2001-02-25 - 12:19:35
My Dinner With Alex

My Dinner With Alex

“I’m sure the food’s gonna be gross,” I whined, once Alex and I got seated at P.J. Mellon’s on Church earlier tonight. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into coming here: I fucking hate this place!”

I let him talk me into it cuz I’m a sentimental old fool, I guess. P.J. Mellon’s was where Alex and I were the night a ravioli noodle slipped off my fork, plopped down onto my plate, splattering my new shirt with tomato sauce. What could I do but laugh? Everyone else—Alex, strangers seated all around me—was killing themselves, and I didn’t want to cry. So I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Tonight we were seated right beside the entrance; a couple of dykes were seated right across from us. “If I didn’t know how god-awful it would be, I’d order a caesar salad,” I said, loudly, trying to get a rise out of Alex. He wouldn’t bite.

One of the lesbians spoke up, said that in fact the caesar salads were excellent. I took her recommendation, ordered a small caesar along with a seafood pasta dish.

She told me, eh?

She and her girlfriend had left by the time the salad arrived, or else I’d have given her a piece of my mind: while the caesar wasn’t bad, it was a far cry from excellent.

Alex was seated facing the restaurant, me facing the busy sidewalk. He kept pointing out hot men, and I’d crane my neck around to see what all the fuss was about. And vice versa. But I realized my neck was too sore, so I began to take his word for it.

“Hey, that reminds me: I haven’t had a massage yet on my trip!” I exclaimed. “What’s a trip to Toronto without an erotic massage, eh?” I’d been keeping the evening open for the possibility that Keith might come over later; I now had a “Plan B”.

Anytime I’d see a mean-looking daddy-type, especially one wearing leather, I’d alert Alex. He almost always liked what he saw; I’m getting good at sussing out his type.

A tall, cute black guy sauntered by. I pointed him out to Alex. I don’t remember his name, but we hooked up one night at the Bijou several years ago, had a lovely time in the darkroom. I have fond memories of his ten inch dick. That night, we exchanged numbers and he called me a few days later. We had a coffee date, during which I sensed little connection other than the erotic charge. I never heard from him again. Probably a year later, I unwittingly hooked up with him again at the Bijou; we didn’t recognize each other until after the fact. (One of my bedtricks.) Our post-coital chat wasn’t the slightest bit awkward; it was actually kind of funny. I brought him home to my apartment for round two; if I remember correctly, he spent the night. Again, we exchanged numbers; neither of us followed up thereafter. Oh well, perhaps someday I’ll unknowingly enjoy him again…

“Hey,” I said to Alex. “I guess I haven’t told you yet: I dreamt last night that you and I were having sex, eh?” He was unfazed; although I haven’t dreamt about Alex for quite some time, he’s shown up in my dreamtime upteen times over the years, often erotically. “I don’t remember who came onto who; I just remember that you were wearing your white boxers, and that the dynamic between us was quite awkward.”

“You probably dreamt that," Alex retorted, "because the last thing I said before going to bed was 'I’m going to go whack off now; you stay the fuck away!'” We laughed.

The pasta arrived. I took one bite. I grimaced. “Fuck! I knew it! The noodles are overcooked. Blech!” I didn’t get much sympathy from Alex, whose meal, he said, was delicious. I ate about half of mine before I started to feel nauseated. “I’m never ever letting you talk me into coming back here: is that clear?”

At least I didn’t splatter all over myself. That part’s coming right up though…

I got a copy of Toronto’s gay paper, X-tra, afterwards. I exclaimed when I saw that one of the feature articles was about queer online diaries. Went straight to the classified ad section for erotic massage, reading several of the choice ones aloud to Alex.

Plan B got narrowed down to one of the following:

TOTAL PACKAGE: Full body hot oil erotic massage given by attractive and muscular black gentleman.

CLEANCUT ALBERTA BOY: smooth bodied, sexy, 24, 6’1, 165lbs, deluxe massage with quality oils on a professional table

BLACK STRONG & HANDSOME: 6’3 ft, 190 lb, 10” uncut. Couples, M2M for great massage and fantasy.

SEX ME OFF: Enjoy an erotic massage today. I’m 24, black, 9 inches, gymnast’s body.

By the time we left the restaurant, it was drizzling, a piercing slushy rain. We had planned to cruise up and down Church street for a bit, but we headed straight home.

I phoned Keith at 11 pm. He was sleeping. I asked him if he’d like to come over. He said he would love to. We agreed on 12:30 am.

Alex went to bed right afterwards; I had a shower. Keith will be here in about 20 minutes.

Yippee!

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