About Carl - 12. Renewal

“So, what are you going to do now?” Kim asked. We were sitting in a coffee shop in Peterborough a few days after I had returned from my final meeting with Carl. I had just told her about Carl's divorce and his new girlfriend. I left out the part about his proposal to go to bed with me in my hotel.

“I'm just going to lie low for awhile, I think,” I said. “Oddly enough, I'm not as upset about it now as I thought I would be. I'm more peeved than anything else.”

“Peeved is good,” she said. “You're not blaming yourself. That's a good thing. You need to move on.”

“I think I've already moved on. I'm done with him.”

“OK, that's progress. Now you need to get out there and start dating.”

“Oh, god, you've got to be kidding,” I groaned.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look at me. I'm gay, I'm forty-two years old; I live in a place where you have to drive for forty-five minutes just to find a decent coffee shop. How am I going to meet anyone?”

She reached across the table and took my hand, as if she was trying to reassure an upset child. “Honey,” she said, “you'd be surprised how many gay men live out here. Do you want me to start asking around?”

“Oh, my god, please, no. I'm not ready for that. I haven't dated in years, and I've never been on a real date with another man. I have anxiety just thinking about it.”

“You could try the internet. That's how everyone's doing it these days.”

“Ugh, I can't even imagine doing that. What would I put in my profile? 'Middle-aged gay man, lives in remote rural village miles from nowhere, best years behind him, never dated men before, seeks same'?”

“You're too hard on yourself. You've got a lot to offer.”

“Thanks for saying that, Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But online dating? What if I meet a serial killer?”

“You've been watching too much Law and Order,” she laughed. “Do you want me to start asking around? I could put out the bat signal, work my extensive network of secret agents.”

“Thanks, but I'm just not ready to date. I'm not even really out yet except to you. I have a lot of work to do still in that department. We live in small towns with nosy neighbours; I have to be discreet.”

“Just give it some time. When you're ready, let me know, and I'll work my magic.”

On our way to the parking lot, she stopped and said, “You know what would be good to shake you out of your mood? A party. The Christmas vacation is coming up; why don't you have a dinner party at your house? You've done so much restoration, and most of your friends haven't seen your place. It would look great decorated for Christmas.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I've been wanting to have people over for a while. It would take my mind off things. It would be a celebration of the beginning of the Post-Carl Era.”

Over the next few days, I warmed to Kim's idea. The house did look good after all the years of work I'd put into it; it would be nice to show it off. I picked a date a few days before Christmas and called some friends: my principal, Gary Dimitriou, and his wife; Beth Johnson, the drama teacher at Milfield High, and her husband; Tim Sutherland and his wife, who had helped me get the job in Selkirk County years ago; Derek Reid of the Kelso Players; and, of course, Kim. All of them accepted enthusiastically.

I went to work getting the house ready for entertaining. I put up a Christmas tree in the living room and hung cedar garlands from the railings of the big staircase in the front hall. I cleaned the house from top to bottom. At night, with the lights on the tree shining, the big, old, Victorian house looked wonderful, like something in a Currier & Ives print.

I spent hours poring over cookbooks, planning the menu. I was a decent cook, but some of my guests had very discerning tastes, and I wanted to impress them. I pulled out the antique china and silverware that I had inherited from my grandmother, ironed my big, white, linen tablecloth and put candles in the antique wrought-iron chandelier.

A few days before the dinner, Kim called. “I know this is kind of last minute, but I have a favour to ask.”

"Sure,” I said. “What's up?”

“A friend of mine is going to be in the area and wants to stop in for a visit. He's coming on the same weekend as your party. Would it be OK if I brought him?”

“Sure. I'll have lots of food, so one more guest shouldn't be a problem. Who is he?”

“His name is Dan Larivière. He's from Montréal but he lives in Toronto now. We met when we were going to McGill; he was my best friend there. I haven't seen him in ages, and he rarely comes out this way. I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all. I'm looking forward to meeting him.” The thought crossed my mind that she was working on some kind of matchmaking scheme, but I dismissed it. After all, I’d told her I wasn’t ready to date. Dan probably really was just visiting, coincidentally on the same weekend as the party. Sure, that must be it.

“OK, we'll see you on Saturday.”

The night of the party finally came, and everything was ready. The guests began to arrive, and we had drinks and hors d'oeuvres in the living room around the Christmas tree. Blanche made the rounds of the room, licking hands and wagging her tail. Chamber music was playing softly in the background. The guests all knew each other, so the conversation was lively.

