Conference Fling, Part IV: And Then Some

Q: What’s more fun than Wolf Parade in Toronto?
A: Getting it on with a hot Californian.

That’s right. On the 9th of August, I will hie myself out to the Ottawa airport to pick up one CT, who, I hope, will have been napping on the plane, resting up for the ravaging he’s going to receive about 2 seconds after I push him in the front door of my house.

I’m not sure I’m very good at Conference Flings.

As you probably gathered, it was an intense experience. Conferences are a universe unto themselves. A fling becomes a tiny system whirling within that, where only the two of you, each circling the other, exist. The conference goings-on lose colour; the rest of your life seems like it happened to someone else in a different dimension, may still even be happening to some other you. Your energy is focussed on this other person, suspended in this nowhere time.

You use the leftover scraps of your brain to take very conscientious notes so you can justify the fucking.

It is entirely a drug. I felt high and bruised from the moment CT walked into my room with condoms until I landed in the Ottawa airport.

The come down was brutal. To describe it as withdrawal would not be overstating the case. My body sent whatever hormones at its disposal in scrabbling little claws through my veins. The absence of his body and his hands on my body was all I could think about. It was a physical ache spread all through me.

He emailed. I emailed. I’d open his next one and I’d feel my blood pressure lower quickly, all the blood to my cunt, my head swimmy with lust.

I emailed and said I know this is crazy, to think of stretching this on, but oh, was I having a crush, yes I was, and if he wanted to come up here for a weekend and fuck my brains out, I had two of ‘em free in August.

He chose both.

That rather floored me. I expressed some reservations about a week-long visit between two people who hardly know each other. He sent back thoughtful, articulate responses. I decided to damn the torpedoes and told him to book those tickets.

We’re taking a chance, we both know it. After a few days, he might be thoroughly tired of me putting things back in the right place or liking to be busy all the time. I might be totally sick of some habit of his that I can’t dream up right now.

Worse yet - it may be great.