Sex and the Movers

After a short shaky flight from NYC to Montreal (Do they use little planes so it will take longer and we could feel we are getting our money worth??) I met my dear friend D. We went to college together almost 15 years ago. Scary thought. The city is beautiful, large but cosy. Somewhat European with all that French around yet obviously North American. D is marrying his boyfriend of 8 years next month. It's all very hush hush as they are planning on a small family event. I guess they are not willing to expose aunt Willma to the queery bunch they usually hang out with.

After spreading my stuff all over their massive loft I headed to the city center to find some adventure. It didn't take long. Montreal has a downtown stretch nicknamed "The Village". The only farm animals in this village are muscle boys, lesbos with kids and punk twinks on the prowl. Even the policemen have shorts, bikes and over developed calf muscles. That's where I met N, a cute twink now mastering in political science and bare chest bar tending in one of the local hot spots. We had a great afternoon, said hi to many of his friends and ended up in his place. As we were getting busy a knock on the door disturbed the peace. N put on his pants and got the unexpected visitors in while I was lolling around the bed scanning his books and sipping my drink. After a few minutes he got back, told me it's nothing and "to pay no attention", and we got back to the business at hand. And there was lots to behold. A horrific banging noise got me a bit jumpy but N dismissed the whole thing and we just kept on doing our stuff. When done, and as the noises outside stopped, I took a cautionary look out the door. Behold, the apartment was completely empty! Only shiny floor boards were left. Apparently his roommate and a whole bunch of husky movers did their stuff while we were doing ours. Gotta love those polite Canadians. Live and let live.