Kim arrived last. I greeted her at the door, and she stepped inside, followed by a tall, handsome man. “Mark, this is Dan.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dan. Welcome.” He stepped forward and offered his hand to shake.

“Thanks for having me at the last minute, Mark,” he said. “I appreciate the invitation.”

He was about six feet tall, with dark-brown hair streaked with a little grey. He was slim and well-dressed in grey trousers and a black lambs-wool sweater over a white silk shirt; he looked urbane and successful. He was very good-looking. He smiled at me, and his brown eyes met mine. I blushed a little. It had been a while since someone had made me do that.

“Let me take your coats,” I said. “Kim, why don't you take Dan into the living room and introduce him to everyone while I get you drinks? Kim, you'll want your usual white wine I suppose. Dan, what can I get you? Wine? Beer?”

“Red wine, please,” said Dan.

I went into the kitchen to get the drinks. A few minutes later, Kim joined me.

“Well, how do you like him?” she said.

“He seems like a nice guy,” I said.

“You know, he's gay and he's single.”

“Oh, my god, you did do this on purpose!” I groaned. “You're trying to set me up with him!”

“Oh, relax. So I twisted his arm to come out here and meet you. He's a great guy. He was my best friend at university, and I know him as well as I know you. Trust me, you two would be great together.”

I rolled my eyes. “You're determined to fix me up, aren't you? Well, it helps that he's really good-looking, I guess.”

“Isn't he?” she said. “Come on out and talk to him.”

We took our drinks out to the living room. I handed Dan his wine.

“I love your house,” he said. “You're lucky that so many of the architectural details survived all these years.”

“Why don't you take him on a tour?” said Kim.

“I'd like that,” Dan said, smiling. “Please. Lead the way.”

“All right, follow me,” I said, leading him into the hallway. I was suddenly nervous, anxious not to embarrass myself in front of this sophisticated city slicker.

“How old is the house?” he asked.

“It was built in 1880,” I said. “It's constructed in the Italianate style, but most of the Italianate details on the outside have long since disappeared. Fortunately the interior survived mostly intact, although it was in pretty rough shape when I moved in.”

“It's beautiful,” he said softly, running his hand over the ornately carved newel post. I had a flashback of Carl doing the exact same thing the last time he visited me.

Damn, why can’t I get him out of my mind?

We moved into the dining room, with its grandiose archway and the pocket doors leading to the living room.

“What a beautiful table setting,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. “The china and silverware belonged to my grandmother. I've never had an occasion to use them before.”

He picked up a plate and flipped it over. “Coalport,” he read. “Very nice. It’s unusual to see a complete set.”

“Thank you,” I said, pleased that he appreciated the age and rarity of the dishes and impressed that he knew something about them.

We continued through the rest of the house. In my office, he stepped over to the wall of books that lined one side of the room. “You have eclectic reading tastes for a science teacher,” he said. He pulled a volume off a shelf and opened it. “Hmmm, de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America. That's one of my favourite books. I did an essay on it in university. My thesis was that Las Vegas is the modern incarnation of de Tocqueville's vision of America.”

“I read it a few years ago when I lived in Toronto,” I said. “Teachers were involved in a very bitter labour dispute with the provincial government. It seemed to me that de Tocqueville would have understood it perfectly, even though he wrote the book in 1840.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “I watch the news and think, 'He would have a lot to say about this.' It's uncanny sometimes.”

“You went to school with Kim?” I said.

“Yes. I grew up in Montréal, and Kim and I went to McGill there. We lived in the same residence.”

“What took you to Toronto?”

“I went for a job. I studied accounting at university; when I got my CMA certification, I was offered a good job in Toronto. I'm now the CFO of a large non-profit organization that works in international development: micro-loans, infrastructure grants, community banking, that kind of thing.”

“That sounds interesting. Do you get to travel?”

“No, I'm the numbers guy. I stay at the head office and make sure the budget balances. I love it, though. It's very challenging and rewarding. You said you used to live in Toronto?”

“Yes,” I said. “I taught there for three years. I had an apartment in the Beaches.”

“It's beautiful out there,” he said. “I go to the Sunset Grill on Queen Street all the time for breakfast. It's my favourite greasy-spoon diner.”|

“I used to eat breakfast there almost every weekend. We were probably there together and didn't know it. Small world,” I said. “What part of Toronto do you live in?”

“I have a condo downtown, near Bay and Wellesley.”

