Sex and Serendipity

I'm definitely feeling a little rough today. Being a drunken tramp for a week and a half has been fun and entertaining, but boy, it is tiring. I am currently drinking vast quantities of orange juice and have popped a few ColdFX to boost the old immune system. All the boozing and lack of quality sleep has left me feeling vulnerable to a cold, and the last thing I need this week is to get sick.

Thursday morning, I wandered my store like a zombie and reflected on my promiscuity. My world felt turned upside down. I've had fun here and there over the years, but usually I'm the one who got jealous of other people's crazy sex tales, not the guy who tells them. Was I going too far? Was this feeling of a liberated sense of playfulness unhealthy? Hell, I'd even been the bottom these past few times and really enjoyed it, something that had only happened once before in my entire sexual life. Is it wrong that I find this exciting? Wrong to feel like I'm enjoying a new era of uninhibited confidence? Was I giving it up too easily? I decided I needed an outsider's opinion. I text messaged my sister and put forth the question: if I told you I'd slept with three different guys this past week, would you think that makes me a slut?

I didn't get much of an answer. My sister's only response was that as long as it was safe and I was having fun, it didn't matter to her. Which pretty much sums up how I feel about it. I suppose the only real worry I have is that I'm placing too much emphasis on my desirability, relying on it as some sort of measure of acceptance. I have to admit it gives me a bit of an ego boost. But I don't think I'm relying on getting laid as a means of gaining confidence or as a way to feel like I "belong." Mostly I just find it funny. I mean, this can't be my life, can it?

Caught up as I was in all this hedonism, I discovered I had forgotten to charge my cell phone, so it had died by the time I got home from work Thursday night. After watching some tv, I plugged it in and then crashed hard. When I awoke on Friday and checked voice mail, I discovered a message from Steve.

He apologized for not calling me sooner but that he had been really busy. He also told me that he'd been really confused about his life - and that my conclusions regarding his intentions were wrong. I had told him via text message that if he'd decided we were through, that's fine, I'm sure he had his reasons, but at least have the balls to explain it to me instead of ignoring me until I went away. He concluded with saying, yet again, that we should get together and talk, and "the ball was now in my court."

He sounded a bit hurt, and a bit sad. I hung up after hearing it and felt a little guilty - had I been too quick to write him off? And then I thought, no, fuck that noise. Why should I feel guilty? I gave him every chance to explain himself. It's not unreasonable to expect some communication.

I texted him another message. I was nicer than I should have been. I told him we could talk, that I was sorry if I jumped to wrong conclusions but that he hadn't exactly given me encouraging signs, and to give me a ring sometime. Basically I lobbed the ball back into his court. And as I suspected, I didn't hear back from him.

That night, after a bit of a patio crawl involving a fair amount of beer and some tequila mashers, I was on the College streetcar heading west to visit my friend. The last time I'd been on that street was when I went to see Steve at his work, and I found myself staring out the window thinking about how it was too bad that something that began with such promise could fizzle out so unspectacularly. Was it just a matter of mixed signals and bad communication? If we talked and sorted through the mire, would I be willing to try again, despite all the obvious reasons not to?

And then the strangest thing happened. The streetcar ground to a halt to let some people off. Through the window I noticed three people walking eastward on the sidewalk, and one of them was him. Though I'd like to say it didn't happen, my heart caught in my throat. Time seemed to stop for a moment. The light was red. I could jump off the streetcar right now. Run up to him. Tell him... well, tell him what exactly? I was just thinking about you and suddenly you appeared and it seemed too serendipitous to not seize the moment and run out and see you? Please. That doesn't happen in real life. It would just seem crazy.

The light changed and the streetcar started moving. I watched him fade from view. I turned away from the window and looked straight ahead in my seat. Back to moving forward. Whatever that chance had been, I had missed it.

The rest of the night was a lot of fun - I got to see a lot of amazing people I hadn't hung out with in a long while. Unfortunately it was so fun that I didn't get home until about 5 in the morning.

Ridiculous! I'm totally ridiculous. How on earth I managed to work 46 hours last week while indulging in so much insanity is beyond me. It frightens me to think of what amazing things I might be able to accomplish if I actually put my energy into something useful.

Saturday night I hung out with Shawn again. He expressed frustration with Toronto and told me he'd almost picked up and moved to Ottawa last week, until his friend told him that perhaps he'd be happier here if he hung out with nicer people more often. i.e. Me. Then he told me, not for the first time, that I am one of his favourite people, and we have to start doing more together.

I'm not sure what to make of this. I know we'll never date again - well, never say never, I suppose, but I think it's highly unlikely I would go down that road with him again - but we have a very weird connection, a strange chemistry. I have friends that I am very intimate with, but it's not the same kind of intimacy as those friendships. And it's not that I'm in love with him, because I'm not, not like that. I don't know. I've tried to figure out how to describe this before, and I always fail. The best I've come up with is that we were related in a past life. There's that feeling that I would do anything for him, without question, to protect him, and in his presence I feel protected, too.

Weird.

After spending the evening dancing at Buddies, the rest of the evening gets hazy for me. Keep in mind I had three hours sleep the night before and only a brief nap after work. Me, Shawn, some guy Shawn had dated, and three other boys all ended up back at my place. We had a few drinks and listened to some music. One of three was extremely cute and I had my eye on him the whole time. Another one put his arm around my waist and his hand started creeping down the back of my jeans. Shawn and his ex said goodnight and left. Next thing I know creeping hand guy is all over me and extremely cute guy (I'm not using names, not to protect anyone's anonymity, but because I shamefully have no recollection of what they are) and the three of us are going at it hot and heavy on my couch. The fourth guy watched us briefly, and then quickly gathered his coat and slipped out the door.

Not wanting my roommate to find a gaggle of naked boys sprawled in the living room come morning, not that she would necessarily mind, I eventually managed to get us all up and into my bedroom where the action continued.

I don't remember passing out. I awoke wondering why my eyes felt so gummy and realized I'd left my contact lenses in. Which I was grateful for as I rolled over and got a good look at the two very fine men passed out next to me.

I was too embarassed to ask them their names, but as we lounged about in my bed for half an hour and confessed to each other that none of us remembered when we fell asleep, I noticed they didn't use mine either. It's too bad - I really like that cute one. Hopefully our paths will cross again. I did manage to find out where he works on Sundays, on the off chance I feel like doing some casual stalking one weekend.

I am thankful I did not have to go to work yesterday or today. As I finish writing this, I'm feeling considerably more recovered. And sated. I'll have a lot to tell my friend Daniel on our weekly date tonight, though the prospect of drinking this evening holds little appeal.

Now I think I'll call my sister and see how she feels about five guys in ten days. It's a new record for me and, while it's not something to brag about, she's known me my whole life - she'll appreciate the ridiculousness of it like no other. And unlike my conscience, it's likely she won't call me a slut.