, Mr. Mahn and I actually spent the rest of the evening dancing, kissing, sweating together. Even during the walk back to mingle with the party crowd, he held my hand and was sincerely conversing with me. Of course it is still too early to tell anything, but the signs looks good, and I am certainly relishing the mutual sprungness.