“You don't get much further downtown than that,” I said. “Right in the middle of the action.”

“Yes, it's nice, but to be honest, I get tired of it sometimes. I can't wait to get out of the city every now and then. I was excited to come out here when Kim invited me. I could use some time away from Toronto.”

“Well, you're certainly away from Toronto out here,” I said. He chuckled.

It was time to start getting dinner together. “You'll have to excuse me,” I said. “I have to do some work in the kitchen.”

“Would you like some help?” he said. “I'm a great sous-chef.”

“That would be wonderful,” I replied. “Come on, I'll get you an apron.” I was pleased at the thought of working on the meal with him, side by side, away from the other guests.

For the next hour Dan and I worked together getting the meal ready and served. I had done most of the preparation in advance, but there was a lot still to be done. Dan prepared the vegetables while I worked on a sauce for the beef that was in the oven. We drank wine and chatted amiably. He had a great sense of humour and kept up a steady conversation, telling jokes and stories about his life in Toronto. Eventually the food was ready, and I asked the rest of the guests to take their seats at the dining-room table.

When Dan and I served the curried-squash soup, I noticed that Kim had maneuvered everyone into seats so that the only two vacant chairs for us were beside each other. I looked at her, one eyebrow raised. She smiled and raised her wine glass to me in a silent toast. We sat down at our places.

I raised my wine glass and said, “I would like to propose a toast. All of you have been so helpful and supportive to me since I came here to Selkirk County. I owe a lot to you all, and this dinner is just my way of saying 'thank you'. To good friends.”

Everyone raised their glasses and repeated, “To good friends.” As they started on their soup, I looked around at the gathering of happy people, chatting animatedly, laughing and enjoying themselves. This dinner party was a great idea. I made a mental note to thank Kim later for suggesting it.

I glanced at Dan; he was looking at me and smiling. He raised his glass and said quietly, “To future friends.”

“I'll drink to that,” I said and clinked my glass against his.

The meal went without a hitch. Dan helped me serve the main course: medallions of beef tenderloin with port-and-sour-cherry sauce, rice-and-mushroom pilaf, and glazed green beans with toasted pine nuts. Everyone enjoyed the food and the conversation was lively.

I cleared the table and brought out dessert and coffee. I had made blood-orange panna cotta and served it in antique dishes that were my grandmother's. We lingered over the last course and then took our coffee into the living room. Now that the meal was over, I could relax.

We talked late into the night, and gradually the guests said their goodbyes and headed out into the darkness. Kim and Dan were the last to leave. I retrieved their coats from the closet in the hallway.

“Thanks so much, Mark; it was a wonderful evening,” Kim said to me as she kissed my cheek. She looked at Dan. “I'll just go out and warm up the car.”

Dan and I were alone in the hallway. “Thank you for having me for dinner tonight, Mark. Everything was wonderful.”

“Thank you for coming, Dan,” I said. “I really enjoyed meeting you.”

“I did, too,” he answered, and then quickly added, “I'd really like to see you again.”

My heart was pounding. Was he asking me out? Just like that? “I would like that, too,” I said.

All right, don't panic. He wants to see you again. Give him your phone number, stupid.

I went to a table in the hallway where I kept the phone and wrote my number on a slip of paper. “Please call me,” I said, a little embarrassed, pressing the note into his hand.

“I will,” he said. He enveloped me in a hug. “Good night, and thank you.”

Alone in the house, I smiled to myself. The evening was a complete success, and, if I wasn't mistaken, a really handsome, intelligent, successful guy was going to ask me out. I looked down at Blanche who was sitting on the floor looking up at me. “Papa did all right tonight, sweetheart,” I said to her. I reached down and scratched her between her ears.

Two days later, Dan called. Even though I was expecting his call, I was suddenly very nervous when I realized it was him. “Hi, Dan,” I said.

Calm down, don't make a fool of yourself. Say something. Make some small talk.

“It's, um, nice to talk to you again,” I said.

That's the best you can do? Idiot. Why am I so tongue-tied?

“It's nice to talk to you, too,” he said. “I wanted to thank you again for the wonderful evening at your house.”

“Don't mention it.”

This is going from bad to worse. Am I sweating? I feel like a sixteen-year-old.

“Look, Mark, I know this is short notice, but one of my organization's biggest corporate donors is having a New Year's Eve party and they sponsored a table for eight. It's a big event; they've rented the Great Hall at Hart House at the University of Toronto.”

