My Life as a Gay Man: Montreal – II

My Life as a Gay Man: Montreal – II

It was now May 2011, two years after my first visit to Montreal. There was this  Paul, a forty something dark, bearded guy on Manhunt I had tried to connect with on my last trip. The night before I left we chatted online and he agreed to meet me at a coffee shop on St. Catherine’s, the main drag in the Village, at 8 Thursday night.

I found one of my guesthouse proprietors, Ron, downstairs awaiting my arrival. Slightly shorter than me, and a bit older and a bit grayer since I had last seen him, he was still barrel chested and beefy but this time a bit leering in his disposition. Like one of those old men in the bath houses who looked like they wanted to devour me. As he handed me the keys for the upstairs apartment I had rented again, I sensed he wanted more than just the American dollars I paid him in for the stay to avoid the Canadian room tax.

Dropping off my stuff upstairs, I quickly ran down to St  Catherine’s to hit Priape, the sex shop, for poppers and lube, two items that might cost me problems in airport security and then customs. I was pleasantly surprised that for a vast stretch of the street, St. C’s had been transformed into a pedestrian promenade which I found out later they did every spring in late May, which is why I hadn’t experienced it on my last trip. All the bars and restaurants had decks jutting out onto the carless street, which was already brimming with people though I couldn’t help but be bothered by the fact that Montreal’s legendary leather bar, Eagle Noir, next to Priape, was populated not with rough and tough levied leather boys but tired old middle aged men there for happy hour.

Back in the apartment, I took a quick shower and, dressed in shorts and a tank, strolled back down to S. C’s and my appointment with Paul.

Only he never showed.

I made sure to scrutinize every face in the place, inside and outside, imagining what he might look like fatter or older, but came but empty. So I had been stood up on my very first night of my second, and I decided right then, my last visit to Montreal.

But Ray always has a Plan B which actually had been my Plan A from the start – to hit GI Joe’s, the butch bath house a few blocks down, for the evening. Invigorated by my new found freedom – and my coffee and brownie – I went back to the apartment, grabbed my cock ring, tit clamps, lube and poppers and waltzed over to GI Joe’s.

The crowd there that night, however, was a disappointment, both in quality and quantity.  Only about ten or so guys were there at any one time, none of them special, though I did have a few cocks to play with. Returning to Eagle Noir at about 10, ready to strip my shirt off in the still comfortable high sixties temperature, I found the crowd non-descript  and young, not leather at all.

Had things changed here, too, as they had in almost every guy and leather haunt in the U.S.? I decided to keep my shirt on.

Two French Canadian twinks were standing by the pool table blocking the way to the upstairs bar. “Excuse me,” I murmured. The taller of the duo stared at me menacingly. “Excuse mois!” he repeated sharply several times. OK, first I’m stood up, then I come up almost empty at the bath house, and now I got a Frenchie scolding me in a bi-lingual country and a tourist section that lives off Americans and other Canadians. Somehow, this trip wasn’t working out.

But before I went to bed – to sleep – I opened up my last message from Paul, the guy who had stood me up earlier that evening at the coffee shop, and sent him this:

“Been busy since I got in so this is the first chance I had to let you know I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you as planned. My flight got in late and traffic from the airport was a bitch. So I was never able to get down to the Second Cup. In fact I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until after 10 when I went to GI Joe’s and had some fun. Sorry …”

Now, I had flipped my location on six different hook- up sites from Lauderdale to Montreal, but unlike my last trip when I lined up some guys before I left, I had gotten almost no “pre-trip” hits and this hitless wonderland continued through the weekend. And just like in Lauderdale, where I’d get e-mails from guys in Chicago, New York and Des Moines but none from the local guys, here in Montreal I got hit on by guys from Toronto, Vancouver, and British Columbia. Go figure. The hook-up sites as a source of virtual sex and getting off so prevalent in Lauderdale had gone viral.

The one exception was Jacques. A tall, thin, smooth, bearded, cute looking 35 year old guy who worked online from home, he found me on Daddyhunt and came over Friday afternoon as a break from his work. He confessed that he actually lived next door and had seen me naked through his window after I had gotten out of the shower Thursday night. “Very, very hot,” he purred with that deliciously sexy French accent, and apparently my allure remained in place judging by the way he enjoyed my dick up his ass.

More Friday …

 

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