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?