I knew Hart House well. It was an enormous student centre built around 1900 in an elaborate Gothic style on the university's downtown campus. It was donated to the school by Hart Massey, heir to the Massey-Ferguson farm-equipment fortune. It stood in the centre of the campus like a medieval cathedral; the Great Hall looked like something from King Arthur's court.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I've managed to snag a couple of tickets. I was hoping you'd come with me as my date.”

Oh, my god. A date? My first real date with another man? Meeting for lunch is one thing, but a big formal party in Toronto? Am I ready for this?

Of course, I'm ready. It's Dan; you've been thinking obsessively about him for two days. Just say yes. It's Toronto; no one knows you there. Just say yes. If you embarrass yourself, you can just drive home and never have to see him again. Just say yes. Say yes. YES.

“Yes,” I said. “I'd love to.”

“That's fantastic. The dress code is semi-formal; most of the men there will be in suits. I'll email you the details. I'm looking forward to seeing you again.”

“I am, too, Dan,” I answered. “Thank you.”

New Year's Eve was twelve days away. I had a lot to do. I called Kim to tell her the news.

“That's fantastic!” she said. “I knew there was some chemistry between you. Where's the party?”

“Hart House, at U of T.”

“Oooh, fancy,” she said. “What are you going to wear?”

“That's the thing. It's semi-formal. I don't own a suit. What the hell will I wear?”

“Leave that to me,” she said. “I'll pick you up tomorrow at 2:00. We're going in to Peterborough to get you some decent clothes.”

The next day Kim was steering me into a menswear store in downtown Peterborough. She bustled around the showroom, pulling clothes off the racks, getting me to try things on and posing me in front of the mirror. I lost track of all the combinations she selected and eventually just stood there mute like a store mannequin. She finally settled on a navy-blue, pinstriped sport coat with grey trousers. “Go try these on,” she said.

I stumbled into the change room with my arms full of clothes and did as I was told. I glanced at myself in the mirror; I had to admit I looked pretty good.

When I came out to show off, she whistled. “Holy crap, you look good. Dan won't be able to keep his hands off you.”

“Would you shut up?” I hissed. My face turned beet red.

“Come over here. I've picked out some shirts and ties,” she said. She had set up three combinations; they all looked great. “Pick one,” she ordered. I chose a pale-blue shirt with a dark-blue, patterned silk tie. She agreed with my selection. “Good choice. Now you need a pocket square to set it off.” She bustled off to a rack and returned with a silk handkerchief that matched the tie. “Now we're talking,” she said. “What about an overcoat?”

“Huh?”

“An overcoat. You can't wear your parka to Hart House.”

“I don't own an overcoat.”

She sighed and headed off into the racks of clothes. She came back with a nice-looking, dark-brown coat. “London Fog,” she said. “And it's fifty percent off! Try it on; see if it fits.”

I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror. I never wore clothes like this, but I had to admit I looked good. A thought crossed my mind: I look like a lawyer. This is the way Carl dresses. Dammit.

“Wow,” Kim said, “You look great. If you don't get laid after all this, then there's something wrong with him.”

“Jesus,” I whispered, “would you be quiet?” I looked around the store, but the only clerk was busy with another customer and hadn't heard anything.

“Oh, relax,” she said. “Now, what about shoes?”

“Shoes?”

“Yes, shoes. You can't wear those same sad shoes you wear to work all the time. Do you have a pair of black dress shoes?”

“No.”

“Lord, it's like dressing a teenager for high-school graduation,” she said. “You're going to have to get the pants hemmed; while we're waiting for them we'll go get you some decent shoes. I have it on good authority that the first thing gay men notice are your shoes.”

“Good authority?” I chuckled. “How many gay men do you know?”

“Enough to know that if you want to impress one, you can’t wear your work boots to a party,” she replied. “And I know for a fact that Dan Larivière is very fastidious about his shoes.”

By the end of the day my bank account was depleted by $900 and the back seat of my truck was full of boxes and packages. I had never spent so much on clothes before; the value of my entire wardrobe probably didn't add up to what I had spent on one new outfit.

On the day of the big party I loaded my fancy clothes in a suitcase and took the train into Toronto. I had booked a hotel room at the Sheraton, a few blocks from Dan's apartment. I checked in early in the afternoon and called him.

“Hi, Dan, it's Mark.”

“Hi, Mark. Are you all settled in?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Great. Dinner starts at 7:00; why don't you come over to my place at 6:00 and we'll have a drink? We can walk over to Hart House from here.”

I took a shower and carefully shaved and brushed my hair. I ironed my shirt and pants meticulously so there wasn't a wrinkle to be seen. I brushed my teeth longer than usual. I methodically got dressed and tied my tie, repeating the operation five times until the knot looked perfect. I put the pocket square in the breast pocket of my jacket, arranging and re-arranging it until it, too, looked perfect. I felt like a matador preparing for a bullfight. When I looked at myself in the mirror after all my elaborate preparations, I barely recognized myself.

“All right, let's do this,” I told myself. I popped a breath mint in my mouth, put on my new overcoat, and went downstairs to hail a cab.

I buzzed Dan's apartment from the lobby precisely at 6:00. “Come on up,” he said through the speaker as the door unlatched. “Apartment 1811.” The building was quite luxurious, with an ornate lobby furnished like a Victorian gentlemen's club. I found the elevators and headed up to the eighteenth floor. I was getting very nervous; my heart was pounding, and I felt a little queasy.

I knocked on the door, and Dan opened it. “Mark, come on in.” He stepped aside and motioned me inside. I stepped into a beautiful apartment furnished in exquisite taste in a modern Bauhaus style. Striking abstract art adorned the walls. One whole wall was taken up by a huge glass window that provided a stunning view of the skyline of downtown Toronto. Jazz music was playing quietly in the background.

“Let me take your coat,” he said. I took off my overcoat and handed it to him. He disappeared around a corner. When he returned, I took my first good look at him. He was dressed in a black suit that was beautifully tailored to show off his trim physique and a simple white shirt with French cuffs adorned by cufflinks set with what looked like garnets. A red silk tie completed the outfit. He looked stunning.

“Mark, you look great,” he said. I didn't think I looked great; compared to him I felt like a farmer dressed in church clothes.

“Thank you,” I said. “So do you.”

“Would you like a martini?” he asked. I'd never had a martini before, but he looked so good and he smiled at me so warmly that I would have drunk sour milk if he'd asked me.

“That sounds nice,” I said. Did my voice squeak a little?

“Take a seat in the living room and I'll be right back.” He stepped into the kitchen, and I sat on the sofa. Chet Baker was singing My Funny Valentine in the background. Candles were burning on the glass coffee table.

Dan returned with the drinks and sat in an armchair across from me. I took a sip of my martini. The complex flavours of the gin and vermouth were new to me, but pleasant.

Dan chatted away, asking me about my Christmas holidays and my trip into the city. I gradually relaxed, and the combination of the drink and Dan's friendly conversation put me at ease. Before long he looked at his watch and said, “We'd better get going. It's just a few blocks from here, but we should mingle a bit before dinner.”

As we walked through Queen's Park past the ornate Provincial Legislature building, I worked up the nerve to ask Dan a question that had been on my mind all week. “Dan, this may sound stupid, but I have to ask you; how is this going to work? You know, you and me, as a couple on a date, in public? Is everyone going to be OK with this?”

“Yes, there's nothing to worry about,” he said. “I'm out to everyone at work, so no one from our company will be surprised. In fact, there'll be a lesbian couple sharing our table. And as for everyone else, the company hosting the party is very open-minded. I'm sure we won't be the only gay couple there.”

I couldn't believe how open and relaxed he was about it. I had been closeted for so long and my encounters with Carl had been so steeped in secrecy and guilt that I could hardly imagine being as calm as Dan was under the circumstances.

As we walked through the empty park, Dan reached out and took my hand. I tensed up instantly. Dan sensed my discomfort and let go of my hand. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm a very demonstrative person. I shouldn't assume that everyone else is, too.”

“No, it's my fault,” I said. We stopped and faced each other. “Look, Dan, I'm sorry to be so uptight, but to tell you the truth, this is the first real date I've been on since I came out. I'm incredibly nervous.”

“I understand,” he said.

“Going out with you in public – ” I was suddenly tongue-tied and didn't know what to say.

“Do you want to skip the party?” he asked.

“God, no. I've been looking forward to this all week, to seeing you again. It's just that … look, I've been in the closet for a long time. I've only been with one other man before, and that was … well, it was complicated. This is all so new to me, it's … it's a little overwhelming.”

“I understand,” he said. He put his hand gently on my shoulder. “We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. And just so you know, I haven't been out with a lot of men myself. I came out of an eleven-year relationship over a year ago that ended badly. I haven't been on a date since. So, I guess we both have baggage. But I really like you, and I want to get to know you.”

“I want to get to know you too, Dan.” I felt a bit more relaxed, and heaved a big sigh.

“Everything will be fine,” he said. “Let's go to the party and enjoy ourselves. You look so handsome tonight; I want to show you off.”

I was glad he couldn't see me blushing in the dark. “All right,” I said. “Once I get a few drinks in me, I won't be such a stiff.”

“Promise?” he said, laughing.

“Promise.”

We walked on, crossing Queen's Park Crescent and entering the university campus. I could see the silhouette of Hart House up ahead, its tower looming over the surrounding buildings. In the dark, the huge brightly lit arched windows of the Great Hall beckoned. We entered the building through the enormous oak doors, checked our coats in the foyer, and made our way into the party.

I almost gasped when we entered the room. The Great Hall was like the interior of an enormous church, with a dark-wood ceiling held up by elaborately carved beams and braces. Both of the long walls were pierced by tall, arched windows, and the golden-oak wainscoting was painted with the crests of the university's affiliated colleges. At the far end of the room a fire blazed in a gigantic stone fireplace big enough to stand up in. A string quartet was playing Vivaldi. It was like being in Windsor Castle.

Well-dressed people mingled at one end of the room around the bar. I whispered to Dan, “This is amazing. I don't think I've ever been to something like this before.”

“Me neither,” he said. “This company's New Year's Eve party is legendary. I’m glad you got a chance to experience it.”

“Thank you for bringing me,” I said.

“Thanks for coming. Now, let me get you a drink. What will you have?”

“White wine, thanks,” I said. He disappeared into the crowd. I looked at the people around me, beautifully dressed in expensive suits and fancy dresses. I was glad I – well, Kim – had upgraded my wardrobe. Dan re-appeared carrying two glasses of wine, a tall man about fifty-years old following him. He handed a glass to me.

“Mark, I'd like you to meet our CEO, Ron Henderson. Ron, this is Mark Nielsen.”

I shook his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mark,” he said. “We're really glad you convinced Dan to come tonight. Up until two weeks ago, he insisted he wasn't interested.”

Dan looked at me and smiled. “Well, up until a few weeks ago, I didn't have a good reason to come.”

We moved through the crowd, meeting Dan's friends and co-workers. All of them were friendly and pleased to meet me. They all spoke highly of Dan; he was apparently well regarded at work.

Eventually dinner was announced, and we made our way to our table. It was beautifully set with fine china and flatware with a lovely flower arrangement in the centre. Ron and his wife were at the table, along with two other couples from Dan's office. Dan reached discreetly under the table and held my hand in his. “Having a good time so far?” he said.

“Yes, everything's wonderful,” I replied. I squeezed his hand.

Dinner was served. It was an exquisite five-course meal accompanied by expensive French wines. Dan chatted with the other guests at the table but made sure to include me in the conversation. I finally felt totally relaxed in his presence. No one had a problem with the fact that Dan had brought me as his date; it was a glorious feeling to leave my guilt and self-consciousness behind.

After dinner, a few speeches were given and some toasts were made. Dan and I clinked glasses and looked at each other. “To a happy New Year,” we said. After a few minutes, the dance floor was cleared, and a DJ set up his equipment. The notes of the first song filled the room: Frank Sinatra's New York, New York.

Dan leaned over to me and said, “Would you like to dance?”

“Dance?” I asked, surprised. “With me?”

“Of course. Who else?”

“I, uh, well, uh ...” I stammered. This was a big step for me. “I'm afraid I'm a lousy dancer.”

“Don't worry. I took ballroom-dancing classes at McGill. Just make sure you let me lead,” he said.

We stood up, and he took my hand and led me out on the dance floor. We faced each other, and he put his right arm around my waist, holding my right hand in his left. “OK, let’s foxtrot,” he said, smiling. He moved to the music, applying the most subtle pressure here and there, pushing me this way, pulling me that way, guiding me expertly across the floor. After a few minutes, I caught on to his signals, and we were soon gliding effortlessly around the room. It was intoxicating, being held in the strong arms of this beautiful man, our bodies close together, our faces cheek-to-cheek. I breathed in his cologne and felt the warmth radiating off him. I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the pleasure of dancing with him.

When the song ended, I opened my eyes and looked at him. We stood on the dance floor, facing each other, still holding hands. “Thank you,” I said. “That was wonderful.”

“It was my pleasure,” he answered.

As the night wore on, we danced some more, drank some more, laughed and told stories to each other. He was very attentive, constantly asking if I needed anything, always introducing me to his friends. My fears of being a country hick in a room full of aristocratic Toronto executives vanished.

A few minutes before midnight, waiters appeared with trays filled with glasses of bubbling champagne. We each took one. He took my hand and stood up. “Come with me,” he said. I rose, and he led me by the hand into the corridor. The DJ was counting down to midnight. Ten, nine, eight …

“I thought you'd be more comfortable out here,” he said. Seven, six, five …

“Comfortable?” I said. Four, three …

“You know, for when I do this,” he said. Two, one …

He took me in his arms and kissed me passionately, his lips pressing against mine. I relaxed against him, kissing him back, tasting the champagne on his mouth. He pulled away and said, “Happy New Year, Mark.”

“Come here,” I said, and drew him back into my arms. “Happy New Year.” I kissed him, my mouth devouring his, our tongues tangling together, my hands on his back, pulling him close.

People were coming out into the hallway, so we reluctantly ended our embrace and moved apart. “That was … amazing,” I said.

“It sure was,” he said. “How would you like to call it a night and come back to my place for a drink?”

“I would like that,” I said without any doubt or hesitation.

We said our goodbyes, retrieved our coats, and walked back to his building. When the elevator doors closed behind us, I pushed him up against the wall and kissed him again. The bell rang announcing his floor, and he took me by the hand and led me to his apartment.

When we got inside, Dan closed the door and turned to me. “Get over here,” he commanded. I stepped forward, and he reached inside my overcoat with both hands, lifting it off my shoulders and dropping it on the floor. He shrugged off his own coat and dropped it on the floor. “You have too many clothes on,” he said.

He opened my jacket and peeled it off, adding it to the pile of discarded clothing. “Come with me,” he said. He took my hand and led me through the apartment to his bedroom. The lights were off, but the light from the city coming through the windows filled the room with a dim glow. We stood facing each other.

“I want to unwrap you like a Christmas present,” he whispered. He undid the knot on my tie and pulled it off. Gradually he undid the buttons on my shirt, kissing his way down my chest as he went. He pulled my shirt off my torso; it hung awkwardly, still tucked into my waistband and fastened around my wrists.

“My god, Dan,” I moaned. “I … yes …”

I struggled out of my shirt while he unfastened my belt. Looking me directly in the eyes, he undid the waist button on my pants and slid his hand inside, cupping my hard cock in his hand, squeezing it, stroking it. At the same time he kissed me, forcing his tongue inside my mouth.

He broke away and whispered, “I knew you had a nice dick hiding away in there.” He slowly dropped to his knees and, in one smooth motion, pulled down my pants and underwear. He looked up at me, smiled, and slid my cock into his mouth.

“Dan … fuck …” I muttered. I gently held his head in my hands, my fingers twined in his hair, as he moved his mouth up and down my shaft. I was getting close. “Dan, I'm going to come,” I said. He raised his eyes and met mine, then drew his head back so that he was just holding the tip of my cock between his lips. He grabbed my ass with both hands and pulled me forward, plunging my dick deep into his mouth. That was all it took; I came forcefully in his mouth, sending jets of cum into his throat. He swallowed it all. For a few seconds, he used his tongue and lips to massage my cock, then slowly pulled his mouth away.

I felt light-headed and swayed a little on my feet. I was gasping for breath. Dan stood up and embraced me, kissing me. I could taste my cum in his mouth. “Holy shit, Dan,” I said, panting. “Thank you.”

“You don't have to keep thanking me all the time,” he said, laughing.

“Yes, I do,” I said. “That was fucking incredible.”

“It's not over yet,” he said. He kneeled on the floor and undid my shoelaces, removing my shoes and socks. I stepped out of my pants and underwear that were pooled around my feet. Now I was totally naked in front of him. He backed me up against the bed and pushed me gently so that I fell backwards onto the mattress. I was lying on my back, my arms and legs splayed, totally open to him.

Gradually he started to undress, slowly removing each item of clothing in a seductive striptease. He dropped his clothes in a heap on the floor: jacket, tie, shirt, pants, shoes, socks, underwear. At one point the change in his pocket spilled onto the floor, making a loud noise as each coin hit the hardwood. He laughed. “Well, that wasn't my sexiest moment.”

Naked now, he climbed onto the mattress and slowly crawled up my body, stopping when he was straddling my chest. His beautiful hard cock stood out from his body, inches from my face. I reached up and held his balls in my left hand, using my right hand to guide his cock into my mouth. I sucked on it greedily, moving my mouth up and down, using my tongue to caress it. He was uncut, and I ran my tongue around under his foreskin. He moaned in pleasure.

I reached up with both hands and pushed him backwards onto the bed. I spread his legs apart and moved between them, sliding his cock back into my mouth, stroking it up and down with my hand. He continued to moan, arching his back to drive his dick deeper into my mouth.

“Mark, I'm close,” he whispered. I responded by speeding up my motions, pushing his cock deeper inside my mouth. He let out a cry and came, spilling pulses of hot semen into my mouth. I continued to suck him and could feel his cock throb against my tongue. He jerked a few times, then relaxed into the mattress. He looked up at me and said, “Thank you.” We laughed, and I leaned forward and kissed him.

I lay down beside him, curling my body against his. He reached down and drew the duvet over us. After a few moments spent catching our breath, I said, “Dan, this has been the most amazing evening. I'm so glad we met.”

“I'm glad we met, too,” he said. “I hope this isn't just a one-night stand. I would really like to see you again and see where this leads.”

“Yes, please,” I said. He drew me closer and kissed me.

“Why don't you stay the night?” he said.

“I would like that,” I said. We kissed for a few more minutes, then he turned on his side, spooning against me, his back against my chest, my arms wrapped around him. I drifted off into a deep, blissful sleep.

The next morning, I awoke in an empty bed. Brilliant sunlight was streaming through the window, and I could see the skyline of the city from where I lay. I could smell coffee. I sat up and stretched and, remembering the events of the previous night, smiled in contentment. I looked around the room; my clothes had been neatly folded and placed on a chair.

Dan poked his head into the room. “I thought I heard you moving around in here. I've made coffee. If you want to shower, I've put towels in the bathroom. There's a fresh toothbrush for you in there, too. I'll get breakfast started. I make a decent omelette. Is that OK?”

“That sounds great,” I said. We smiled at each other, and then he went back to the kitchen. Soon I could hear pots and pans rattling around. I got up and took a shower.

When I was dressed, I joined him in the kitchen. His apartment had a dining area near the window; there were place settings for two already there and a mug of steaming coffee set out for me. “There's cream and sugar there if you want them,” he said. I sat down and took a long sip of coffee and looked out the window. I smiled to myself, thinking how lucky I was to be there at that moment with this amazing man.

He placed a plate with a perfectly cooked omelette in front of me. “Here you go,” he said. He sat down opposite me with his own plate. As he cut into his food, he said, “Mark, I had a wonderful time last night. It's been a long time since I've … been with someone.”

“It's been a long time for me, too,” I said. “I don't do this kind of thing very often. I had a … well … a relationship I guess you could call it, with a guy who wasn't very good for me emotionally. This is the first time I've felt really good … afterwards. Really good.”

“Can you stick around today?” he said. “Maybe we could go have lunch or something.”

“Dan, I'd like that more than anything, but I have to check out of my hotel by 11:00 and catch a train at 12:30. I hope you don't think I'm bailing on you.”

“No, of course not,” he said. He reached across the table and took my hand. “Can we do this again sometime?”

“God, yes,” I blurted out. What a dumb thing to say. Talk about sounding desperate. “Um, I mean, yes, that would be nice.”

He smiled. “I have a few vacation days coming to me,” he said. “Why don't I come up to Ravenbridge for a visit in a couple of weeks? You can show me the local habitat.”

“I would like that a lot.”

When we finished breakfast, I glanced at my watch. It was going to be tight getting down to the hotel and then to Union Station to catch my train. “I really hate this,” I said, “but I have to leave.”

“Of course. We'll pick up where we left off in two weeks. Now go finish getting dressed.”

I put on the rest of my clothes and went into the foyer. Dan was waiting near the door with my overcoat. “I'm in last night's clothes,” I laughed. “What will your neighbours think about me doing the walk of shame down your hallway?”

“They'll think I'm a lucky guy,” he said. He gave me a long hug and kissed me gently. “Thank you for … well, for everything. I’ll see you again soon.”

A short while later I was sitting in the train, heading back to Selkirk County, gazing out at the snowy fields passing by. I thought about how things had just changed for me. A month ago I was mired in despair, dismissing Carl, prepared to be alone for the rest of my life. Now there was Dan. Sweet, wonderful, handsome, sexy Dan. I closed my eyes and smiled.

I was going to be all right.